The Dean Martin Show. Sundays were supposed to be a day of rest. Not for Dino. Blocking for The Dean Martin Show started early—around 9 a.m.—and by then Studio 4 at NBC Burbank already looked like a three-ring circus. Cameras gliding, lights climbing, sets shifting like chess pieces. Greg Garrison was Dean for the moment, standing in, calling marks, that only truly came alive when the real thing arrived. And then—right on cue—he did. In walked the "King of Cool." No rush. No fuss. Just that unmistakable Dean Martin stroll smoking a cigarette. We all assumed he’d come straight from the fairway—a quiet round with close pals. Frank or his agent Jim Mahoney. Dean sashayed in wearing golf clothes, relaxed, smiling, loose as a goose, ready to settle in for an eight-hour taping session like it was nothing more like playing than the back nine. No rehearsal jitters. No visible grind. Just Dean being Dean. And suddenly, what had been a technical exercise became a show. Golf in the morning. TV magic by night. For Dino, Sunday wasn’t a day off—it was just another perfect round. "Let's have a Vino for Dino!"
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