Here's the latest one of these…

Everyone's talking about the tragedy that occurred yesterday. As the L.A. Times reported…

Actor and producer Alec Baldwin fired the prop gun on a New Mexico movie set that killed the director of photography and injured the director, an accident that is renewing questions about safety hazards on film sets.

There's a lot of armchair — make that computer chair — detective work going on from people who are not at the scene, taking testimony from everyone who could have loaded or handled what was supposed to be a "cold" (unloaded) gun. Some folks are asking my opinion and my opinion is that, apart from saying it's a horrible tragedy, I don't have an opinion. I might once those who are actually investigating the matter conclude their investigation.

It might have something to do with the production losing most of its union crew and replacing them with crew members who are less experienced…and it might not. Why don't we wait and see?

Busy today so here's another rerun, this time from January 18, 2014. The only thing that's changed since then is that I no longer occasionally catch a Dodgers game just to marvel at the broadcasting skill of Vin Scully. Since he stepped down, the chances of me watching a Dodgers game — any baseball game, really — are about the same as the chances of me starring as Aspicia, the lead ballerina in a production of The Pharoah's Daughter for the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow. Maybe even a little worse…

As I've written here before, my father hated his job. He hated what it involved doing and he hated the way he was treated in his office — the arguing, the yelling, the jockeying for position, the whole bureaucracy.  He did not respect his superiors; didn't believe that they had gotten to higher positions by being good at what they did so much as by being skilled politicians. They knew, he said, which butts to kiss and when. More importantly, they knew how to make certain that when things went wrong, it was always someone else's fault. Often, it was his, even though he'd followed their orders to the proverbial "T."

He came home each day, frustrated and depressed, gulping Maalox and other unpleasant substances to soothe a savage ulcer that hospitalized him more than once. He loved his home. He loved his wife and son. He loved his chair in the living room and his TV and our cat. The best thing about his job, I'm sure, was that it made all those things he loved possible.

He especially loved his TV when it had a Lakers game on it. I'm sure I disappointed him greatly by being unable to summon the slightest interest in basketball. For a year or two there when I was around eleven, I was sorta/kinda interested in following the Dodgers…but that soon went away. I will follow the Dodgers again when the starting roster once more includes Maury Wills, John Roseboro, Frank Howard, Willie Davis, Duke Snider, Don Drysdale and Sandy Koufax…but not before. Actually, even before those men left the team, I did — and that was the end of any interest in team sports. Every now and then, I'll catch an inning or two of play-by-play described by Vin Scully, not because I care which team wins but because I admire great broadcasting.

My father would have liked sports to be something he could share with his son. He would make futile, doomed-to-fail attempts from time to time to see if an interest in basketball, and especially in the Lakers, could be kickstarted within me. It could not. And to my dying day, I will live with the knowledge that I let him down, at least in that one area. We only had one shared basketball experience. For a time, we bet on the Lakers games.

They were never large bets. My father wouldn't have bet more than five dollars that the Earth revolved around the Sun. But we did bet actual cash-money — a buck or two — on some games.

The Lakers games were broadcast intermittently on KTLA, Channel 5. I guess they were only allowed to show one or two a week and only "away" games. An "away" game played on the East Coast started at 5 PM Los Angeles time but someone at KTLA decided that was too damn early. Too many men weren't home from work by then so they began telecasting the games on a delay, starting them at 6 PM. My father got home from work about 5:45 each day so that was perfect.

Once home, he'd hurry out of his office duds and by six, he'd be in front of the TV and my mother would be setting out his dinner on a TV tray. I would hear him in the living room yelling, "Let's go, Lakers," because for my father, basketball was a participatory experience. He spent the whole game shouting at the TV. Often, he had the family cat on his lap while he did this and you could kinda hear her thinking, "What the heck is he yelling about?"

I'd occasionally wander into the living room and say things like, "Why are you hollering? They're in Boston and your voice only carries as far as St. Louis!" If the game was in commercial, he'd tell me how it was going, knowing full well I didn't know a jump shot from a huddle. (Oh, wait. I don't think they have huddles in basketball, do they? This shows you how much I know about the sport.)

