Random Behind-The-Scenes Look At 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire' From A Contestant Who Won $500k (14 items)

• 

  (#1) My Previous Appearance On 'Jeopardy' Ended In Disappointment

  In 1988, after I moved to Los Angeles and with no job and very little money, I decided an appearance on Jeopardy might save me from homelessness. I actually passed the test and contestant interview pretty easily, and got on the show within a matter of weeks of arriving in LA. Unfortunately, the experience proved rather negative.

  The show was bad enough; I lost by two bucks despite getting over 11,000 "dollars." In those days you merely got parting gifts, not cash, if you finished second or third. My haul was a bedroom set that forever became known as the Jeopardy bed. Also, the show's staff was pretty condescending, and they made you wait for an entire day without any guarantee you would even appear.

  I was the last contestant selected for my day's taping. Two other guys sat there all day and didn't even get on the show. For a while, whenever a co-worker would say something like, "Wow, you ought to go on Jeopardy," I would relate (and relive) my negative experience. Finally, I stopped bringing it up. I assumed my game show near-miss would be something I would have to live with for the rest of my life.
• 

  (#2) It Took Six Months To Get On 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?'

  12 years after the Jeopardy! debacle, I began trying to get on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? The show's producers devised an ingenious method to select contestants: you called an 800 number and were prompted to answer three digitally recorded questions via your telephone keypad.

  The first question would be easy, something like "Put these American Presidents in order from oldest to most recent." You would then hear "Reagan, Washington, Jefferson, Truman." The correct answer was 2, 3, 4, 1. From there, the questions would get harder, with the third question something like, "Put these NFL running backs in order from the year they won the league's MVP award."

  If you got all three questions correct, you were placed in a pool of 40 individuals and given the opportunity to call in during a 15 minute window and answer five more questions in the same format. 10 of those 40 individuals would be picked for a live taping, based on the number of correct answers they gave.

  To guarantee potential contestants could only call once a day, you needed to provide your birthday and last four digits of your social security number during your call, a method of establishing a unique identifier for any contestant. This also gave the producers a method to determine what you knew and didn't know based on what answers you supplied during the qualification process. 

  It took months of answering these questions before I heard anything. Then, after I answered the three questions correctly several days in a row, I got a call from a live operator who told me that I qualified for phase two. I was given a time, a different 800 number, and told to call and answer five questions. The time was non-negotiable, and I had to answer the questions while on a business trip and was interrupted by co-workers while on the phone. The questions were more difficult; one was, "Put these television show addresses in order from newest to oldest programs."

  When I hung up the phone, I immediately presumed I had blown it, and became preoccupied with the details of my business trip. So I was surprised when I received a call from the show's staff just a few hours later inviting me to fly to New York for a taping of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?
• 

  (#3) The Fastest Finger Process Was Much More Difficult In Studio

  Uncharacteristically, producers for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? picked up the cost of flying me and a guest - my dad - to New York and putting us up in a hotel room. Other game shows, most famously Jeopardy!, don't pay any of the expenses for contestants to get to a taping, so this was a pretty classy move. At the time, I recently started a new job and technically didn't have any vacation time, but my boss was kind enough to let me take a few days. It helped that our home office was in New York City. She agreed to let me work out of our Manhattan location for the first few days of the week. If I didn't get into the Hot Seat, I would only miss one day of work.

  On the morning of July 24, 2000, I showed up bright and early at the studio, excited to begin. I had no idea we would spend hours signing forms and listening to instructions from a procession of staff, including the show's in-house attorney, the show's producer Michael Davies, and the contestant coordinator, who ran us through a dress rehearsal of the "Fastest Finger Contest."

  Like the sequence of questions on the telephone, the "Fastest Finger Contest" challenged you to put four items in order right there in the studio. The contestant who placed the answers in the correct order the fastest moved into the Hot Seat, for a shot at winning $1,000,000. But, in the studio, you had to use a keypad device that was more cumbersome than a telephone, and required both dexterity and fast thinking.

  It was much easier standing in my living room and simply saying the correct order out loud. It did not help my confidence when I didn't get a single one of the questions correct during the rehearsal, much less in the quickest time. One woman got all four rehearsal questions in the fastest time. I immediately started to think this going to be tougher than I realized. We took a break for lunch, where my dad tried to pump me up, and then we split up again and headed back for the taping to begin. I tried to keep a positive outlook, but I was already feeling demoralized.  
• 

  (#4) At First, It Looked Like I Wouldn't Make The Hot Seat

  Before the taping, nine contestants filed into a locker room area, where we changed into our dress clothes for the taping. Because the show always ended with someone in the Hot Seat, we also met David, who was coming back after winning $4,000. Immediately, I realized it would be a while before we even got a shot at the Fastest Finger, as David seemed relatively bright and would probably be able to answer a few questions correctly. We all gathered in an organized line backstage (everything we did was choreographed by a couple of clipboard-wielding production assistants) and were personally greeted by Regis Philbin, who walked down the line and shook each contestant's hand, wishing them good luck.

