JOHN HILLERMAN

Jonathan Quayle Higgins III is a fictional character, but John Hillerman, the actor who him on the 1980s TV series Magnum, P.I., has been a true-life friend of mine and my family since the ‘50s. John has played many roles on stage, in the movies and on TV, but it's for his eight seasons on Magnum he's probably best known and for which he won five Emmys. 

     Although his character is English, John was born in Dennison, Texas. He perfected his accent in onstage productions in Ohio before taking the accent to Hollywood. One of the stories John told and retold during the Magnum years was about a letter he had received from a woman in London who wanted to know where in the UK had he been born. 

     The snobbish character Higgins began life as equally snobbish Simon Brimmer on TV productions of Ellery Queen. John has said that playing a snob comes easy to him. I can assure you after knowing him all these years that he’s right – snobbery, as those of us who love him can attest, does indeed come quite naturally to him.A sweet snobbery, that is.

JERRY GRAY

Jerry Gray was a violinist, arranger, composer, and leader of swing dance orchestras (big bands) bearing his name. He is widely known for his work with popular music during the Swing era. His name is inextricably linked to two of the most famous bandleaders of the time, Artie Shaw and Glenn Miller. Gray, along with Bill Finegan, wrote many of Miller's arrangements during the late ‘30s and early ‘40s including "Pennsylvania 6-5000" and "A String of Pearls." 

     In the latter part of his career, Gray's orchestra served as the house band at the Venetian Room of the Fairmont Hotel, Dallas, where I spent a lot of time and which is where I had the pleasure of hearing his swingin' shows many times. I was -- and still am -- a big Big Band fan, and shaking the hand of a man who shook hands with Artie and Glenn was quite an honor.  

THE CUELLAR BROTHERS OF EL CHICO'S

Growing up in Fort Worth, Texas, I ate with friends and family often at a popular Tex-Mex restaurant called El Chico’s. Today it's a franchise operation serving mediocre food, but when I was a kid El Chico was owned and operated by the Cuellar family, and for my taste, the best Tex-Mex in Texas.
     Years later when I was working on the El Chico account at a Dallas ad agency, I got -- or rather, created -- a chance to do a commercial with the Cuellar brothers Frank Sr., Mack, Alfred, Gilbert, and Willie Jack. I had written it to sell food, of course, but even more so (without the knowledge of my boss), I simply wanted to talk to the brothers and coax from them nostalgic musings to juxtapose with "beauty shots" of various menu items.
     The two-hour long recording session went smoothly. The guys had thick accents, but I managed to get some really good quotes. My favorite: When I asked if El Chico’s Mexican food was like that in Mexico one of them replied, “We don’t make our food for Mexican tastes – we make it for American tastes.”

WALTER BURKE

Walter Burke was an easily placed face if not name in movies. He's perhaps best remembered as Sugar Boy, Willie Stark's silent, reptilian bodyguard in "All the King's Men," the classic 1949 movie about the rise and fall of a corrupt Southern politician. He played a number of characters in the '40s and '50s you wouldn’t want to turn your back, but later in his career he made a big reputation playing small characters such as leprechauns because his slight stature and wizened features, not to mention Irish heritage, made him a natural for such roles.

     Which is why, in the ‘70s, I cast Walter as the "Magic Elf” in a Neuhoff Meats TV commercial that I had written especially for him. His “job” at Neuhoff was to magically turn sandwich meats into Dagwood-style sandwiches, and he did so with feats of magic that to this day look pretty good considering we created them, in that prehistoric pre-digital era, in real time on-camera with no optical trickery.   

     This was one of my earliest commercials, and I've never forgotten how much fun it was to make, and how pleased I was to become friends, if only briefly, with an actor I'd admired for years. It was a magical experience for a young copywriter all around.

RANDOLPH SCOTT

Movie cowboys didn't get any rougher and tougher than Randolph Scott, especially in the late '50s/early '60s in a string of film noir-like cult Westerns directed by Budd Boetticher that included "The Tall T", "Seven Men From Now" and "Ride Lonesome." Scott, along with Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and Hopalong Cassidy, was a childhood hero. You can imagine how excited I was when one night at a play in Cowtown (Fort Worth) with my parents, he was in the audience and was introduced from the stage. I wasn't sitting close to him, but in my child's mind's eye he stood 10 feet tall.
     Incidentally, Scott, whose movie career began in the 1920s, played many a comedic and leading man role, but it was in the Oaters where he achieved his biggest successes and enduring fame.

MARIETTE HARTLEY

Mariette Hartley was a young, up-and-coming actress when I cast her in one of my Haggar Slacks commercials in the early '70s -- and I'll add, an incredibly peppy one, too. She quickly went on to become a popular, award-winning character actress in movies ("True Grit"), on TV ("Star Trek", "M*A*S*H), and in commercials (Polaroid), teamed with major stars including John Wayne, James Garner, John Wayne, Randoph Scott, Joel McCrea, Peter Falk and many others. She's still peppy as she continues to work on stage and TV.

JAMES WHITMORE

James  Whitmore, the film, stage and TV actor, won a Tony, Golden Globe and an Emmy, and nominated for two Oscars; but to younger readers of this blog, he may be best remembered as Brooks, the gentle prison librarian in “The Shawshank Redemption,” and as TV and radio spokesman on countless dog and plant food commercials. But he should be remembered for his entire body of work, which spanned almost 60 years in virtually every genre including crime noir, comedy, drama, sci-fi and a musical. I liked him in every role he ever played, but none more than that of John Howard Griffin, the true-life journalist who artificially darkened his skin to pass for a black man in the deep South in order to experience racism first hand. Whitmore's 1964 film, "Black Like Me," was based on Griffin's book recounting his harrowing experiences. Because Griffin was a friend from childhood of my mom whom I knew, the movie and Whitmore’s riveting performance held special meaning for me. 
     In the ‘80s a friend and I went to see the short, bandy-legged actor give a lecture on the process of acting. He walked jauntily out onto the stage holding a stack of books, positioned himself behind the lecture, plopped the books down and began talking. After a few minutes I noticed him wince very slightly and pause for a beat, and I mentioned this to my companion, She had missed it. Whitmore continued talking but seemed to be losing his initial energy, and now could be heard nervous whispering in audience. And then, abruptly, Whitmore grabbed both sides of the lectern, bent his head down and said with a weakened voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, this has never happened to me on stage but I feel ill and must excuse myself. “The sound of a single gasp spread through the audience as he walked slowly off-stage, then silence. No one knew what to do next. 
     A minute or so later there was a commotion and out came -- literally bounding -- Mr. Whitmore. He was in his mid-60s, but he looked like a youngster as he galloped to his previous spot behind the lectern. Ramrod straight, he grinned to the audience and said, “Ladies and gentleman, I have just demonstrated the subject of today's lecture … ACTING.” And now a new wave of sound erupted from the audience ... laughter and applause.
     I’d never seen a demonstration like that before or have since.