The Garner Files: A Memoir (34 page)

—MARILYN HECK

E
verybody was stuffed into a condominium down there [in Florida, while shooting Robert Altman’s
Health
]. Two- or three-room apartments for the cast, or at least the alleged illustrious members. We were all in Garner’s room one evening—Betty Bacall, Carol Burnett, Glenda Jackson, James, and some others. Bacall said something like, “I forgot my glasses” or “Could you go get a book I left in my room?” and I volunteered to go get it. I went there, looked around, and found whatever the mysterious, negligible object was.

And there was her diary!

Looking back, a little too prominently placed on the bed—a red diary—one of those daily reminders. It was open and facedown. Somebody said, “Conscience is the voice of your parents,” and I could hear either my mother or my father, I wasn’t sure which voice it was, saying, “We do
not
look at people’s private papers.” (Who was the figure in British history who said he didn’t want his spying done by saying, “Gentlemen don’t read each other’s diaries”?)

Anyway, I thought,
It can’t hurt. I won’t leaf through it, I don’t have time—they’re expecting me back.
I just took a glance. And it said in effect, if not precisely, “It’s going well here. The hotel is okay. I like everybody here except Cavett. He dresses like a teenager and thinks he knows it all.” I remember the scalding horror. That was enough. If there was more, I slammed the book shut. I went back up to Garner’s room trying desperately to look unruined. Nobody ever did anything or said anything.

Months and months later, it was Carol Burnett who tipped me to it. She said, “Didn’t they ever tell you that was a joke?”

“Are you kidding? No!”

I called Garner and he could not stop laughing. I thought we would have to call 911 to pick him up off the floor. They not only performed it perfectly but they waited it out perfectly. A long time later, I thought,
Garner is such a nice guy, maybe he joined in pretending that it was a joke because they felt all guilty about it
, but I don’t think that’s true. I think the whole thing was his idea.

—DICK CAVETT

W
hile shooting
Health
for Bob Altman, we all stayed in condos at the Don CeSar Hotel in St. Petersburg. Everybody got along fine, but we were very cruel to Dick Cavett, who played himself in the movie. He took it gracefully and thought it was hysterical that we’d do those things to him.

Now, Dick is not very tall. One morning he came into the makeup room all oiled up wearing nothing but a bathing suit. (He had a cute little body.) The makeup room had a wall phone and Dick, who was always name-dropping, said, “I have to call Marlon,” and we all said in unison, “Perkins?” Dick laughed at that, and then, when Dick reached for the phone . . . Jimmy lifted him up.

I was thrilled to play opposite Jimmy in
Health
—I had so much fun doing scenes with him. He was on my television show not long after that and he was very funny. Doing comedy in front of an audience can be intimidating if you’re not used to it, but Jimmy has great comedy chops, as we say in the business. I was a little surprised at how comfortable he was, because he’d talked about his stage fright. If he was nervous, it didn’t show. His timing was perfect and the audience ate him up.

— CAROL BURNETT

I
was surprised and pleased to learn that Jim was working on a memoir. I never thought he would, because he’s a very private person.
He never talks much about himself, and you never felt you could ask him a bunch of questions. That’s irritating, because you can’t get any information on how he really feels about stuff, so he’s very hard to figure out. Which, I guess, makes him more attractive in a way.

Jim is one of the most worthwhile people I’ve ever met. Everybody who ever worked with Jim is crazy about him. You can’t not be. He’s a most appealing creature: an adorable man and a funny and terrific actor. I don’t think people realize that. Those of us who worked with him did, but I don’t think he got the kind of attention his talent deserved, and he was kind of passed over as a leading man. But his legacy will not be forgotten because his talent is really big. As an actor, he knows exactly how to behave in every scene. He can make you feel what he’s feeling. That’s a great gift.

—LAUREN BACALL

I
met my now ex-husband, Rick Tschudin, in 1981, when we were both working on
Bret Maverick.
I got the job after I’d been seriously injured in a car accident. Jimmy said, “Just do what you can on the set and make some money so you can get the physical therapy you need.”

Rick was a second assistant director of photography, and when I told Jimmy we were getting married, he said, “You’re engaged to a second assistant? You’re marrying
below the line
?” I explained the backstory: Rick was my best friend’s brother and I’d always had a crush on him. Had it not been for Jimmy’s generosity in creating a job for me, I wouldn’t have met Rick again. Without Jimmy, I wouldn’t have my beautiful daughters, Hannah and Ashley. So to speak.

