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First Person: How Regis Philbin Changed My Life

It began innocently enough. After a few tries to qualify for Who Wants to be a Millionaire, I finally made it to New York. But little did I know that the experience would change my life-I lost my job, paid off my debts, and found love in the process.
By Brad D. Bianucci |

After my appearance on Who Wants to be a Millionaire, I got fired, paid off my debts, and found true love.

It began with my weekly Sunday phone call to my parents in Granbury. Mom asked if I had talked with my brother recently. He had almost qualified to be on Who Wants to be a Millionaire.

My older brother Mike had been hooked on Millionaire since its inception. It was November 1999, and I had just turned 32. I knew the show was a national phenomenon, but I’d caught only glimpses of it. I called Mike and he explained how to qualify. In moments, I went from “Regis who?” to “I can be on that show!”


Becoming a contestant turned out to be like signing up to work for a minor spy agency: tests of arcane knowledge and manual dexterity, secret pass codes, late-night phone calls, and constant surveillance by a personal handler.

On Monday night, when I called the number Mike had given me, an automated voice posed a trivia question. I got the first answer right but blew the second. You get two chances per day, and I bombed again later that evening. And Tuesday. And Wednesday. Finally, on Thursday, I answered all three questions correctly.

“Congratulations!” the automated voice chirped. The recording then asked for my name and phone number.

On Friday, I was eating lunch at my desk at Compucom, where I worked as a customer service rep, when to my surprise a real person from the show called. She gave me a 10-minute explanation of the rules and a pass code to use when calling later that evening to answer still more trivia questions.

I dialed the new number as soon as I got home. After arranging five answers in the proper order, I was told to stay put because I might receive a call.

Time crawled by. I told myself the odds of receiving a call were slim. Around 9:15, a friend of mine came by with his date, a gorgeous woman named Cindy, to see if I had heard from the show. When I said I hadn’t, we decided to go out for a compensatory libation. We were walking out the door at 10:45 when the phone rang.

Brent, one of the show’s producers, asked for the pass code and told me to hold. He returned with questions about my personality, my proximity to the airport, and how fast I could be ready if needed. Back on hold. When Brent returned, he said I’d be a contestant on the show.

I dropped the phone.

I was to leave Dallas for New York early the next morning. The show would tape Sunday and I’d return Monday. Brent said he’d call back with our flight arrangements. I chose my mother Joyce as my guest. If nothing else, we’d get a free trip to New York.


On Saturday morning, Mom and I checked into the hotel in New York and then met with the show’s representative. I filled out reams of paperwork and named five “lifelines,” people who could assist me if I made it to the “hot seat.” I chose my brother Mike, my grandfather, two aunts, and a family friend.

Just after noon on Sunday, we met the other nine contestants, two alternates, and their guests in the hotel lobby. I sized up my rivals: half men, half women, most in their late 20s and early 30s. An energetic woman from the show told us once we arrived we’d be ushered into the greenroom. We weren’t allowed to go anywhere without our handlers. If we broke this rule, we’d be replaced.

We piled into vans and were whisked to the back entrance of ABC Studios. Once in the greenroom, a producer explained that they’d be taping three separate shows, which was rare. Each one-hour show takes two-and-a-half hours to tape. Our show would begin around 7 p.m.

Brent, a preppy guy in his late 20s, introduced himself. He wanted to be absolutely sure the phone numbers of my lifelines were correct and that my helpers were sitting by the phone. After the second show, the producers cleared out the audience so we could rehearse “fastest finger” questions and practice climbing into the hot seat. Then it was time to change into our TV outfits and sit for make-up. As they powdered my nose, any calm I’d felt had vanished.

A new audience was let into the studio. As my group of contestants was seated, I glimpsed my mother sitting on the top row across from me. Then, host Regis Philbin strode into the room, all hair and suntan. The audience went nuts.

Neal, a guy from Pennsylvania about my age, won the first fastest finger showdown. He didn’t know the answer to the first question and used the audience as a lifeline to answer. He was embarrassed, but he eventually amassed $250,000, which meant Neal’s tenure with Regis was lengthy. There would be time for only one more contestant.

It was my last chance. The fastest finger question: place four female musicians in order of their debut albums. I nailed it. Then I heard Regis announcing my name. I had made it to the hot seat.
But everything ground to a halt as they set up cameras. Regis and I walked backstage. “How are you doing?” he asked. “Fine,” I said. I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

Then the cameras rolled, the audience applauded, and Regis led me to the chair. He looked at his camera. “I have Brian from Dallas in the hot seat,” he said. My big moment and he bungled my name. I just smiled. “Are you ready?” Regis asked. I nodded.


