I accomplished this item on my life list in 1988. When the show aired (in early 1989), I posted this article to several USENET news groups I was active in. I've finally HTML-ized it, so here's the Jeopardy! story. Incidentally, the friend I refer to who'd been on the show previously is Robert (a.k.a. the gentleman with whom I'm conducting the world's longest running brief meaningless fling). And I did go on to later game show experiences. I appeared on The Challengers (hosted by Dick Clark), which was a current events trivia show. And I helped play-test a game show based on Monopoly for Merv Griffin, though wasn't on the final (mercifully short-lived) show that aired. But those are other stories to be told other times. Also, I never did get the watches, but the saga of my traumas with postal service where I lived at the time is also yet another story.
Copyright 1989 M.H.Nadel
In the childhood fantasy version, it's about a month after my 18th birthday, I'm in New York, Art Fleming is at the podium (with Don Pardo announcing) and I've just become the youngest 5-time undefeated champion ever and set a record for winning the most money by correctly remembering that Alexander the Great had a horse named Bucephalus. Reality, however, has a nasty habit of turning out somewhat differently... and Jeopardy was no longer around when I turned 18.
The real story starts in December 1988. I'm reading the Sunday L.A. Times and I glance at the classified section, with its usual assortment of ads seeking game show contestants. Jeopardy rarely advertises but this Sunday there's an ad and it says "especially women." I clip it and decide I'll screw up my courage and call. Monday at 10 I start trying to get through. I finally get an answer at about 2 p.m.. The woman who answers asks me if I can take the test a week from Thursday but I'm going to be on a business trip. So she tells me to come in on Friday of this week instead. I get directions to the studio and spend the rest of the week not telling anyone (except a friend who's been on the show but his advice turns out to be irrelevant since they've changed the format of the test since he took it). Friday morning I wake up way too early and pace around my apartment nervously. I allow myself two hours for the 30-45 minute drive to the studio. I attempt to drink coffee but the butterflies in my stomach are turning into vampire bats and I discover how disgusting the ladies room in the Sunset Blvd. Denny's is.
Finally I give up killing time and park the car. (Jeopardy provides parking for prospective contestants; not all game shows do.) I walk towards the studio and get into a conversation with another prospective contestant. We manage to go to the wrong entrance first but we still get to the right entrance just after 10 a.m. (the test is scheduled for 10:30). The waiting period is spent chitchatting with other prospective contestants. A surprising number of them are from out of town; many of them have come to L.A. just to try to get onto Jeopardy. Everyone tries to keep the conversation at the small talk (where do you live/what do you do) level to make it look like they're not trying to judge how tough the competition is.
At 10:30 a man in a white suit comes out to the gate to take us in for the test. He introduces himself as Glenn, one of the contestant coordinators. Friends or relatives who aren't taking the test have to wait outside the gates; everyone else is led into the studio, seated (with the request that you not sit next to another prospective contestant), and given pencils, cardboard to lean on, an application, and a test answer form. The application asks for name, address, phone number, social security number, home town, occupation, other game shows you've been on in the past ten years, and whether or not you're a member of any theatrical/movie/TV unions. (Members of these unions are eligible to be game show contestants only if they've earned under a certain limit for union work within the past three years.) While we're filling out the applications, Glenn and the other contestant coordinator, Suzanne, tell us a little about how the test works. There are 50 questions on a videotape and you get 10 seconds for each question. You don't have to write the answers in the form of a question. Those who pass the written test will get to play a mock game; those who do well in the mock game will be given a "personality interview." Glenn also asks how many people have taken the test before. Twenty or so of the roughly 80 people there raise their hands. When he asks if anyone has been on a game show before, four people raise their hands. Glenn explains that Jeopardy is different from any other game show, mostly because you don't have to wear polyester to go on it.
