Robert Lansing became so ill with problems he'd been battling
for years that he was about to become unable to do the show. The writers were going to kill the character off but I talked
them out of that. Robert felt he would rally and come back. I didn't want us to throw a wet blanket on that hope.
We gave him a big send off. One of the best roles he'd ever
had. It all took place in the freezing snow and was pretty physical. Robert came through like a trooper.
I'd never really gotten to know him. During his show, we got
to work together at length. I decided I really liked him.
A few months later, I went to New York to visit him at
the hospital. I took Patrick Culliton along for moral support. There's no way I could have brought it off alone. After a Mack
Sennett comedy, LOST IN THE BRONX, we walked to Robert's room. There in the bed was what looked like a corpse, his
eyes rolled up in his head, his skin the translucent alabaster of an angel. I kissed him on the forehead and he opened his
eyes. Quickly, the corpse look was put aside and there was Robert Lansing. We talked for about an hour. At one point, Patrick
had to leave the room to hide his tears.
He gave us an acting lesson, taught us a magic trick, and dispensed
some philosophy.
He said, "You know, I don't mind dying. The thing that pisses
me off is that I won't get to be an old man. I was looking forward to that. I wanted to be that cranky old guy that stands
on his porch and yells at the neighborhood kids, 'Get the hell away from my apples!' And now, I won't get to do that."
Finally, he said, "Boys, I think I have to rest now." Outside
in the hall, I had my cry. Patrick and I went to an Irish bar and tossed a few for the man. He was dead a week or so later.