  Before the taping began, we were introduced by name and home town and given a round of applause by the studio audience. Regis and David walked on last while the theme to the show played and the tape rolled. Exactly as I suspected, David not only got several questions correct, he was also very deliberate and the taping crept along at an excruciating pace. David made it to $32,000, leaving the rest of us to wait a long time before finally having our first Fastest Finger attempt.

  After a studio break, the taping continued and two cameras swept the contestant ring in front of the audience for the brief televised introduction of all of the contestants. I totally bungled the first group question about best sellers, not even close to getting it right. Fortunately for me, the first contestant crashed and burned at $4,000, but I screwed up the next Fastest Finger and had to sit through another contestant who bombed out at $8,000.

  We were already almost two hours into the taping, and I figured I had one more shot at the Fastest Finger since it was pretty rare to see four contestants moving to the Hot Seat in one show. This was it. I had to put four American civil rights figures in order, but was both careful and deliberate.

  In front of all of us was a giant screen with the contestant names. If you got it correct, your name flashed green with your time, the board blinking rapidly. Mine the first name with a time of 6.1 seconds. There were a lot of contestants who got all the answers correct, but I was faster by a couple of seconds and for an instant I thought I had pulled it off. Then the final contestant name flashed with a time of 5.42 seconds! I sat back stunned. Someone had beaten me. When the next Hot Seat contestant was introduced as a grad student from Johns Hopkins and he began easily answering questions, I knew I wasn't going to make it.

  At the next studio break, one of the contestant coordinators came over to tell the remaining contestants the final segment was about to be taped, a kind way of saying we were not going to make it to the Hot Seat. Our grad student would have to answer one or perhaps two more easy questions, and we would be out of there. I was shocked and depressed.
• 

  (#5) A Miracle Occurred, And Then Was Almost Rescinded

  I barely paid attention as the taping started up again. I began to calculate how many people I would have to tell that I didn't make it. Losing on Jeopardy by $2 and now missing the Hot Seat by six-tenths of a second had to be some kind of record for game show nightmares. I braced myself for one more question and Regis read it to the contestant. Instead of pausing to think it over, the contestant immediately came up with the correct answer. That meant the taping would continue. 

  The next question was a relatively easy one about which individual in the Godfather series did not win an Oscar. This time, the contestant hesitated. He decided to use one of his lifelines and ask the audience, who gave him the wrong answer. He went with it and, suddenly, he was toast. Now, we would get a fourth Fastest Finger opportunity.

  The stage crew scrambled quickly back to their places and I focused on the question. I had to put four rock songs with the word "Don't" in the title in order. I was reasonably confident and this time only two contestants got it correct, my time the fastest by over two seconds. Regis excitedly beckoned me over to the Hot Seat, and in an exhilarated daze I stumbled in his direction.

  But as soon as I sat down, I got a strange feeling. Regis, who had been so ebullient moments before, looked away from me toward the stage manager who was speaking into his headset. They both ignored me. In a hyper voice, the stagehand kept saying "Are we good or do we need another?" Clearly, someone was looking at the last sequence and they were taking a long time. Long enough for me to think that maybe there might be a problem.

  The show's lawyer told us that any glitch meant the Fastest Finger would have to replayed. I was about to have a seizure when the stagehand blurted out "Good to go, Regis!" Regis lifted his head, looked me square in the eye, and enthusiastically said "Congratulations." Incredibly, I was in the Hot Seat, only the second time the show had featured five contestants in one episode.  

  Later, between my dad in the audience and some things I heard from the stagehands, I pieced together what happened to cause the drama. The woman who had gotten all four Fastest Fingers in rehearsal had not gotten a single one correct during the actual taping. Before the last opportunity, she complained that something was wrong with her keypad, but to to no avail.
• 

  (#6) Regis Saved Me Early On

  Once I sat down in the Hot Seat, I quickly answered three easy questions and the taping ended. My dad and uncle, a New York native, spent a night on the town, just happy I made it into the Hot Seat. The next day, I went to my office and told my co-workers what happened and they freaked out.

