‘Wheel’s’ Tricky Spin : As Thousands Come to Test Their ‘Fortune,’ One Tryout Finds Out Just How Hard It Is to Get a Coveted Spot on Show

I wanted to spin the wheel. And smile for the camera. And, of course, win the money.

Like many other “Wheel”-watching fanatics, being a “Wheel of Fortune” contestant was a longtime dream. It also would fulfill some of my flighty objectives: 15 minutes of fame, easy money and being on TV.

As a 30-minute diversion from the gruels of life and its ability to provide an ego boost by being relatively easy to win from the security of one’s home, the long-running game show has inspired couch-potato competitors from around the nation. And it’s got one of the largest pools of contestant wanna-bes--nearly 6,000 a year--of which, I unabashedly admit, I was one.

I figured I had the qualifications for being the perfect “Wheel of Fortune” contestant: spunk, energy, a nice smile and quick on the draw with the puzzles. I was queen of Hangman in my New York home as a teen-ager and had spent hours playing along with the show, imagining myself winning the $25,000 cash jackpot. I was good .

I arranged to try out. The first step toward getting a chance to spin the wheel was taking a five-minute written test.

I scoffed at the idea of preparing for it. I watched one show and joked with friends about it. They laughed, assuring me that there was nothing to taking the test for “Wheel of Fortune.”

Testing day was on a warm April afternoon; I arrived minutes before it began at the show’s Burbank headquarters, congested with 92 other anxious contestant-hopefuls: blue-collar workers, housewives, college students, 9-to-5ers, senior citizens and know-it-all nerds.

We all knew the “Wheel”--as those in the know call it--and had dreamed about being on the show: spinning the wheel, smiling for the camera, collecting the money, relishing our few minutes of fame (or more for those returning champions).

Evridiki Ford, a silver-haired woman with a gruff voice from years of smoking, had driven an hour from Long Beach for her second shot at the auditions. The first time, she got lost and arrived a minute before the test, which was enough to frazzle her and break her concentration. This time, she left two hours early.

Donna Ostroff, secretary for a famed Hollywood director, had practiced for weeks on the computer game and took a practice test the day before, faxed to her from a friend who won some money on the show a few years earlier.

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We were herded into the red-walled testing room, anxious “Wheel” wanna-bes grabbing for just the right seat that might somehow bring us luck.

After some advisory words from contestant coordinator Gary O’Brien, two sets of tests on pink- and melon-colored paper were doled out face down. Then the buzzer sounded for the five-minute sprint.

I was confident until I turned over the test. It consisted of nearly 20 puzzles that looked like a bad exercise in Morse Code. Each was a set of words that were missing some letters; we had to fill in the blanks. The sets were listed under a theme, like on the show: places, same name, books, food. My head was swimming and I felt hot.

I conquered a few: Indian Ocean, tongue depressor, chicken potpie. I struggled with most. The stumper was under the “Same Name” category: “J-- & -I--I-GS -ON--N-,” which baffled me for the last 90 seconds.

I got about seven right--but not “Joe & Billings Montana.” Officials said I missed passing by only one or two words. (They were secretive about the exact number needed to pass--part of the mystery of the test’s difficulty, I suppose.)

I was humiliated: Nixed by a test with only a “Wheel of Fortune” pencil as a consolation prize. I wanted to cry foul: Not enough time! The test was rigged! People cheated! (An older woman in front of me peeked at her quiz before we were told to begin.) Instead, I begged to stay on and watch the rest of the process.

Twenty people survived from the starting 93. Ostroff’s practice test clinched it for her. Ford, however, would have to make another drive up from Long Beach to try another day.

It was on to Round 2 and a mini-”Wheel of Fortune” game. A contestant coordinator stood at the front of the room spinning a 3-foot-high wheel and another turned over letters in the puzzle, like Vanna White. Each person got one chance, or maybe two, to stand up, give a letter and try to guess the answer.

This was only partly a test of their abilities at the game. The producers were also checking out more subjective factors. It’s a conundrum that has baffled many a tryout contestant who didn’t make the cut. Only 5% to 10% of those who take the test make it all the way to the show--500 a year.

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“The show is being broadcast to millions of viewers around the country, so we want contestants people can relate to,” said promotion manager Suzy Rosenberg. “We look for good players, also people with enthusiasm. We check out the way they present themselves.”

Martha Samuels, a senior citizen from San Francisco who was auditioning for the fifth time, got a couple of stabs at it. She was feisty and witty. And made the cut.

Ostroff got one shot. Her letter was right, an “R,” but she didn’t solve the puzzle. She was thanked for coming, told to have a nice day and let go, along with seven others.

“They don’t give you much of a chance,” Ostroff complained after her dismissal. “It would be different if they conversed with you, but it was just one second, one letter. I think I said one word.”

Contestant coordinator O’Brien explained that it was just instinct at work. “After years of doing this, I’ve developed a knack in seeing pretty quickly who’d be good,” he said. “Just in the way a person stands and the way they call out their letter.”

The remaining dozen hopefuls tried to stand as cool as possible as they were asked to introduce themselves to the judges as if they were on the show. Then they played a speed round, filled with the same intensity as the TV game, and their visages were snapped for the “Wheel” files, with their fates as contestants to be determined by O’Brien days later.

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Seven of the 12 were lucky enough to make the final cut to be on “Wheel of Fortune.” Robert Mazza, a chiropractic student from Studio City, was one of them.

“I must be pretty overconfident because I thought I had a good chance out of the 12,” Mazza said later. Surveying the group in his mind, he said he figured “the cute girl from Washington was going to get chosen and that guy, the model. There were women looking at him, and I was sure he would get picked.”

Indeed, the cute girl from Washington was picked for a recent taping. It may be 18 months before Mazza and the others get called to step up to the foot-high carpeted platform in Studio 33 of CBS’ Television City. The timing has to do with “casting” considerations: The producers want diversity among the contestants on any given show.

When Mazza finally gets into the studio, the wheel may seem to glimmer brighter than on TV, with red, blue and yellow lights bouncing off the silver dots on the numbered triangles. The wheel will be stiffer and heavier than it looks on television, and the set will seem minuscule compared to the vast area that’s spanned on the wide-angle cameras.

Mazza may never make it off the Bankrupt spot, or get only one chance to spin the wheel while another challenger cleans the kitty. Or he may wring his hands nervously before show time, like UC Berkeley senior Steven Calandrillo did at a taping in late May, and then walk off with $82,242 in cash and prizes.

“It’s as much luck as it is being good at the game,” said “Wheel” publicity manager Lisa Dee. “You might be an excellent player and the wheel just may not be in your favor. It’s a fluke.”

Mazza is ready for flukes. Ostroff is ready for another try. But she’ll have to wait a year; applications aren’t being accepted until September, 1996, because of a mile-long waiting list.

As for me, I’ll just live vicariously through the others and impart some sage advice to future “Wheel” hopefuls: Take heed, for although many believe the show to be an intellectual wasteland, it’s harder than you think.