Anyway, there was a simple rule, violations of which would warrant the Death Penalty, when I ventured into the living room during a game: "Don't tell me the current score." I had a TV in my room and if I was watching the news, I could know the score an hour before he did. He was watching a tape delay, remember.

So he'd tell me how the game was going and I'd say, "Would you care to put some money on the outcome?" And this is exactly how it went every time. He'd look at me and say, "I'm not going to bet you. You know what the current score is." I'd say, "Two bucks and you can pick either team."

If we were having this conversation between 6:00 and around 6:45, he might show a bit of interest because he'd figure as follows: The game's not over yet. Mark might know that one team is way ahead but he doesn't yet know for sure who'll win. This would probably not have worked with baseball because baseball games are sometimes so lopsided that by the fourth or fifth inning, you'd never bet on one team, no matter what odds you get. But basketball games are unlikely to be truly "over" by the mid-point…or so he told me.

Still, he'd feel like I was setting him up but would weaken when I would make him this amazing proposition: Three-to-one odds, the team of his choice…and he could switch teams until the last three minutes of the game on his TV. It was one of those offers you can't refuse — he couldn't, at least — and he'd finally say, "Okay, it's a bet. Two dollars and I'll take the Lakers." I'd say fine and extend my hand so we could shake on the wager.

Noting my smirk and instant agreement, he'd say, "No, I want the Celtics. You take the Lakers." I'd again say fine.

Studying my face, he'd say, "No, you want me to pick the Celtics. I'm staying with the Lakers." I'd say fine and we might go around another time or two…or I might repair to my room.

From time to time, I'd pop back out to ask him if he wanted to switch teams and/or raise the stakes. He never did before around 8:00 but after that, he might consider it. After 8:00, he'd figure the game back in Boston was probably over and I'd gotten the final score, either on TV or by tuning it in on the radio. So when I walked in then and said, "You want to change teams?" he'd instantly say no. That would make him think he had the winning team. In fact, he'd grin and say, "Outsmarted yourself this time, didn't you?" I'd say, "No…I just want to make sure you think the bet is fair."

And then I'd ask, "Would you be interested in raising the bet?" That would make him think he had the losing team. Sometimes, at that point, he'd switch. And sometimes when he switched, he'd raise the bet a buck or two…and we might go back and forth a few times before the final buzzer, at which point one of us would pay the other. We did this for most of one season and I'm guessing that by the play-offs — or the World Series or Super Bowl or whatever they have in basketball and yes, I really don't know anything about the sport — we came close to breaking even. At the end, I owed him two dollars which I never got around to paying him. This all probably happened in 1970 or 1971.

In 1991, he was hospitalized by what turned out to be his next-to-last heart attack. The last one, which came a week or so later, took him from me. Between the next-to-last and the last though, we had some very nice visits, all of which I recall verbatim.

I believe he knew, or at least thought likely, that he wasn't leaving that hospital alive. I also believe he was genuinely at peace with that idea. We had no differences between us — it had been at least fifteen years since our last argument of any sort — and he knew that his wife could get by without him. He had left her a solid if unspectacular government pension, full ownership of their home, about ten grand in the bank and very good health insurance. He had also left her me, and he knew I could and would take care of her. So when I went by to see him, we spoke of only good things….because apart from the fact that he was dying, that's all there were.

On one visit, I walked in and he was watching a Lakers game. I immediately asked him if he wanted to make a bet on its outcome: Three-to-one odds, the team of his choice…and he could switch teams until the last three minutes. He laughed and said, "This is not on a tape delay."

I said, "It doesn't matter. All those games where you thought I knew the outcome before you did…I never did."

He asked, with a note of amazement in his voice, "You didn't check the score before you made those bets? You let me go back and forth, trying to guess what you knew that I didn't…and you didn't know anything I didn't?"

"Nothing," I said.

He laughed a little. Then he thought about it and laughed some more. Then he thought about it some more and laughed a lot more. Then he said, "You're going to do just fine, son. By the way, you still owe me two bucks."

