Behind the scenes: ex-cop Bernie Young runs the show as Rosie O'Donnell's right-hand man. (Take a Lesson).

ON THE CREDENZA IN A COVETED CORNER OFFICE THAT overlooks the ice skating rink in New York City's Rockefeller Plaza is a small green frame engraved with the words, "You the Man." It bears a picture of staff members of The Rosie O'Donnell Show accepting an Emmy Award for best daytime talk show, their third of four (they're up for a fifth this month). But the person holding the golden statue is not the star. Instead, it is "the man" with whom O'Donnell shares the title executive producer, the man who began as her booking agent when the comedienne got her start 20 years ago, the man she describes as her "big-brother-father-protector figure." That man is Bernie Young.

When O'Donnell tapes her final show May 22, Young will be standing where he's always positioned--off-camera but still in the middle of the action. The 10th of 14 children, Young was raised in the Bedford Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, New York, by loving, hardworking parents. He learned early on that a screamer may get some attention, but he doesn't necessarily get respect. And that's what Young has always wanted.

He sought it first as one of New York City's finest, where he quickly became a member of the city's elite street crimes unit and then a detective in just three years. Throughout the years, he honed the cool, unflappable demeanor that would lead his staff to dub him "Shaft." Says O'Donnell, "There's nothing you can do or say to fluster Bernie. He's the no-drama man, which, in this business, is hugely important and totally rare. He's a great manager. He's great at motivating people, organizing people, and he's loyal and very wise. Like I said, he's very rare."

He's also a big risk taker. In the mid-1970s, the restless Young--then married with two children--quit the force and took an outrageous chance: A leap into show business with one contact and zero experience. But Young proved to be a quick study and a fearless entrepreneur, eventually carving out a solid niche managing comedians. His business flourished. But in 1996 he once again did the unthinkable, whittling his lucrative client list down to one: O'Donnell, who was then a fledgling talk show host. Young's instincts proved infallible. During its six-year run, The Rosie O'Donnell Show has established both a new model and benchmark for daytime talk show success. Content to remain in the background, Young has never granted interviews. But on his 55th birthday he sat down with Editor-At-Large Caroline V. Clarke to share the lessons he's learned, in his own words, and to shed some light on how a former cop wound up being the most successful black producer in daytime TV.

IN HIS OWN WORDS

I never had a grand plan. I've never thought in a very specific way about what I was going to do. I followed one of my older brothers into the New York City police department after I saw his paycheck one day. It really was that simple. I came out of the [police] academy in September of 1969. From day one, I wanted to be the best. My goal was to make captain in 15 years.

In 1977, Ben Vereen was fresh off of Roots, riding real high. We'd been friends since we were 12. He came to New York, and I went to see his show, and he offered me a job. I said, "Please! I've got a career. I'm happy." A year later, he came back through and asked me again. I had been waiting on a promotion [to become a sergeant] for three years, but the city was financially strapped. Working and waiting is not a good feeling. I had given 100% to the city and I wasn't getting 100% back You never will if you're working for somebody else. I flew down to Philly and saw what Ben's world was all about and said, "OK. Let's make a deal." My wife, Carol, thought I was out of my mind, and the guys I worked with thought I was absolutely insane. Maybe it seemed sudden, but I'd been thinking for a long time about how I was going to be able to control my own life. This was the answer, and I didn't second-guess it. I'm not someone who wrestles with decisions after the fact. I wrestle with them enough before,

[In April 1978] I started out as Ben's road manager, handling everything from travel arrangements for the entire crew to Ben's media interviews. I had been making around $60,000 with the police department; Ben was paying about $100,000, but there was no insurance, no pension, and no security! It was a huge risk, not only because of the money but because I knew nothing about show business or how tough it was going to be. I found out fast!

