Salon.com > Steven Scott Smith

I wanted to be a millionaire

Tue, 16 Nov 1999 17:00:00 +0000

Put these types of headaches in order from least severe to most severe: a) migraine; b) sinus; c) cluster; d) tension. No matter how you rank them, I have them all after being a contestant on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire."

Friday, Nov. 12, 11 a.m.

Everyone gathers in a room in the Empire Hotel. The lovely and mercurial Susan, contestant greeter, informs us that we will be taking a van four blocks to the studio. We are 10 contestants, two alternates and sundry "companions." The van ride provides some insight into how numerous clowns fit into a Volkswagen.

We arrive at the studio and are escorted through tunnels, steps and several security points en route to "the green room." We are warned along the way not to speak to any ABC employees other than those displaying official "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" tags. We are then sequestered in a room where J.P., a guy with a headset, welcomes us to a nice spread of donuts, coffee and bagels. A woman named T. tells us that we will be meeting our assigned producer shortly for an interview. Even their names are expedient.

I want to be a millionaire!

Fri, 12 Nov 1999 17:00:00 +0000

Who wants to be a millionaire. They don't even have the decency to put a question mark at the end of the sentence. But then, it's not really a question, is it? So ... sign me up!

I tried to get on the show in August, when it first aired. To become a contestant you had to call a 900 number and demonstrate your ordering prowess by correctly putting a few writers in order of birth, a few musicals in order of when they opened and a few rulers in order of when they ruled. The questions become more difficult as you progress, and my own difficulty factor was increased by the whimsical configuration of my push-button phone -- which is cunningly designed to resemble a rotary model. If, as you are attempting to qualify, you press a number other than 1 through 4 you are disqualified from the semifinals.

The crack-up

Thu, 15 Apr 1999 08:06:00 +0000

I can laugh at it now because comedy equals tragedy plus time. A nervous
breakdown is highly underrated, and while I don't recommend it for everyone,
it can be the antidote and wake-up call that you needed to set your life in
order.

I am 41 and what most people would call an overachiever: obsessive,
intellectual and part of the dreaded cultural elite. I am strong-willed,
determined, opinionated and extremely headstrong. I would never consider
asking anyone for help. And yet, it happened to me. As Zelda Fitzgerald wrote to F. Scott, "It is
ghastly losing your mind" -- but sometimes that is your only
option.

If you're going to do it, you might as well do it the right way. And you
should know that you are in good company. Susan Sarandon recently
admitted to Barbara Walters that when all her life myths were shattered,
she had a nervous breakdown and had to reinvent herself. And Otto Friedrich
in his 1976 book "Going Crazy" lists such real and imagined luminaries as Robert
Schumann, Jean Seberg, Vincent van Gogh, Edgar Allen Poe, King Lear,
Hamlet, Caligula, Sherwood Anderson, Martin Luther, Eugene and Carlotta
O'Neill, Elizabeth Taylor (both on- and off-screen), Patty Duke (both on-and off-screen), Virginia Woolf and Vaslav Nijinsky.