Finally the test itself begins. I find most of the questions pretty easy, though I get Diogenes and Demosthenes mixed up, forget the Navy mascot and have Gwen Verdon married to Gene Kelly (the only male dancer I can think of). After the papers are collected, everyone talks about their answers. Nobody seems to have remembered the Navy goat and one person called the comet Kehoutek "Vovotek." I stop feeling quite so dumb. While we're waiting for the results of the test, Suzanne puts on a videotape of an old episode. Everyone calls out the answers, just like we do in our own living rooms.
Grading the tests takes only about 10 minutes. Everyone sits anxiously while names are called. My name is called about 12th; overall 19 of us have passed. I am the only woman in the group, which Suzanne says gives me good odds. (For comparison, when my friend took the test, there were about 40 prospective contestants and only two passed.) The next phase of the testing is the mock game. We play in groups of three, with clues and categories on pieces of cardboard and little hand bells (basically, you slap the top of the bell) to ring in. Glenn fills in for Alex; Suzanne judges who rang in first. When it's my turn to play, I manage to forget that Hanoi is the capital of the reunified Vietnam and say "Ho Chi Minh City" instead. But it isn't the answers that matter so much as being able to ring in and remembering to speak up (energy! enthusiasm!) and, of course, remembering to answer in the form of a question. A few people can barely answer above a whisper and one can never manage to phrase his answers as questions; it's no great surprise when these people don't make it further. I'm not exactly sure what other criteria are used for selecting contestants at this point but only seven of us are asked to stay.
Now it's time for the "personality interview." First we fill out another form which asks us to write down five interesting things about ourselves. This is the information which will go on the "chit-chat card" which Alex refers to when he talks to contestants. Then our pictures are taken. Finally the "interview" itself consists of each of us getting up and talking about ourselves for about a minute. The only specific thing we're told is to end by saying what we'd do if we won a lot of money. When it's my turn I say, "My name is Miriam Nadel. I'm originally from Island Park, New York. I now live in Los Angeles where I work as an aerospace engineer for a company that gives technical advice to the Air Force. Sometimes they even listen to my advice. My hobbies include white water rafting, which means that I spend a lot of time swimming in California rivers. I've also been learning to make lace so that I can create forgeries of old tablecloths. If I win a lot of money, I'll pay off my student loans and I'd like to buy a house." Since I get laughs at the right places, I figure the interview went well. After everyone's had their chance to talk, we're told that we can be called anytime up to the end of the season. People who live in L.A. will be given at least two weeks notice; out-of-towners will get a month.
Everyone leaves the studio and heads to the parking lot. The whole testing process has taken just about 2 hours. I go off to a business meeting and decide that I'm not going to think about Jeopardy for a couple of months. My friend took the test in July and got called in September so I know that it'll take a while. (I do, however, call my mother on Sunday and tell her that I took the test and that I think I did well.)
Monday morning I'm at work and the phone buzzes. My secretary says Suzanne Thurber is calling; offhand, the name means nothing to me. I answer and it turns out that it's Suzanne, the contestant coordinator! It seems that a contestant got disqualified for being on another game show and they need a last minute substitute. Since they like to keep a balance of men and women this means that they want a local woman. So would I be available to tape tomorrow? I have to reschedule a business trip but that's a minor inconvenience to go through in order to get onto Jeopardy! When I walk down the hall to talk to my secretary about rescheduling the trip, I discover that Suzanne had identified herself as being from Jeopardy to my secretary and *everyone* wants to know if I'm going on. I have to put up with a lot of teasing about being a "TV star." I also have to decide what to wear. (I was told to bring two changes of clothes, in addition to what I was wearing. They like women to wear dresses or skirts. And one is supposed to avoid solid black, solid white and busy prints as they don't photograph well.) I also call virtually everyone I know when I get home and tell them to wish me luck.