Here is why you never want to play poker with Daniel Roy. Or even Old Maid…

Here's another one of those "Have you ever done this?" questionnaires. I covered some of those in a previous one of these but there are some new ones here…

• Been married – Came close three or four times but no.
• Been divorced – Can't get unhitched if you never got hitched.
• Fallen in love – More times than you might imagine. (I assume this refers to falling in love with people as opposed to comic books or good restaurants…)
• Skipped school – Only when told to do so by school officials.
• Had a child – Pretty sure the answer to this is no, but a lady friend with a weird sense of humor once tried to make me think it was imminent.
• Rode in an ambulance – Yes but only to accompany someone in medical need. Some very sad memories there.
• Been to Hawaii – Never left the continent on which I was born.
• Been to Paris – See "Been to Hawaii."
• Been to Las Vegas – Many, many times. I even saw Wayne Newton once back when you really hadn't been to Vegas until you'd seen Wayne Newton. He kissed everyone in my row except me and the only other guy in it.
• Been to Canada – Three times. Really enjoyed two of 'em.
• Been to Italy – See "Been to Hawaii."
• Visited Mexico – Driven right up to the border but never gone beyond.
• Swam in the Pacific – Yes. If you can call what I did "swimming."
• Swam in the Caribbean – See "Been to Hawaii."
• Swam in the Atlantic – Nope. As a Californian, I believe in being Ocean Loyal.
• Been to New Zealand – See "Been to Hawaii." I really have no desire to see the world or to sit on an airplane for longer than the flight time to New York.
• Been to Australia – It's sixteen hours. Pass.
• Been to Tahiti – As you may have figured out by now, I am not well-traveled.
• Flown in a helicopter – No. I was supposed to once but it got canceled due to bad weather.
• Been on a cruise – Nope. And can't think of too many things I less want to do.
• Gone camping – Nope. And that's one of the things I less want to do.
• Served on a jury – Served jury duty several times but never got close to being a juror.
• Danced in the rain – Very little movement in my life could be accurately described as "dancing" and it was all indoors.
• Been to California – From the moment I was born here.
• Been to New York – Many, many times. One of the few things I would have liked to do since COVID entered our lives but couldn't do because COVID entered our lives was go to New York. Also, I can get there in the time it takes to fly to New York.
• Sang karaoke – No and I think those who might have been around me if I had should be more grateful.
• Been on TV – Yes. Sometimes reluctantly. I always feel like there are people who belong there more than I do.
• Had a grandchild – I am even surer I have not had a grandchild than I am that I've never had a child.
• Had a pet(s) – One cat, several parakeets, a whole mess of goldfish and frogs when I was quite young and also, if you count feral cats fed in my backyard, a lot of those. Also, I have a blog — which at times can feel like the same thing. You need to check on it all the time, you need to feed it, etc.
• Been downhill skiing – No. And you didn't ask about ice skating. I haven't done that either. Or roller skating. Or anything with a toboggan or a snowmobile or water skiing or hang gliding or anything like that.
• Been water skiing – You're not paying attention. I just answered this question.
• Rode on a motorcycle – Never even ridden a bicycle with less than three wheels. And even then, I sometimes fell over.
• Jumped out of a plane – Nope. I used to think that was one of those "Are you crazy?" activities but if I was younger and if a video like the one of James Corden doing it was around then, I might have considered it…emphasis on the "might."
• Been to a drive-in movie – Yes but not in the last fifty years. I'm not even sure where I'd find one these days. I haven't looked because I recall it as the absolute worst way possible to see a movie.
• Rode an elephant – No. I once had the associate producer of a TV show I was writing rent one just because I wanted to see if he'd actually do it. He did it so we had to write it into the show and they brought it to the set but it wasn't a riding elephant. It was mainly a defecating elephant.
• Rode a horse – No unless you count merry-go-rounds.
• Donated blood – Yes but they don't seem to want mine unless it's to put back into me when I've had surgery.
• Got a piercing – Can't even stand to look at them.
• Got a tattoo – Can't even stand to look at them.
• Driven a stick shift vehicle – Never. Someone tried to teach me once and it instantly struck me as high on the list of Things I Dont Need To Know, right behind changing a diaper, using an abacus and milking a goat.
• Been scuba diving – Sort of but not really. What I did was scuba diving the same way microwaving a Hot Pocket is cooking.
• Lived on your own – Yes, a lot. I like it as long as it isn't because no one wants to be around me, even occasionally.
• Been in a limousine – Yes. And I recall much disappointment among onlookers who gathered around when mine pulled up and then I got out. You could hear them muttering, "Aw, I thought it might be somebody."
• Got a speeding ticket – No. I did get a ticket once for driving too slowly on the freeway. It was given to me by an officer who thought I should have been more reckless weaving through heavy traffic.
• Broken a bone – A couple of toes in recent years and a chipped cartilage thing in my right elbow when I was in Junior High.
• Had stitches – A few times but nothing major. An appendix…my knee replacement…having wisdom teeth extracted…
• Traveled alone – Yep. If the trip's for business, that's what I like because that way, you just take care of the business and go home.
• Graduated from University – No. I quit U.C.L.A. before I got any kind of degree and I have only regretted that I didn't do it sooner.
• Owned a company – I had a personal loan-out corporation back when there were tax advantages to that but really no. I find being a person easier.
• Retired – No. And while I might someday do so in a "start collecting on your pension plan" sense, I will stop writing when I stop breathing. In fact, I sometimes get those activities confused.

