CURATOR’S NOTE: In the early-1990s, there was no easy way to get the word out. Facebook wasn’t even a twinkle in eight year-old Mark Zuckerberg’s eye, but there was Phonebook, where you could at least look up local people. But I recognized that for me to save TV history, I would first need to find out where it was. Since their membership made the costumes that I coveted, I had the idea of reaching out to the Costume Designers Guild, and as it turns out they were willing to sell their mailing list to me. I spent days crafting the perfect letter that spoke of preservation and also my willingness to pay for what might otherwise be cluttering their workroom. Hundreds of letters were sent out, and I waited for what I was sure would be a massive and immediate response, but it never came. Not even one phone call expressing a tepid interest in learning more. I was crushed and confused. Now what? Remember, there was no eBay, just swap meets, and there was nothing Insta about leaving a message on someone’s answering machine and waiting for them to call back. A month or two later, I would receive a phone call from Bob Mackie’s company EC2. The man who left a message sounded annoyed, spoke quickly, but invited me to their costume rental facility not far from the La Brea Tar Pits. On that morning, I met a stout man with a bright white head of hair & beard, even more prominent given he was wearing a black shirt, black pants and sensible shoes. Around his neck hung a red string with a single red tassel, to which a number of safety pins dangled. ‘My name is Ret, R-e-t. I don’t have much time. Walk with me.’ Since the costumers guild sent my letters directly to their members, I didn’t know much about this man. I knew, like everyone, about Bob Mackie, the designer who made the most glamorous, glitzy dresses for artists such as Cher. Ret dashed through thousands of costumes that hung at the ready for rental, and when customers in the aisles said hello and asked how he was doing, Ret always responded the same way: ‘Perfect’ (unlikely because he actually felt perfect, but because it took the least e ff ort and didn’t encourage follow-up questions). He shu ffl ed quickly, not often looking up, and asked what I was doing. I told him, and got his only response: “Good luck with that” (not sarcastic, more concise). He darted to one rack to grab a lime green suit with a deep purple satin shirt, then across the room to another for two matching red blazers with old time-y slant pockets. Mumbling to himself with purpose, I heard him grumble names Sonny, Dickie, Tommy, Tim and Jim, and each time Ret would return to a rolling garment rack to unload the garments. I was floored that Ret walked up to the exact costume he was seeking, no flipping through hangers—laser-like precision. He then told me what he had culled from Sonny Bono, Dick & Tommy Smothers, Tim Conway, Jim Nabors and others. It felt like it was all work product to him, and while he didn’t seem attached to anything in particular, he remembered everything (who wore it, in what number, even where he had shopped the buttons). Ret suggested a price for the entire rack of wardrobe that was not only fair but a little light, and he would phone me from time to time usually at the end of the month—to say,
‘Hi, it’s Ret. Come over and shop.’ And he would always have a rainbow of Sonny Bono custom suits and other shiny variety show gear pulled and waiting for me just inside the front door. We developed a nice relationship over time, and I surmised Bob Mackie would make the dramatic dress for the final number, while Ret had a week to make dozens of costumes for the cast, the dancers, and everyone else: ‘Bob does his thing, I do mine.’ When Ret Turner passed away, I was able to say a few words at his memorial service, where I learned I was not nearly the only recipient of his decency, as the main sanctuary of a Los Angeles synagogue was packed full with those who he mentored, helped with school tuition, and much more. Sometime after, I would approach Ret’s daughter to make a request that I never made before or after, which she kindly indulged, and as a result Ret Turner’s personal black clothing ensemble (yes, complete with red tassel) lives here—the only designer archived in this fashion…which to me is ‘perfect!’” - James Comisar
Sonny Bono (Sonny Bono) deep v-neck turquoise ensemble (bottom right) with silver conchos along length of legs from Sonny & Cher. Acquired from series co-costume designer Ret Turner.
Sonny Bono
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