I don't sleep very well Monday night. I keep having nightmares about earthquakes and floods destroying the Santa Monica Freeway so I won't be able to get to the studio. Or I'll oversleep and miss the whole thing. Or I'll faint once they start taping. I give up trying to sleep and try to read and can't concentrate. I try to watch old episodes of Jeopardy on videotape and make myself nervous over everything I don't know the answer to. I again end up leaving myself way too much time and have a long wait outside the studio to get in. The other contestants of the day arrive and everyone talks about how exciting this is and how nervous they are and wonders what we're in for. At 10:45 Glenn comes out and takes us into the studio. We go upstairs and leave our clothing in the dressing rooms. While we're in the dressing rooms, Glenn reviews our "chitchat cards" which Alex Trebeck uses when he talks to the contestants during the show. Then we're given brunch (coffee, tea, bagels, muffins) while we fill out more forms. Most of the paperwork has to do with eligibility - have you been on other game shows and when? do you have any relatives who work for King World or the TV stations? are you running for political office? (they don't want to have to give equal time to your opponent if you are). You have to sign an agreement to donate any winnings over $75,000 to charity and specify a charity. You have to show proof of your social security number. Next, we get makeup. Finally, there is a detailed review of the rules, with a lot of emphasis on security (you aren't allowed to talk to anyone but the contestant coordinators, other contestants and a few other people like the stage manager and Alex himself). One person has so many questions on the rules that I wonder if he ever watches the show.
At last it's time for our rehearsal game. We're shown how to write our names with the light pen and how to use the buzzer. There's a light around the board which goes on when you can buzz in but if you wait for it, you'll be too late. It's much more common, however, to be too early. (The rule is that Alex Trebeck has to be reading the last syllable of the clue but you're really timing your reflexes against the person who releases the lock.) We're also told that the week we're taping will include the 1000th show, which explains why there are people from the Today show in the studio taping our preparations. (Several weeks later, my friend calls me and asks, "Did you know you were on the Today Show for about 2 seconds last Friday?" Despite promises to the contrary, we weren't called and told when the episode would air.) We're shown how to make our entrance (where you enter from depends on which day's show you're on). Then, we each get to play. The categories are reasonably good ones so I do well in the half a round I get to play. This makes me feel only slightly more relaxed, however, and I have plenty of time to get nervous again before I actually play. Then we go back upstairs for more review and pep talks (by the end of the day I never want to hear the word "energy!" again). The players for the first game (who are leftover from Monday) are called and the rest of us are seated in the audience.
Most of the rest of the day is spent waiting. They have to have a couple of extra contestants around in case someone faints or there's an undefeated champion and I'm sure I'll just be cooling my heels all day since I was a last minute call. They've told us that the contestants are chosen randomly for each game, although they do make sure to get all the out-of-towners on and they try to avoid having two contestants with the same name on the same show but we're not really convinced. As each show progresses, I get more and more nervous and more and more sure that I'll be held over (which would mean taping in February). After the third show there's a dinner break and we're taken over to the commissary and fed. Most of us are too nervous to eat much and the salad is much more popular than the chicken, rice and stir-fried vegetables. Everyone does make sure to get a piece of the 1000th show "birthday" cake. The current champion (who won the Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday games, but was defeated right after dinner) talks about how his legs were jelly through the first game but he relaxed a lot after that. We all talk about how nice everyone associated with the show is.
After dinner I sit through yet another show. Then, I experience the shock of hearing my name called for the Friday show. At this point I'm almost hoping to get held over because I'm exhausted (it's about 6:30 p.m. by then) but I try to keep my energy up and make it through the show. I manage not to trip on the carpet when entering and as soon as I can I grip the podium to keep my legs from buckling out of fear. The categories are none too reassuring - Ballet, The Vice President, Shakespearean Trivia, Rock Groups, Sports and "Mr." in the Dictionary. The first time I manage to buzz in I'm so shocked at having gotten in that I know the correct answer and say it wrong out of panic. The very next answer I also miss. Just before the commercial break I get a right answer but I'm still at -$800 at the break.
During the break we turn around and face away from the board so that any information which might accidentally come up isn't seen. Suzanne brings us water and she and Glenn give us yet another pep talk. (You're showing great energy - keep it up! It's early in the game; you'll be fine - just show energy, energy, energy!) When the break is over, I have to endure the interview. Alex can't decide which item on my chitchat card (work or rafting) to ask me about and makes me choose, which flusters me a bit. I later realize that everyone thinks they sound dumb. The second half of the round goes somewhat better and I'm at least positive (though still in third place) at the end of the round.