The chatter about who should host Jeopardy! — and the amazing run by Matt Amodio — got me to watch the show again a few times and I had a few thoughts about it…

1. Mayim Bialik is fine as the host.  Lots of people would have been fine.  The guy they gave it to — Mike Richards — was on the low end of "fine." I dunno if they've decided to give Ms. Bialik the permanent job if/when her other gig ends but what we've learned from this is that it doesn't really matter very much who hosts it. The show is about the game itself and the contestants — in that order.
2. The show is kinda boring when one contestant's running away with it. If we go into Final Jeopardy! and I have $20,000 and my opponents each have $4000, the only way I won't win is if I'm stupid enough to wager more than $11,999.00. And if I'm smart enough to be that far ahead, I'm smart enough not to do that. The end of the show was usually anti-climactic with Amodio way out in front and it's the same way with the new ongoing champion, Jonathan Fisher.
3. Since everything in the world now has to be a "they're not telling you the truth" conspiracy theory, folks are saying Amodio threw the game in which he lost. My pal Paul Harris explains why that's ridiculous.
4. And Paul doesn't mention another possible explanation for why Amodio lost when he did. Maybe the two other players that day — Fisher and Jessica Stephens — were just plain better at the game than he was.

I can feel my interest in the show ebbing again and I probably won't watch it much in the coming weeks. But there's one nice thing about Jeopardy!: It ain't going anywhere. It will always be there when I do feel like tuning in.

That's Jack Angel the way he was usually seen: With a microphone in front of his face. Jack was a lovely man with a magical voice that was heard in hundreds of movies, TV shows, commercials, promos, cartoons, video games…you name it. He was a popular disc jockey in Los Angeles for eighteen years and one of the main promo announcers on NBC for ten. He worked for Disney, Pixar, Marvel, Warner Brothers, Sony…everyone.

When I had him on one of my Cartoon Voices panels at Comic-Con International, the crowd gasped to hear that he'd played several major roles on The Transformers, G.I. Joe and Super Friends…just three of perhaps two hundred cartoon shows where he was heard. He was even the voice of Smokey the Bear for many years.

I could just list all the things Jack was in or I could send you to his IMDB listing which probably covers about 20% of all the jobs he had. Just that 20% will stagger you. And like I said, he was a great guy. Condolences to his wife and agent, Arlene Thornton. He died yesterday at the age of 90.

It's Charlie Frye doing the kind of things Charlie Frye does…

The house I grew up in and the house Betty Lynn lived in next door were a few blocks from the Twentieth-Century Fox movie studio in West Los Angeles. The houses are still there. Other people just live in them now and the studio has dropped the "Fox" from its name.

I don't know what prompted my folks to select the home they purchased in 1953 — probably just that it was the right size and the right price — but I know why the Lynns lived where they did. Betty had moved to L.A. under contract to Fox and for a while, made most of her films there.