  By midday on Tuesday, July 25, I was making my way back to ABC studios and into the locker room. This time, I was the focus of the new contestants. We lined up and when Regis got to me, he asked what I had done the night before. When I told him we all went to an Irish pub, he laughed out loud: "I love it, I'm going to use that!"

  We walked out onto the stage and it really hit me. I was about to appear on the highest-rated television show in America to try to win $1,000,000. As Regis did a little intro, I reached for a glass of water and saw my hands visibly shaking.

  I got to $1,000 without much of a problem, but then things started to get rocky. I needed to use one of my lifelines to poll the audience for a $2,000 question about a scooter called the Razor. As someone with no kids, I had no idea what it was, but the audience gave me the right answer.

  At $4,000, I got what I thought was a really tough question about a 19th-century chemical compound used to provide stage lighting. I reasoned that "Carbonic Oxide" was a chemical compound, and I told Regis I thought that was the right answer. He responded by saying, "Are you sure, or is that a guess?"

  I knew from watching the show that when Regis said that, he believed you were wrong. He wasn't provided the answers until you both saw them, but clearly here he had an opinion. When I hesitated, he suggested I use my 50/50 Life Line which eliminates two answers. It left "Boric Acid" and "Lime." Something stopped me from blurting out "Boric Acid" and as I looked around the studio, the two options repeated in my mind. There were TV lights everywhere and suddenly the word lime and light connected for me.

  "You are in the limelight," I said out loud to Regis. He laughed and then said sarcastically, "Phil, you're a genius!" probably believing this was a pretty easy question. Lime was the correct answer, but I was now out of two lifelines. Typically, most of our exchange was edited out of the broadcasted version.
• 

  (#7) I Blew All Of My Life Lines Too Soon

  At this point, I was both surprised and frustrated by the questions I had gotten. What happened to all of the easy questions I had watched for months in my living room? These were really hard. It didn't get any better when, at $8,000, I was asked who starred in the 1970 film Hercules In New York. Arnold Schwarzenegger was an option, but 1970 seemed awfully early for him to be in a film. I used my last lifeline, the "phone-a-friend," where you can call one of five pre-selected individuals who are standing by. Luckily, that panned out and Arnie was the right answer but now, at just $8,000, I was out of lifelines.

  I got a breather at $16,000, when I came up with the university that awards the Pulitzer prize (Columbia) but, during the break, Regis barely talked to me and the contestant coordinator was practically shaking his head sympathetically. My early demise felt like a foregone conclusion. I could also see out into the contestant's row, and clearly they were mentally preparing for an imminent Fastest Finger contest. I figured I would try and take this one question at a time and hang in, but my dreams of $1,000,000 now seemed laughably absurd.
• 

  (#8) I Reached The $32,000 Level By Paying Close Attention

  The $32,000 question is a big level on the show. If you get it correct, you can't leave with less than 32 grand, regardless of what you do later. But if you miss at the $32,000 level, you leave with $1,000. I figured I was due for a layup, but I almost burst out laughing at the question: "Who sings the theme song to the TV show Dawson's Creek?" I shook my head and said, "You're killing me here, Regis." The audience laughed as Regis gently suggested I could bail with $16,000 if I chose to walk away without guessing incorrectly.

  I had no interest in that option, although I really had no idea what the answer was. Three of the options were big stars - Tori Amos, Sarah McLachlan, and Alanis Morissette - but the fourth, Paula Cole, I had never heard of and said so. I thought she might be obscure enough to record a TV show theme. 

  This time, as I hesitated, Regis skeptically shrugged as if to say "Good luck with that approach." As I sat there, I became aware of the stage manager, off camera to my right, speaking quite animatedly into his headset: "Are we going to throw a break? Break here?" I quickly understood what he wanted to know. Assuming I couldn't possibly get the next question correct, he wanted to know if, after they ushered me off the stage, they should stop the taping for a break or continue on to the new contestants without an interruption.

  Suddenly, as clear as a bell, I heard a voice in his headset distinctly say, "No, he's going to get it right." It was so audible to me, I thought everyone in the studio heard it. Regis looked at me poker-faced. Clearly, he didn't hear anything. But what did it mean? What had I said? The only thing I recalled was my comment on Paula Cole, but I waited for what seemed like minutes before reiterating that and making it my final answer. Regis obviously thought I was a goner based on his body language.

  I began to think I might have imagined the whole exchange, when I looked down at my console and saw "Paula Cole" flash up as the right answer. Even Regis was surprised as I let out a yell of excitement. I was still alive, now with 32 grand in my back pocket.