Another commercial break, another pep talk. Energy, energy, energy, energy! Then I see the categories for Double Jeopardy and my heart sinks. The 19th Century, Literature on Film, Economics, Flowers, Weather, "G"eography - since I have to pick first I figure "Weather" is the closest to a science category and go for that. The hard part is still managing to buzz in. But I manage to be fairly lucky at getting in for $1000 answers - and I'm substantially more relaxed, though I'm not sure why. I manage to get a daily double in the "Flowers" category and bet $2000 on it. When I see the clue, I have a really weird lapse. The answer is "The African lily is also known as the lily of this river" and all I can think of is "lily of the" but "valley" doesn't make sense. Fortunately, it strikes me in time - Africa, river and I manage to say "What is the Nile?" From then I really feel like I'm on a roll. At the end of the round I have a slight lead and hit the second daily double - in Literature on Film. I panic a little since I'm hopeless at knowing what actors played what parts but I'm reasonably well read. I also know that it will be the last clue of the round (from the time) and I want to make sure that even if I blow it, I'll have a chance of winning. It turns out that I should have bet high as the clue is a simple one. (Stage Door, Cimmaron and Giant are three of her novels which have been made into movies. I do enough crossword puzzles to know that Edna Ferber wrote Giant). At the end of Double Jeopardy, I'm in the lead with $9000. The returning champion is in second place with $7600 and the other challenger has under $4000.
I'm in too much of a state of shock to pay a lot of attention to the prizes. Anyway, I'm too busy praying for a good Final Jeopardy category - say, mathematics or murder mysteries or Gilbert and Sullivan. When the category comes up, it's The Old Testament. I figure I have about a 50-50 chance what with years of Hebrew school and reasonably regular synagogue attendance balanced against a total inability to recognize Hebrew names in English transliterations. (I don't want to know what the judges would do if I wrote down "Yitzchak" for "Isaac," for example.) Glenn brings up paper and pencil to figure out our wagers. I don't have all that much of a choice and wager high enough to be sure of winning if all three of us are right. You can bet to tie, but I figure that returning champions are more experienced and you can give yourself a bit of an advantage by trying to be a sole champion facing two newcomers. Our wagers are recorded on paper as well as written on the screens in front of us and we're instructed on what to do if our pens fail during Final Jeopardy. (Don't panic - just use the paper and pencil on the podium.) There are also barriers put up between the contestants while the wagering is going on so we can't see one another's wagers (and responses to the clue.)
Finally it's time for the moment of truth. The clue is revealed and the Final Jeopardy music starts. I read the clue and hear Alex Trebeck read it but I'm completely mystified. "His adventure began when he felt the spirit of the Lord and fled to Tarshish." I can't think of anyone so I jot down "Who was" just to make sure I phrase it as a question. The combination of the music and the realization that I'm less than 30 seconds away from winning over $15000 hits me the wrong way and I'm even less able to think. Finally, with time running out, I write down "Abraham" just to keep from leaving it blank.
It turns out my mistake was not thinking far enough into the Old Testament, as the correct answer is Jonah. To my astonishment, both of my opponents have gotten it right. So I end up in third place with a prize of three Armitron watches (you don't actually get your prizes for 120 days after the show airs. Since my air date is April 14th, it's a long delay after taping.) About a week before air date I get a letter telling me about my parting gifts - the most useful of which is $25 worth of light bulbs. The one thing you do get right away is the home game. In my case, I took the computer version, mostly because my colleagues swore they wouldn't let me back into the office without it.
By the time the show actually aired, I was convinced enough that I'd done respectably to tell everyone I know to watch. My mother told my entire hometown figuring they'd at least enjoy hearing my introduced as "originally from Island Park, NY." I made a videotape of the show so my children, should I ever have any, can show off that they know the answers I didn't. And, most of all, I had enough fun that I'm planning to try out for another game show as soon as I'm eligible again.
Copyright 1989, 2002 Miriam H. Nadel