My earliest memories of our neighbors were of Betty, her mother and her grandfather George. Everyone called the grandfather "Mr. Lynn" and he was a sweet old guy who was always building or fixing something in a two-car garage in their backyard that was so full of stuff, there was no room for one car in it, let alone two. One time, a toy of mine broke and Mr. Lynn applied some glue to the pieces and locked the assemblage into a clamp on his work table for few hours…and, lo and behold, it was good as new.

I also remember when he died. I was around nine and it was the first time someone I knew — a real person, not a character on TV or in a comic book — died. Or maybe it was the first time it happened when I was old enough to understand. I remember crying and Betty — who done a lot of crying herself that day — held me and she started crying again and we cried together for a while. She told me it was okay to cry but you had to stop at some point. We talked about that moment in later years and she told me I'd said, "I'll stop if you will" and she thought that was so funny.

Betty and her mother were both named Elizabeth but everyone called Betty "Betty" and everyone called her mother "Boo." Boo was like Betty — pure niceness with love for everyone and everything. The character of Edith Bunker on All in the Family reminded me of Boo because both were always so cheery but both could be a bit absent-minded at times.

Betty and Boo were both devout members of St. Timothy's, a Roman Catholic parish about three blocks from where we lived. I wrote in a piece here some time ago about how my family knew people who disapproved of my father (Jewish) and my mother (Catholic but non-practicing) not rearing their only child to be particularly either. Betty and Boo were not among those who felt that way. Would that all people of diverse faiths got along as harmoniously as the Lynns and the Evaniers.

The Lynns had a Christmas Day ritual. They'd rise bright and early and walk down to St. Timothy's for services. Then they'd return home in time to welcome a guest into their house. Each year, they would invite some friend Betty had made in the movie business over for drinks and conversation in their living room. At some point during that afternoon, Betty or Boo would phone us and say, "Could you send Mark over? We have a gift for you and there's someone here we think he'd like to meet." I would take the present we had for the Lynns over and accept their gift for us and they'd introduce me to —

— well, I may have the order wrong and I can't recall the names of at least two of them but I remember three: Roddy McDowall, Fred MacMurray and Bette Davis. I think the others might have included Jeanne Crain and/or Maureen O'Hara but I was very young and my knowledge of old movies — though more thorough than most kids my age — was somewhat spotty. Whoever else I met there, I really didn't know what they'd done except be in movies I hadn't seen.

I knew Fred MacMurray because of My Three Sons and a Disney flick or two. I do not know now how I knew who Bette Davis and Roddy McDowall were but I did. I also don't know how Betty knew Roddy McDowall because I don't think they were ever in a film together. I have the vague notion that they'd made some personal appearances together for charity events.

Whatever, I remember him sitting in the Lynns' living room, talking about appearing in the original production of Camelot on Broadway. He left that show in September of 1961 so this was probably the following Christmas when I was nine. I'm going to guess Mr. MacMurray was 1962 and Ms. Davis was 1963. I definitely saw The Parent Trap when it came out in Summer of 1961 so I would have known who Maureen O'Hara was if I'd met her after that.

I did not have in-depth interviews with any of these stars. That wasn't why I was summoned. Betty and Boo knew I was interested in show business and movies, and they just wanted to give me the thrill of meeting them…and maybe it would please their guests to meet a kid who was so impressed to meet them. That was the only thing the Lynns were about: The happiness of others.

One of the few facts I knew about Bette Davis then was that impressionists would imitate her by saying "What a dump," which was a line she uttered in the film, Beyond the Forest. I never saw Beyond the Forest — and never even knew what film that line was from until I just looked it up on Google — but that Christmas afternoon in (maybe) 1963, I actually thought of asking Ms. Davis, "Would you come next door, look at my bedroom and say, 'What a dump"?"

I didn't say it and I still regret that because I now think Bette Davis would have told that story on every talk show she appeared on for the rest of her life. But I was afraid it would somehow upset or embarrass Betty and Boo, two people I never would have wanted to hurt in any way.