After six months, Ben fired his personal manager and asked me to step up. As road manager, I already dealt with a lot of his personal affairs so it was a natural progression. I knew that life wasn't going to get easier, but I was going to make more money--15% of whatever he made and I'd have a lot more responsibilities. As a manager, you don't just service the contracts. You really have to understand what's in them and how those deals are made. So I learned a lot more about how [that process was done]. That, quite frankly, was the easy part. The biggest part about being a manager is giving advice and direction. You have to keep that career moving forward. It's all about looking at the big picture.

Ben was working himself to death, and he loved it because the more he was on the road, the more he could party. But, as his manager, I knew he needed to do other things, and kept telling him that. There's a formula to making it. You get the right kind of publicity, you do the right kinds of projects, you keep yourself visible but not overexposed and you'll get there. Without that balance, you're just fighting against yourself. That was Ben. Then, he agreed to do this TV series on ABC called Ten-Speed and Brown-shoe and things were looking really good. I sold my house in Queens and moved my family to Los Angeles in April 1980. We had been there exactly one week when Ben, my friend, fired me.

Entertainers always have people coming at them from all sides, and once people see entertainers doing well, they all want a piece. I was not going to just tell Ben what he wanted to hear. But he decided other people had a better sense of where he should go. So he said I had to go.

So now, my wife and I are in a new city with no friends, my kids are in new schools, and everybody's looking at me as if to say, "Now what?" It was a tough time. We really struggled for a while. You think you've got money saved--I had about $30,000 in the bank--but, believe me, it doesn't last long when you don't have income. All those folks who, while I was with Ben, said, "Hey, if you're ever looking, come and see me." I found out really quickly that [they were just giving me] lip service. So it was all on my back. But it also fueled me. It reminded me of something my mother always said, "There's one person you always have to be able to depend on--you."

Fate is funny. As it happened, one of the comedians we used to hire to open shows for Ben called me and said, "Bern, I got fired from Harrah's. Can you help me?" I knew the guys at Harrah's in Reno, Nevada, really well, so I called and we worked it out. Here was a guy--his name was Kip Addotta--who thought he would never work again, and the fact that I was able to get him back in made it seem like I walked on water. So he said, "I want you to represent me." I laughed and said, "Well, as it happens, I'm free."

At that time, there was a growing community [of comedians] in the country, but they weren't getting paid a lot, and agents didn't want to deal with a guy whose deal was only going to make him $300. I looked at it as, "I'm a little guy and here's something that can really explode." That $300, if I have 10 people working, is $3,000 to me for that week.

So, I decided to put all of my eggs into this one basket.

There were comedy clubs throughout the Midwest, and their owners were opening new branches around the country. So I made a deal for my guy, Addotta, to be in all of these clubs. The rest of the comedians would see him and say, "Who's doing that for you?" He told them. The floodgates opened, and the clients just came.

Being black didn't make it easier. Clearly, there are not a lot of us doing this but I never focused on that. I focused on being the best, period. Also, this was a job I could do mostly over the phone or [by writing] a letter. As for my clients, they didn't care about race. What they cared about was that I made them money.

The money was important to me, too. I wanted to make a lot of money, but wealth, to me, is not just about money. I wanted to be wealthy in the sense that I wanted to have a viable business that I'd be able to enjoy and raise a family [on] and still be able to leave something behind when I'm gone. I have walked away from plenty of money at times, and I always felt good doing it. A perfect example is Andrew Dice Clay. Before he made his mark, I would get a phone call from him everyday, begging me, "Bernie, c'mon man. We could make a lot of money together. I'm gonna' be big." I said, "Dice, I believe you, but there is no way I'm the guy." My thought was, there's no way I can represent his act. Now, it was an act, a persona, and, on a personal level, I happened to like Dice. But people believe that he is his persona, and that he's a sexist and a racist. That didn't prevent him from making money hand over fist when he hit [it big]. But I don't care how much money is involved. I can't represent an act that offends blacks and women. There's always somebody else out there who's got what it takes to hit it big. For me, that turned out to be Rosie.

