As I mentioned here yesterday, I really have only one great memory of riding public buses. This, folks, is it…
It was an afternoon around early 1970. I was on a bus going from Hollywood to West Los Angeles and a man got on…an older man, about in his mid-seventies and somewhat overweight. He seemed so familiar that I stared at him until I realized that he seemed to be Billy Gilbert.
Billy Gilbert was a great character actor who worked, usually in support, of most of the great film comedians. He was in a lot of Laurel and Hardy movies, including their most famous short, The Music Box. (He was the professor who hates pianos.) He worked with Keaton. He worked with Fields. He worked with Chaplin. He worked with Moe, Larry and Curly…and then later, he was teamed in a few films with Shemp Howard. That's him with Shemp in the picture above.
He even did voices for Mr. Disney, including Sneezy in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Oh — and he worked with the Marx Brothers. He was in A Night at the Opera. He played (without credit at the time) the musician who tries to stop Harpo and Chico from playing "Cosi Cosa" on the ship's deck. That's Billy on the left here…
In other words, this was a man who was involved in a lot of movie history, particularly in the kind of movies I most enjoy. I said to myself, "Self, you can't miss this opportunity to say hello to him," and then I hesitated. I thought it was Billy Gilbert but I wasn't 100% sure it was Billy Gilbert. But he sure looked like Billy Gilbert, at least the way Billy Gilbert had looked on a recent TV appearance.
Then I heard another passenger (an older woman) lean over and say to him, "They ran that movie last night…the one you did with Alice Faye."
Okay, so it was Billy Gilbert. I slipped over into a seat nearer to him and said, "Mr. Gilbert?" He gave me a startled look that would not have been out of place in a Three Stooges comedy.
I said, "I don't mean to bother you but I'm an enormous fan of your work and I just wanted to tell you how terrific you always are."
He seemed puzzled and I guess it was because of my age. I was 19, remember, so I probably looked like a child to him. He said, "Thank you," then quickly added, "Do you really know who I am?"
I said, "Yes" and then I ticked off a brief list of his credits from memory. It seemed to satisfy him that I knew who he was. He seemed pleased and that, of course, pleased me. Because everything he'd done on film had pleased me and I figured I was returning the favor, just a little.
Just then, he said, "My stop's coming up" and he asked me to pull the little cord that buzzed to inform the driver that someone wanted off. I did, when the bus stopped a few seconds later, I helped him out of his seat and to the door. He shook my hand, thanked me and semi-stumbled down to the curb.
I don't know why but it didn't occur to me to get off with him. Maybe I could have walked him to wherever he was going and we could have talked a bit more. Just didn't think of it.
That was the only time I ever saw him. And it was my favorite moment that ever occurred on a bus. As favorite moments on buses go, it was a pretty good one.