The main thing I took away from these encounters was the close camaraderie between Betty and these movie stars. Apart from her appearing now and then on My Three Sons as Fred MacMurray's secretary, she wasn't working with these stars but there was a strong bond. They spent part of Christmas Day together and that's not something people like that did with people they did not consider, in some sense, family. She was not a big star but that didn't matter to her and it didn't seem to matter to other actors. She was one of them.

Most of you, of course, know Betty best as Barney Fife's girl friend, Thelma Lou. That was only one of many things she did in her career but of course, that's the way it works in show business. You can play hundreds of roles but you're only remembered for a few…and that's if you're lucky. Betty was fortunate that the main thing she was known for became such an important part of so many lives. There are cities in this country that rerun that program eight or more times a day.

Just before he passed away, I worked with the actor Roger C. Carmel, who told us that the following weekend, he was going to be appearing at a Star Trek convention in, I believe, Seattle. He had done dozens and dozens of roles in movies and TV and had been on darn near every series of the sixties — Route 66, Naked City, The Man From U.N.C.L.E., The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Munsters, et al — and those residuals had all either run out or the checks wouldn't cover the price of a Snickers bar. But he was remembered. He had people clamoring for his autograph and he was getting a guarantee of $25,000 (minimum) for one weekend because many years before, he'd worked three days on one episode of Star Trek and three more days on another…probably for scale.

Betty was on 26 episodes of The Andy Griffith Show. Before she was cast as Thelma Lou, she was up for a regular role on The Danny Thomas Show, which was done by the same company and was, when they were both on CBS, about equally popular. It was on that network longer but its reruns aren't even close to being as beloved or remembered or rerun. If Betty had been on Danny's show, the last few decades of her life would have been very different — nowhere near as much attention, fame or money.

In her retirement years, she had the honor/thrill — it was probably a lot of both — of representing the much-loved Griffith series and giving so many of its fans the memorable moment of meeting Thelma Lou. I witnessed several such moments at autograph shows in L.A. and two years ago in Mt. Airy where she'd relocated, the following happened…

I was pushing Betty in her wheelchair into The Andy Griffith Museum. It was a Monday and she usually appeared there to meet her fans every second or third Friday…but I was visiting her on Monday and she wanted me to see the place so I drove us over. As we were heading in, a family was heading out: A father, a mother and two daughters around, I'm guessing, ages nine and eleven. We passed them and the father saw us, recognized Betty and ran over to me…

"That's Betty Lynn, right?" I nodded yes. He said, approximately, "My family and I…we come here every year on my vacation. We drive hundreds of miles but we never got to meet her because I can never get Friday off from my job. We've never been able to meet Ms. Lynn…"

I checked with Betty but I knew what she would say. Of course, she would be pleased to meet them. She was pleased to meet everyone. The man fetched the rest of his family and they talked with Betty for five or ten minutes that I'm sure none of them will ever forget.

It was not just a matter of meeting someone they'd seen on TV. The show was almost sacred to them and the parents were using certain of its episodes to teach basic morality and manners to their daughters. The show represented "good, old-fashioned American values" to them and while many of us could discuss how real and all-encompassing those values were, that's what it meant to that family.

And yes, it did dawn on me at that moment that one reason Betty was so good at speaking for the show was that she was devoid of meanness or selfishness or greed or any of the sins that never lasted very long in Mayberry. She urged those two young women to work hard in school and live exemplary lives…

…and I don't know if they will or they won't but at that moment, they sure took Betty seriously and promised her they'd try. I don't think anyone who was on The Danny Thomas Show had that impact on anyone. Betty had those encounters everywhere she went.

The family left, we toured the museum, I took her to dinner and eventually, we were back at the Assisted Living home where she lived…where she was treated very, very well by the staff. You couldn't not love this woman.

When it came time for me to go, she insisted on getting to her feet for hugging purposes and we kissed like you kiss a relative you treasure dearly. We were both aware this might be the last time we would ever see each other and we were both crying. That is, until Betty made me laugh by saying, "I'll stop if you will."

If this story warms you in any way, think back over your life. The answer may well be "no" but ask yourself if there's anyone you ever loved who's still around and you need to connect with them before they're not. Don't endanger their health or your health but if it's possible to let them know what they mean to you, do it. And not just for their sake but for yours.

