Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, December 31, 1994 TAG: 9501030034
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: B-8 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: RON MILLER KNIGHT-RIDDER NEWSPAPERS
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Here are some special memories I have of some people whose passing in 1994 didn't generate quite as much ink as they deserved:
Iris Adrian, 82, was my favorite gum-chewing tough blond from Hollywood ``B'' movies, and she made well over 100 films before playing her first regular TV role as ``Dottie'' in ``The Ted Knight Show'' in 1978. She used to turn up on Jack Benny's TV show as a sassy telephone operator, but most of her other TV roles weren't very showy.
I met her only once at a party at Disney studios, where she made 10 consecutive features. She was with her ailing third husband, one-time football star ``Fido'' Murphy, who she cared for like a mother hen. She turned out to be sweet and lovable, which only goes to show that the brassy blond persona was pure acting.
Claude Akins, 67, was a veteran movie bad guy from the same era that produced Lee Marvin, Ernest Borgnine, Jack Elam and Lee Van Cleef. But Akins didn't become a really popular actor until he turned to TV as a good guy trucker in ``Movin' On'' and developed into a comedy performer as Sheriff Lobo in NBC's ``B.J. and the Bear.''
I got to know Akins in 1979 when NBC gave him his own series, ``The Misadventures of Sheriff Lobo.'' He was a fun-loving guy with a great sense of humor and a sunny disposition folks never saw until TV rescued him from villainy.
James Clavell, 69, is remembered by most of us as the author of ``Shogun'' and other epic best-sellers about the Pacific Rim and its history, but I also remember him as a very savvy Hollywood character who had written many movies, including ``The Great Escape,'' directed several (``To Sir with Love,'' ``The Last Valley'') and been heavily involved in the TV versions of ``Shogun'' and ``Noble House.''
I lunched with him at Stanford in the 1970s when he was doing a guest lecture and found him a charming, witty guy, who still bore the scars of his Japanese prison camp days so forcefully recalled in his best novel, ``King Rat.'' The only time I ever saw Clavell's poise seriously threatened was at a Hollywood party when my dinner partner, an inebriated Bob Hoskins, grabbed a live microphone and took the opportunity to needle Clavell about his ``pomposity.'' Clavell looked as if bamboo slivers were being hammered under his fingernails, but he kept on smiling.
William Conrad, 73, was a legendary presence to me even before I saw him in TV's ``Cannon,'' the show that made him a major star. I grew up listening to him on the radio as the original Matt Dillon in ``Gunsmoke'' and remembered him fondly as a frightening movie heavy in such films as ``The Killers'' (1946).
The real Conrad was crusty and curmudgeonly, but loved to laugh, as I learned when I finally met him in 1981 while he was starring in the short-lived NBC ``Nero Wolfe'' series. My appreciation of Conrad went beyond his acting. He was a busy director of ``B'' movies (``Two on a Guillotine,'' ``Brainstorm'') and I once watched him direct a scene between Troy Donahue and Joey Heatherton on location in Santa Cruz for ``My Blood Runs Cold.''
Cameron Mitchell, 75, was one of the ``stars of tomorrow'' in the fan magazines I read as a kid in the early 1950s. Later, I learned most ``stars of tomorrow'' wind up playing leads in low-budget horror movies, if they're lucky, but mostly doing supporting parts in TV shows. That was Cameron Mitchell, who never fulfilled the promise he showed as Willy Loman's son, Happy, in the original 1949 Broadway production of ``Death of A Salesman.''
Mitchell starred in three TV series in between such films as ``The Toolbox Murders'' and ``Deadly Prey'': ``The High Chaparral'' and two syndicated shows, ``The Beachcomber'' and ``Swiss Family Robinson.'' I ran into him near the end of his career on location for Kenny Rogers' ``Gambler II'' miniseries in Sedona, Ariz. Mitchell looked ill-used by time, but seemed to be enjoying the idea of living it up in a fancy motel like a ``star of tomorrow'' fresh from Hollywood High.
George Peppard, 65, was a ``star of tomorrow'' who actually made it. I first saw him in his movie debut with Ben Gazzara in ``The Strange One'' in 1957 and watched him blossom into a major star in ``Breakfast at Tiffany's'' and ``The Carpetbaggers.'' His hard-living lifestyle and prematurely white hair made Peppard look too mature too early, but he prolonged his career in several TV shows, including ``Banacek'' and ``The A-Team.''
The first time I saw Peppard in person came as quite a shock: My wife and I had just turned away from the Mona Lisa at the Louvre in Paris and found George Peppard standing right behind us! Later, I watched him work on location for ``The A-Team,'' cigar in mouth and sleeves rolled up for action, which was quite a cultural comedown for us both.
Cesar Romero, 86, always believed he was cursed with the ``Latin lover'' reputation, which he felt kept him from becoming a genuine leading man. Still, he didn't do so badly, working steadily for 60 years after his Hollywood debut in ``The Thin Man.'' Romero was Cuban - the grandson, in fact, of Cuban poet and patriot Jose Marti - but often played non-Latin parts. My favorite: his convincingly menacing gangster in George Marshall's 1935 ``Show Them No Mercy.''
Romero worked constantly in TV and even had his own short-lived syndicated series, ``Passport to Danger,'' in the early 1950s. He's best remembered as the Joker in ``Batman,'' but also was Jane Wyman's lover in ``Falcon Crest.'' My personal memory of this courtly gentleman goes back to the day I visited the ``Fantasy Island'' set in the mid-1980s to watch Ricardo Montalban and Cyd Charisse do a dance scene together - and got the unexpected bonus of a meeting with guest star Romero, who was dressed impeccably in white tie and tails, like a 1930s movie star direct from ``The Twilight Zone.''
Ron Miller covers entertainment for the San Jose (Calif.) Mercury News.
Keywords:
YEAR 1994
by CNB