Here's the full story:
I have never been a fan of game shows - still am not. I only went to the interview because my mother was scheduled to go with a neighbor (who was less than a year away from dying of breast cancer) and my mom had a conflict arise. Mom didn't want her neighbor to have to go alone, or worse bail out. The neighbor herself was doing a favor for a friend of a friend who worked for Merv Griffin, who owned the show, and they were trying to get this production off the ground. (Virtually everyone in Los Angeles has at one time or another had a friend of a friend trying to get productions off the ground.)
The show hadn't yet aired so they were desperate for bodies at this interview and maybe create a little buzz. That's how I got roped in. Also, I was cocooning after off a very bad breakup and my loved ones were on self-appointed, if often misguided, missions to reengage me with the world.
Point is, it was sheer coincidence that I even went to the interview - basically a roomful of women in their 30s & 40s who were made up and bejeweled like they were visiting the Queen, and stepping all over themselves to be noticed by the producers running the interview. (My take at the time: For Pete's sake, we're talking about a game of hangman with a wheel of chance thrown in. How much explanation do you dolts really need? Good grief! So glad I'm doing this today. Thanks, Mom.)
Anyone who's been on this forum for a while knows that genteel isn't my style. Trust me, my 22 year old version was even less well behaved. During the interview I was a little sarcastic, a little snarky and plenty irreverent. I never expected to be selected anyway. I was stunned to hear back from the production company a few weeks later. I later learned they found my attitude adorable and disarming. Whoda thunk it?
I was on their 3rd & 4th shows. There were lots of things that they eventually ironed out with the help of feedback from former contestants like me, but at that time it was still pretty rough.
On my first show I nailed every puzzle with very few letters. Not being a gambler, I solved puzzles the instant I knew them. At one point the host (Chuck Woolery) asked if I could see the letters before they turned them and they double checked to make sure I couldn't. LOL
Won a bunch of stuff including a full length Dicker & Dicker of Beverly Hills white mink coat (that I barely used as a coat but sometimes like one might use a bearskin rug in front of a fireplace if you catch my drift), a hip length brownish rabbit coat (which I wore
a lot in the way people traditionally use coats), antique nightstands, a ten speed bicycle that was several inches too big for me, a very cool portable bucket barbecue, and some other stuff that I can't immediately bring to mind.
During those early days, WOF contestants had no idea what prizes would be offered. So you'd solve the puzzle, they'd suddenly reveal a showcase full prizes and the host would say, "You have $3500, what would you like to buy?" You're frantically looking at this mountain of massively overpriced junk along with an offstage list that shows the name of the prize and the dollar amount.
What's more, the camera focused on my face is adjacent to the offstage list, so Woolery keeps pointing me to the list and what I want to see are the prizes themselves. Every time I look at the list, I'm looking away from the camera. The TV audience sees me, then the showcase, then me, then the showcase, but I'm not supposed to look at the showcase - I've got a chalkboard list of stuff to choose from. It was a little maddening.
There was no time to think - I was so high on adrenaline that my heart was pounding, my already ADD brain was all over the place, the cameras are on and the host is prodding me to make a decision now, now, now. Three winning rounds, three different showcases, three opportunities to look like a deer in the headlights in front of millions of Americans who had nothing better to do on a Wednesday morning in January.
Further complication: a puzzle winner could either keep money "on account" which would evaporate if you hit a Bankrupt on the wheel or didn't win another puzzle, OR you could shop the showcase until you were left with less money than the cheapest remaining prize, in which case you could get a Spiegel catalog gift certificate with the remainder. No possibility of cash. No taking all the money in Spiegel certificates.
So the first two rounds I quickly calculated how to spend down the money until I qualified for the Spiegel certificates, explaining the nightstands, bicycle, barbecue and other forgettable stuff.
The third round I'd won a lot of spending money and quickly calculated it against the showcase, quickly realizing I'd either wind up with a pool table or a mink coat. I opted for the more portable item.
I later learned that contestants chose all kinds of crap they didn't need and couldn't use or house - suites of furniture, speedboats, a set of two(!) pinball machines, vacations that have to be taken within a year (but have blackout dates during high season) to places they have no interest in visiting, appliances, sets of tires, you name it. It was freaking crazy to have to make those decisions on the spot. After the show was over you had two choices, take the prize or leave it. No swapping or money instead.
For the 2nd show I barely got the wheel and won nothing.
The shows were recorded in November or December 1974 and aired early January. I was on their promotional commercials including one that aired during the Superbowl.

(You sign away rights for them to use your image so I didn't get paid for the commercials, but it was a thrill nevertheless.)
It was pretty exciting, got me over my funk and I still have the BBQ, which we use when camping.
Side note: The show taped in 1974 and the producers actually gave me the mink that day and the rest of the prizes within a week. This left me in a terrible position. Remember, this was 1974, I was 22 years old and I'd suddenly added $4500 to my income, putting me on the hook for state and federal income taxes - money I didn't have. I technically owed the income tax the moment I received the prizes.
I frantically called people at NBC (the original network - this was a daytime TV show) and got hold of the head of the appropriate department. I was near tears as I explained my plight. This very understanding man asked me, "Do you want to declare this as 1974 or 1975 income?" I asked if it could possibly be 1975, even though I'd received all my prizes in 1974.
He said gently, "The IRS isn't going to come after you if we call it 1975 income. We just won't report your earnings to the IRS until next year." He also suggested I find an accountant and use the "income averaging" wrinkle in the tax laws to reduce my tax burden. Bless him.
That's my Wheel of Fortune saga. Aren't you glad you asked?
p.s. After feedback from former contestants, the producers adopted the practice of touring contestants through the showcases so they'd know in advance what their options would be. I've probably seen the show all the way through no more than a dozen times since my appearances, but have caught enough snippets while changing channels to know that they refined it considerably over the years.