  Incidentally, Paula Cole was probably as accomplished as any of the other three performers, having won a Grammy for her debut album. Strangely, in the broadcast version of the show, the $16,000 question was switched to the $32,000 question for reasons I don't understand, but the incredible sound and picture editing rendered the change impossible to detect.      
• 

  (#9) The Questions Remained Difficult At $64,000 And $125,000

  At some point I expected the questions to get easier, regardless of dollar value. We had been told each contestant had a pre-selected stack of 16 questions that was not altered based on the show's situation. At least that's what they claimed. I believed the law of averages was about to turn my way. They couldn't keep asking me about topics I knew nothing about.

  But $64,000 was about books by the offbeat writer Douglas Coupland. The tension and stress actually prevented me from immediately remembering I knew at least some titles he had written, the most famous being Generation X. I successfully came up with the one book he hadn't written (High Fidelity, by Nick Hornby) and I was on to the next question. By now Regis was getting pretty excited, exclaiming, "We can't stop him!" as I seemingly pulled another horseshoe out of my butt.

  For $125,000, I got, "In 1997, Students Against Drunk Driving changed their name to what?" Television studios are typically much smaller than they appear on screen at home. The audience was actually about 200 people shoehorned into a compressed, circular bowl and our podium put Regis practically on top of me. He was close enough to read my facial expressions and when this question came up, he again sensed I was overwhelmed.

  But the question was actually easy to figure out if you thought it over carefully. I eliminated "Discrimination and Denial" and "Dangerous Delinquency"; nobody with any kind of PR flair would come up with that. "Drugs and Drinking" also didn't sound snappy enough, so I was left with "Destructive Decisions." I was also close enough to Regis to see he was surprised when I didn't hesitate before making that my final answer. He tried to drag out the suspense by acting as if I got it wrong, but I saw through the fake-out. I was correct and now three questions away from 1,000,000 dollars.  
• 

  (#10) Your Mind And Memory Are Capable Of Strange And Amazing Things

  Then, at the best possible time, some things broke my way. For $250,000, I was asked "What country encompasses all of Asia Minor?" My options were Turkey, Indonesia, Iran, and Ukraine. I remembered back to my elementary school days, when I used to collect National Geographic maps that were inserted into the magazine.

  I remembered underneath Turkey on these maps it always said "Asia Minor." I had no idea why, or what it even meant. I still have no idea, but this was the easiest question so far and I could sense Regis getting excited as I methodically whipped through and eliminated three of the four options, leaving me with Turkey, the right answer.

  Regis didn't need to add any drama, as the audience was growing more and more excited as I was now two questions away from $1,000,000. Adding to the surreal atmosphere, right in front of me stood a 20-foot monitor with my torso and face standing over me, reflecting every move and gesture I made.  
• 

  (#11) Some Anticipatory Gamesmanship Helped Me At $500,000

  We kept right on going, the audience applause barely dying down before Regis loudly proclaimed, "For 500 thousand!" I gripped the small multicolored monitor in front of me in anticipation of the next question. Please no popular culture or comics, I prayed. Give me a good one.

  When the question finally appeared, a shot of adrenalin surged through me. "What Russian Prime Minister was deposed by the Bolsheviks in 1917?" I flashed back to the day a production assistant called me after I was invited on the show. She claimed she wanted to ask me a few background questions, "so Regis will know everything about you when he meets you on the show."

  She asked where I went to college and what I majored in. Immediately, I realized these questions weren't for Regis; they wanted to find out what I knew and didn't know. That was information I didn't want to divulge, but I didn't want to blatantly lie, so I fudged. "Oh, at my school you could put together an independent concentration of various subjects, which is what I did," I told her. My suspicions were confirmed when the PA, who was pretty sharp, asked, "So, what subjects did you study?" Now I was sure: Regis never got into that kind of detail. I figured I not only wouldn't tell her my major, I'd go one better. 

  "I combined theology with anthropology," I answered.

  That info was duly noted, taking care of any questions about the Bible or Dr. Leakey, two topics I knew nothing about and certainly not my major. In reality, I majored in European History with a minor in 20th-century Russian History. Hilariously, Regis also slumped in his chair, incorrectly interpreting my body language as a sign I was again completely stumped. But I wasn't, I knew the question cold, but I was so nervous about the amount of money at stake I started to practically babble and then define each of the four options:

  Um, you know, I have an incredible interest in Imperial Russian history. I know Leon Trotsky was a Bolshevik. Nikolai Bulganin was a Soviet Communist in the fifties. Kornilov I never heard of. And Aleksander Kerensky was the prime minister of the provisional government deposed by the Bolsheviks in 1917.