The first four questions were easy; the show ideally wants each player to win at least $1,000. But the fifth made me pause nervously. “Which trees have acorns?” In my head I narrowed it down to oak and elm. I convinced myself that it must be oak and held my breath as I said the final answer. I was, of course, right. Now I can say, “Duh.”

Knowing I would leave with at least $1,000, I was no longer nervous. I rolled on to the $32,000 question:

“Which South Pacific island was once a nuclear testing site?”

“Bikini,” I answered confidently. Then it got tough. For $125,000:

“The Broadway musical Kiss Me Kate is based on which Shakespeare play?”

I didn’t have a clue. I decided to use my 50/50 lifeline. That left The Taming of the Shrew and Twelfth Night. Why hadn’t I paid attention in English lit? I decided to call Aunt Susie in Chicago. “The Taming of the Shrew,” she answered calmly. I felt a gush of relief.

The $250,000 question asked the name that artist Al Hirschfeld superimposes into each of his caricatures. One name stood out but I’d be guessing. I’d used all my lifelines. To guess would risk the $125,000 I’d already won. Though I’d still go home with $32,000, a wrong answer would cost me $93,000.

If I’d followed my instinct and answered “Nina,” I would have won $250,000. But I quit. I shook Regis’ hand and bounced toward the exit waving a fake check for $125,000 while the audience applauded and my mom beamed.

It was 11:30 p.m. Suddenly exhausted, I filled out the tax forms; they’d mail the check for the full amount in a few days. Then I got an omen of bad news to come. Brent explained that since this was to be the final show, they might not have enough time to air my segment that Wednesday night. I was so euphoric it didn’t matter.


I grabbed a few hours of sleep before waking up at 8 a.m. Monday. I wanted to see the Statue of Liberty before my mom and I left. I called my boss Kim to let him know I wouldn’t be in. I got his voice mail, gave a short synopsis of my weekend, and said I’d be there Tuesday.

After a day packed with sightseeing, our flight was delayed. We didn’t get back to Dallas until late. I drove Mom to Granbury and crawled into bed at my parents’ house at 2 a.m. The next morning I was completely exhausted. I called my boss and again got his voice mail. Leaving my parents’ number, I fell back asleep.

I should have called in sick.

When I returned to my Dallas apartment, my answering machine was crammed with messages, mostly from friends who had heard the news. But there were a couple that caught my attention.
The first was from the show: congrats but my segment wouldn’t air. The other call was from Stephanie, the lady who had hired me months earlier. She was “concerned.”

Before I could return her call, Stephanie phoned again. “Where have you been the past couple of days?” she asked suspiciously. “Kim said you were on some kind of game show.” I explained but she clearly didn’t believe me.

“Why would I make up something like this?” I asked. I’d never had any problems at work before. No answer, but Stephanie told me she would talk to Kim again. The phone rang 15 minutes later. I was fired.

Newly unemployed, I went to my parents’ house that Wednesday night to watch the show. By 7 p.m., half of my parents’ neighborhood had crowded into their living room. As I was introduced, for a split second I looked like I was clueless, then I smiled and waved. Everyone applauded. My three seconds of fame was history. But that few seconds started a trickle of publicity, which soon became a flood.


The Friday morning after Thanksgiving I received a call from the husband of a college friend who worked as the morning disc jockey at a Bryan radio station and wanted to talk about my appearance on Millionaire. He played up the angle that I’d been fired. A few days later, I heard from Janet St. James of WFAA-TV. Channel 8 ran a segment that night showing me flipping through the employment classifieds.

The floodgates opened. Early the next morning radio and TV stations called one after the other. That evening I heard from the morning show producer for a radio station in Columbus, Ohio. My escapade had gone national. Soon, it was completely out of control. Most stations wanted me to be vindictive about losing my job. Though I refused to say anything bad about the company, I did want a simple apology for not believing that I was telling the truth. I never got it.

You know, $125,000 sounds like a lot of money. But after paying off my Nissan Maxima, my credit card debt, the taxes (about $37,000), and an ill-advised investment in a Web design firm, little remains of my winnings.

I could kick myself for not guessing on the $250,000 question, but not too much. I got a new job, and last November, I ended up marrying the girl of my dreams. Remember Cindy, the gorgeous woman who dropped by with my friend? Well, we started seeing each other after things didn’t work out between them. We got married, I used the rest of my money for a down payment on a house in Rockwall, and we now have a beautiful newborn daughter.

I wouldn’t trade a billion dollars for what I have now-and that’s my final answer.

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