We were looking forward to our rare night on the town. The evening would be spent at a quiet little bistro just blocks from our house. It was one of those briefly undiscovered BYO gems with superior cuisine and no need for reservations. But on this night, two busboys busily combined three tables behind us in preparation for a large party. Our blissful solitude was about to be broken by a mob of raucous interlopers.
My wife and I avoided any eye contact with the arriving horde, hoping our private snub would make them disappear. It didn’t work, and within seconds of their stampede-like entrance, someone shouted, “WALLY!” I turned with some deliberation as the caller moved within inches of my chair, his right hand extended in my direction. The voice belonged to Bruce, a client of mine who worked as a producer at a local advertising agency. Bruce was a pleasant and normally reserved sort who had been out celebrating with his co-workers, client and celebrity guest early that same evening. By chance, we were scheduled to work together at my recording studio the following morning to record radio spots promoting a local newspaper.
“Come on over,” said Bruce, “I want you to meet someone.” I dutifully unwound myself from our once intimate table for two and the comforting chill of my vodka martini to be announced like a visiting dignitary to his special guest. “Leslie, I’d like you to meet Wally Hayman. Wally will be our audio engineer tomorrow morning.” “A pleasure meeting you, Wally” offered Leslie in his familiar commanding voice. “I’m looking forward to working with you.” “Likewise,” came my uninspired reply, and after a few more niceties, I returned to my warming martini and cooling wife.
I knew Leslie Nielsen’s face and voice quite well. In fact, I felt like I had known him for most of my life even though we had never met before. Leslie was a successful and critically acclaimed Hollywood actor, and the male lead in one of my favorite movies of all time, a Sci-Fi thriller called “Forbidden Planet.” I had seen the film’s theatrical release twenty-three years earlier. At age eight, it served as my personal introduction to Science Fiction, and by my early thirties I had probably watched the movie twenty times. Leslie’s appearance had not changed dramatically; the difference being more than a few deep lines in his face and a shock of white hair where the dark mane of a young leading man had once resided. As an actor, he exuded sobriety and competence; an aura that had served him well as the commander of a space ship, the captain of the ill-fated Poseidon and scores of other film and TV roles. On this evening, Leslie’s polite and measured moment of banter with me seemed totally in character and almost comforting. He was the still the sober and smooth Commander J.J. Adams who rescued the beautiful Altaira (Anne Francis) and her skimpy futuristic mini-dress from the exploding Altair IV (it would take another dozen years before the fashion statement reached Earth women). Even in my thirties, I wanted to be Leslie Nielson when I grew up.
Above the din, I could hear Nielsen’s dulcet tones call out, “Oh waitress!” The young girl hurried over and shyly asked, “Can I help you, sir?” “Yes,” came the booming reply easily heard through the tiny restaurant; “Do you have anything for… (long, loud fart)… gas?” Leslie’s face remained stoic as the waitress froze in position, her face turning the shade of a rich claret. My wife and I looked up just in time to see the poor girl sprint into the kitchen with the acceleration of a Ferrari 599 GTO! The laughter at the table was spontaneous and boisterous, however, my wife’s rolling eyeballs did not belie her mood, so I wisely allowed my barely muted laughter to implode as we vainly attempted to reestablish some semblance of an intimate dinner for two.
Bruce was the first to show up at the studio the next morning, and he quickly volunteered the story of the entire odyssey of his evening with Leslie. It seems the stoic J.J. Adams/ AKA L.W. Nielsen carried a hand-held fart gag wherever they went, which eventually got them thrown out of each stop on their evening’s rounds. Minutes later, Leslie arrived at the studio and greeted me with the same propriety with which he had shown (me) the night before. “So, I understand you folks had a great time last night,” I said, as “Boom!” went another fart, followed by Leslie’s quick retort, “Yes we did” - with perfect comedic timing in between. The hero of “Forbidden Planet” had become the model of the “Forbidden Prankster.”
At my studio, Leslie’s on-mic performance that day was commanding and flawless and produced award-winning spots. However, his off-mic performance was corrupting and guileless and I thought I’d never again have as much fun in a recording session. A year later, I would be proven wrong.
Over the course of the following year, I had changed jobs and was working at a studio across town. Leslie was back in town to record another series of spots for the same client, and after our camaraderie and successes from the year before, I was flattered to discover that they had sought me out in my new place of business. This time, though, I was prepared. At the end of our session, I asked Leslie if he would mind posing with me in the control room for a few publicity shots. He readily agreed. An inflated Whoopee Cushion (hidden under his seat pillow) awaited his descent, but seconds before he made contact, a loud prolonged fart began to explode in a modulated rhythm as Leslie gradually dropped into his chair. The Whoopee Cushion added no more than a muted exclamation mark to the end of the moist rattle. He got me! Again!!
Three hours and five more award-winning spots later, I accompanied Leslie out to the lobby. It was packed with a few dozen people; string and horn players on an R&B record date, background singers, voice talent and a few advertising agency types. Leslie’s booming voice and familiar face immediately drew everyone’s attention. We shook hands as Leslie said, “Goodbye Wally… (fart)… It was a pleasure working with you, again… (long fart)… I hope we get a chance to work together again… (fart)… soon (long fart)” I responded in my best calm and collected Commander John J. Adams impersonation, “Same here, Leslie, it’s been a real blast.” As Leslie breezed out the door to his waiting limo, he shouted “Goodbyyyyye!!!” as he punctuated his departure with the longest and most musically modulated fart his hand-held gag could accommodate.
The instant audience in the lobby turned a collective and familiar garnet.
A year later, Leslie Nielsen starred in the smash hit parody movie, “Airplane,” and was cast as a parody of – Leslie Nielsen. “Airplane” was soon followed by another hit comedy spoof, “The Naked Gun.” The rest of the world had finally met the late-blooming, gifted, comedic nut job long hidden inside this serious actor, the one who had blessed me with an early glimpse of his other genius.
We bought our movie tickets and were transported back to the 7th grade - and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.