  With every word, Regis got closer to the edge of his seat, his eyes widening as he picked up on the fact that I knew the answer. When I made Kerensky my final and correct choice, Regis erupted. "You got it for a half million dollars! We'll be right back to watch Phil go for 1,000,000 dollars!"
• 

  (#12) By The End Of The Taping, Regis Was Practically My Best Friend

  I have to admit when I started watching Millionaire, I wasn't wild about Regis Philbin. He brought the same over-the-top, carnival barker, loud, New York attitude to the program he evinced on his daytime show. But it started to grow on me, and the thing that immediately struck me when I was sitting across from him was that there was absolutely no difference between his on-air persona and his personality during the breaks.

  He was the exact same person. Combined with saving my ass at $4,000, bantering with my Irish father and uncle about going to an Irish pub, calling my appearance "the greatest comeback in the history of the show!" and his overall genuine enthusiasm, that made him memorably endearing to me. He was reportedly being paid $300,000 an episode and, as far as I was concerned, he was worth every dime. 
• 

  (#13) The 1,000,000 Dollar Question Provided Very Little Suspense

  In between the $500,000 and $1,000,000 question, there suddenly was some kind of issue with the lighting in the studio. The three electricians who had spent the previous few hours hanging out drinking coffee on the set were pressed into service. They had to pull up the floor. Regis suddenly got animated.

  "C'mon, the kid's on a roll! Let's get going here!" Regis entertained the studio by telling the audience I would buy drinks at the Irish pub we had gone to the previous night if I won a million dollars. I didn't argue. I didn't mind stretching out this very surreal moment and stared into the 20-foot electronic mirror in front of me. It all felt completely bizarre.

  Both the executive producer and another producer came out and cautioned me not to go crazy. I had already qualified for the annual greatest hits show for the big winners of the previous year. I think they wanted to avoid a downer ending. Even the new contestants were pretty jazzed, knowing that one way or the other, I would be on my way out soon after 90 minutes in the Hot Seat.  

  Then it was time, but the suspense was short lived:

  In the United States, the Sony Walkman personal cassette player was originally marketed in 1979 under what name?
  A. Soundabout   B. Listener   C. Eardrummer   D. Stowaway

  The correct answer was "Soundabout," but I had no idea, and even though Regis tried to entice me to take a guess or at least stretch out the drama, I decided to take the money and not guess. Had I been wrong, my prize money would have been reduced to $32,000. I tapped out. When I got out of the chair, Regis graciously shook my hand and handed me a facsimile $500,000 check. I hugged my dad and my uncle to resounding applause, and left the stage, not quite comprehending what had just happened.

  We were led backstage and not allowed to leave until the taping was over. Unfortunately, network rules precluded any alcohol, so I had to be content with diet soda until the show ended. Only two new contestants got on, immediately reminding me how lucky I had been. We did make it back to the Irish pub and various other locations that night, despite my scheduled early work day, which I actually made it to reasonably on time. I finally crashed on the redeye flight home, having used up every ounce of energy in my body. Later, I would find out I was the only contestant in the history of the show to use every lifeline by $8,000 and still make it to the 1,000,000 dollar question.
• 

  (#14) It Took Weeks For The Actual Check To Arrive

  One of the conditions of appearing on the show is a driver's license and Social Security card, which must match the number used during the qualification rounds. You also fill out a 1099, which means that the Disney Company, which essentially produces the show, will not deduct any taxes, and that you are responsible. Also, you don't get paid unless the show actually airs, which it finally did on August 15, 2000.

  My check arrived in an unassuming FedEx envelope at my office while I was at lunch. I absentmindedly opened it up, suddenly confronted with a $500,000 check. I had a great time at the Bank of America trying to get it into my account. The branch manager first thought it was fake, and then tried to schedule appointments for me with every salesman in Los Angeles. I politely declined.

  They never called me back to the show. Instead, they assembled some of the worst losers from the previous year, which was actually a brilliant move. My internet company folded (predictably) about a year later, which was one of the reasons I wanted to get on the show. By then, I didn't care.

  I was already in Europe on a six-month trip through 15 countries, hitting every bucket list place from the running of the bulls at Pamplona to the casino at Monte Carlo. One of the biggest highlights was visiting the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, and the room where the provisional government surrendered power to the Bolsheviks in 1917. Needless to say, I took a few extra minutes there.

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