I met Rosie and saw her perform on Star Search in 1983. I watched her deal with the backstage crew, with Ed McMahon, and all these up-and-coming performers, and I knew that she was a winner. She wanted to be big in this business and she clearly understood, even at 19, what it took. We just needed to make sure that the right things happened in her life and career.

First, her stand-up career started to grow--that was my area--then movie career, which she had other agents for. She was in a [string of] movies from 1992 to 1994 (A League of Their Own, Sleepless in Seattle, and The Flintstones). Although she wasn't the star of any of them, we still parlayed that into bigger stuff. We were doing [shows in] Las Vegas and Atlantic City, New Jersey, and [had an appearance on] VH-1 and an HBO special. She could have made a lot of choices at that point, but she said, "Bern, maybe I'll do a talk show." So, she and her agents cut a deal with Warner Brothers [television division], and in April 1996 she moves to New York to start the show. It took offlike a rocket and put her in a whole other league.

Rosie had been in New York about two months when she called me and said, "Would you come out here and help me?" I had about 13 other clients at the time. I'd been making between $200,000 and $300,000 for a few years. I love California and I hate the cold, but I said, "Fine, I'm there." Just like that. There was no talk of what the job would be. There's a lot of trust between us. I knew we'd work it out. I didn't know much about TV, but I'd been stepping into things that I didn't know much about for so long, so I thought, "Why not?"

For the first three seasons, I was the coordinating producer, responsible for making sure the various departments' work came together. Actually, it was a title we both came up with. I was Rosie's eyes and ears. I troubleshot, mended fences, and solved problems, which is what my jobs have always been about in the end. We went through a number of executive producers that didn't work out, which put me in a bit of an awkward position. I know there were a few of them who felt threatened by me, but I didn't have an agenda. All I wanted was for the business to run smoothly and the show to be a success, which meant .that I spent a lot of time trying to help the executive producers understand Rosie and what she needed from them. That was my role and it did create some problems, but it didn't bother me. What can I say? I've been shot at, and it's not as bad as that, trust me.

Finally, going into the fourth season Rosie said, "Bernie, just take the job." So I did. Since then, everything that goes into putting on this show stops right here. Rosie is an executive producer as well. And, make no mistake about it, if we disagree, she wins. But it hasn't stopped me from telling her what I thought, and her telling me where to take it. Usually we do fine, but she's fired me twice. Each time she came back within about 20 minutes and said, "You're rehired." I said, "Gee, I was worried."

A lot of people will do the expedient thing because they want to protect their paycheck or their proximity to the big names or whatever. That's not me. You're looking to me to be there in the tough times, and there are tough times for all of us. If I can't be honest with you when things are going great, how are you going to look to me when there's a life-or-death matter in front of us? I'm 55 years old; I'm not going to change now.

Now that the show's almost over, where are we headed? I don't have the exact answer yet, but I do have a big imagination, Rosie and I are no longer client and manager. I always used to tell my clients, "We're a team." Now, with Rosie, we are in the truest sense a team. We have formed a production company and we're pursuing an idea for a one-woman show on Broadway that would open in late 2002.

Life has been good to me because I've listened to what life was telling me and acted on it. I've taken risks and have been willing to accept the outcome, good or bad. I don't need the hype. This industry is two words: show and business.

This is the first in a quarterly series under the banner Take A lesson. From the book of the same title in the Black Enterprise Books series, author Caroline V. Clarke shares a professional's career journey with us.

Spotlight on Success

here are some of the tips that you can take away from Bernie Young's journey:

* Follow your instincts.

* Learn everything you can about your new business and identify the formula for success.

* Develop and cultivate long-term relationships throughout your career, They can prove helpful to you in the future.

* Take calculated risks--and be willing to accept the outcome of your decisions.

* Hold true to your convictions.

* Maintain an unwavering belief in yourself.