At the court of King Jerry

CHICAGO - what a city.

Art, music, architecture, theatreyes, I know all about that, but what about its two world-famous sites that appear every day on your TV? At Harpo studios you only have to read the sign backwards for a clue as to which major TV show is produced here.

But today Ms Winfrey and her 130 million audience are not for me. I'm headed for something more - what's the right word? - entertaining.

Jerry Springer records two shows a day - Monday through Wednesday - and by 10 in the morning the audience line is snaking through the marble halls of the NBC Tower.

Portraits depicting the stars of the local Channel 5 line the walls smiles set with Superglue reveal lighthouse teeth flashing with such brilliance that shades are required wearing.

Heather - she won't tell me her surname - clutches a coffee and stares out at the Chicago River.

She's here to support her boyfriend but, although she's known him for a year, she has no idea why he's been invited to fly 1,000 miles from Connecticut to appear on the show.

Heather's worried - it shows on her face and that worries me. I've only come for a laugh.

Poised between laughter and tears, we're invited to enter that Holy of Holies- the Springer Studio, which, like many shrines, is surprising in its simplicity. It's like a church hall, where we are seated on green plastic chairs staring at the rather chintzy set, at the centre of which is another row of chairs. The only surprise is the camera, disguised on stage and staring at us. Make no mistake - the only star in this studio, apart from our Jerry, is us, the audience.

The warm-up consists of Jerry's new video - Too Hot for TV, Part II where fights break out, sparks fly and clothes fall off with remarkable ease.

"Why," I ask the lady in front of me, "is every woman on this show called Randy?" "I'm not," she replies, and so I get to meet Rachel from Wilmington who, during the course of her work as a veterinary nurse, gets to watch all Jerry's shows. In fact, she tells me, "Everyone watches it" - so I ask whether she'd ever appear. "Hell, no!"

In rehearsal, the instructions from the jocular stage manager seemed simple enough: hands together = clap; clenched fist = boos; hands to mouth = oohs; hand down = aahs. My problem was in the execution.

"You are too quiet," said Rachel, "too British. Follow me and I'll be cheer leader."

So it was I stood, clapped, shouted, joined in innumerable choruses of "Jerry, Jerry," and booed, oohed and aahed until I'd reached the required standard. In fact I was just thinking that this was what Goebbels arranged for Hitler, when up popped the stage manager with one last word of advice.

The emergency doors were only for use in an emergency - and that was a fire, not a fight.

I won't let you in to the secrets of the show except to say that I got rather lost in the story of the five transvestites. I jumped, and clapped, and, when the cross-dressing grandfather came on, tears rolled down my cheeks.

Laughter is a strange emotion childhood pleasures of pantomime came flooding in to my head, and that's exactly what it was.

When it was all over I repaid my favour to Rachel by taking her picture - not with Jerry, but with the balding king of the bouncers, Steve.

As he held her in his arms, in the first display of genuine emotion I'd seen for at least 30 minutes, she cried and then nearly fainted.

"You know John," she said, "I've been waiting four years for this magic moment."

Out in the marbled hallway, I squeeze between the table of the Jerry Fan Club and the line for the next show only to trip over eight ladies from Philadelphia who've "popped in" on the off chance of getting a seat. As they sit on the floor, exhausted, I recall that Philadelphia is a 1,400-mile round trip.

Clutching my Jerry Springer talking doll I walk past Heather, still holding the same plastic cup of coffee. Having flown all that way to support her boyfriend on the show, she's going home alone. It seems that he forgot to tell her about the wife and three children. I've had enough of the pantomime - this is the real world. Remember to take care of yourselves, and each other.

Copyright 2000
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