— CLAUDIA MYHERS

J
im has quietly supported many people over the years. When my partner died in 2001, his family owned the condo that we lived in and unfortunately I didn’t get along with them, so I was going to be out
on the street if I didn’t buy it. MaryAnn [Rea, Jim’s longtime assistant] called and said, “Jim assumes you’ll want to buy the condo and said he’ll do whatever you need to make it happen.” My father had died two years earlier and I’d inherited money, so I was able to buy the condo myself. But Jim didn’t know that, and the thought of his offer reduced me to tears.

—KEVIN RITTER

I
met Jim when I was offered “The Kirkoff Case,” the first episode of
The Rockford Files
. I read the script and thought it was great. This was the time of your career when getting the lead guest star on a series was a big deal. Plus I thought,
Ooh, James Garner, that’s my guy!
I’d been a big fan of
Maverick
when I was a kid—it was my favorite TV show when I was ten.

He didn’t disappoint me. We worked well together and I had fun playing a villain, a spoiled rich kid who plans a murder. Jim and I just hit it off and that was that.

Years later, I’d just done
Salvador
and my career was on fire— Oliver Stone offered me
Platoon
and there was talk about doing
Wall Street
. My agent called and said, “You’ve been offered the part of some retard in a TV movie. I’m gonna pass on it.”

I was curious, so I said, “What do you mean, some ‘retard’?”

“Oh, you know, it’s a psycho part.”

“Is it an offer? If it’s an offer, I should be polite enough to read it.”

“You’re not gonna do a TV movie, okay?”

“I’m gonna read it anyway.”

So he sent me the script.

Of course, it was
Promise,
written by Richard Friedenberg, one of our greatest writers.

I called my agent back and told him, “I’m doing this movie. No discussion. Just make the deal for whatever they offer and let’s go. I wanna do it!” (This particular agent made another mistake, which
finally caused me to fire him: he turned down
Reservoir Dogs
without consulting me.)

People ask me, “What’s the favorite thing you’ve ever done in your life?” and I always say
Promise
because it was a perfect part for me and a perfect experience with Jim.

—JAMES WOODS

L
ate in 1987, I published
The Portable Curmudgeon,
a small book of humorous quotes, anecdotes, and interviews with a modest first printing. A few months later, my telephone rang and it was James Garner. He’d gotten my number from the phone book.

“This is Jim Garner, I’m an actor,” he said.

“I know!” I said. “How
are
you?”

“I’m fine. What kind of curmudgeon has a listed number?”

Jim told me that a fan, Donna Ismond, had sent him a copy of my book while he was recovering from heart surgery, and he was calling to thank me because, he said, the book had helped cheer him out of post-op depression. (Bob Newhart and Dick Martin had also sent a copy; Jim said he wasn’t thrilled that they had to chip in.)

One Friday night a few weeks later Jim was a guest on
The Tonight Show
. He talked with Johnny Carson about his heart surgery, and then he brought out my book. He told the story of how he got it, then read from it until the first commercial, after which he handed it to Johnny, who read from it until the next commercial. The audience laughed and it put the book on the map: to date
The Portable Curmudgeon
is still in print and there are four sequels. I’ve been allowed to publish a couple of dozen other books, all, I’m convinced, on the strength of that
Tonight Show
appearance, without which I’d probably be selling real estate instead of collaborating with James Garner on his memoirs.

—JW

Toward the Unknown
(Warner Bros., 1956) C-115 min. D: Mervyn LeRoy. William Holden, Lloyd Nolan, Charles McGraw, Virginia Leith.

My big-screen debut, all about the pioneering days of supersonic flight. I had only seven lines and got killed early, but they talked about me afterward, which was nice.

The Girl He Left Behind
(Warner Bros., 1956) 103 min. D: David Butler. Tab Hunter, Natalie Wood, Jim Backus, David Janssen.

The Girl with the Left Behind
. A romantic comedy in an army setting. It was awful and I was awful, but it was the best I could do at the time.

Shoot-Out at Medicine Bend
(Warner Bros., 1957) 87 min. D: Richard Bare. Randolph Scott, Angie Dickinson.

It was always fun working with Dick Bare, and Randy Scott was an old pro, but the movie isn’t worth a damn. I was under contract, so I had to do what they put in front of me.

Sayonara
½ (Warner Bros., 1957) C-147 min. D: Joshua Logan. Marlon Brando, Ricardo Montalban, Miiko Taka, Miyoshi Umeki, Red Buttons, Martha Scott.