Fred Kaplan on the life and times of Colin Powell…a man who changed history but not nearly enough.

I'm not following the news much these days. I have writing to do and it goes slower when my blood pressure's up. I especially don't want to waste any of my life (and elevate said blood pressure) by stressing over elections far in the future. It may be effective clickbait but many things will happen — including the selection of candidates and us voting — before any party will have a lock on '22, let alone '24.

But I do enjoy Jordan Klepper and his great talent for finding people who don't know better than to talk to Jordan Klepper…

This column ran here on August 27, 2013. It drew a lot of mail from folks who had been thinking, as I had when both my parents were alive, "I hope they die in the right order." I heard from another batch of people when I raised that matter with regard to Jack and Roz Kirby in my first book about Jack. (Another is coming, though currently roadblocked by a matter I'm not able to discuss.) Jack and Roz died in "the right order" as did my parents…

From the day my parents married in March of 1951 until the day my father died in March of 1991, they were darn near inseparable. Oh, he went to work every day and she had some part-time jobs — but every night with very few exceptions, they were together.

Twice after they were wed, my mother felt it was necessary to go east on family-type business. My father had bad memories of Hartford and no desire to accompany her back there so he didn't go either time. There were also occasional periods when one or the other was hospitalized for some reason — like when he had a bleeding ulcer or when she had me. But apart from those instances, they ate together and slept together every night.

My father came from a big family and lived with brothers and/or sisters until the day he moved to Los Angeles to find a job and an apartment to rent. Once he had both, he sent for my mother, she flew out and they drove to Las Vegas and got married. The weeks it took him to get set up in L.A. constituted the only period in his life when he truly lived alone.

He hated it. And once he and my mother had a home together, he hated the very occasional nights when she'd be away or in the hospital. He hated the empty house. He hated the empty bed. He didn't know how to cook or clean so that made things more difficult. Putting my father in the kitchen and expecting food preparation to result was like putting an otter in a hospital operating room and expecting successful open heart surgery. I would have bet money on the otter before I wagered hard cash on Dad assembling a grilled cheese sandwich.

The first time my mother went back to Hartford, I was nine or ten and I went with her. Cleaning out my mother's house last year, I came across letters they exchanged during that ten-day period. My father's were all about him going out of his mind, not being able to find anything, not being able to sleep, etc. My mother's were all about reassuring him we'd be home soon. She had made the bed in layers, bottom sheet over bottom sheet over bottom sheet. Every few days, he just had to peel off the top bottom sheet and there'd be a clean one under it to sleep on. He was somehow unable to do this.

The second time she went back, I didn't go. I was about twenty-six then and it was after I'd moved out of their house. My father was panicked at the thought of being without her for, I believe, five whole nights. He asked if maybe I could sleep at the house those nights so he wouldn't be all alone there.

I wasn't wild about that idea and when I talked about it with my mother, she wasn't, either. It was, after all, within the realm of possibility that she might predecease him in this world. As they got older, it was also likely that she would be hospitalized for longer periods or have to go back to Hartford a few more times. "He's got to learn that it's not the end of the world to be alone in a house for a few nights," she said and I agreed. My father then asked, well, could I at least have dinner with him every night? Even as he asked that, I was hatching a plan. It began with me telling him, as I did, "If I'm free, I'll give you a call."

The first evening my mother was away was a Monday and I didn't call him. Instead, I figured out where he'd be eating and when. That was not as difficult as it might seem. My father's two favorite restaurants‚ the places he ate when he went out to lunch or he and I went out to dinner‚ were Nate 'n Al's Delicatessen in Beverly Hills and Clifton's Cafeteria over in Century City. He loved the pea soup they served on Tuesdays at Nate 'n Al's so I figured he'd do Clifton's on Monday, Nate 'n Al's on Tuesday. As for the precise suppertime itself, that was simple. My father always wanted to eat dinner at 5:30.

So I went over to Century City and found a bench near Clifton's. I got there about 5:10 and watched the door until around 5:25 when, sure enough, I saw my father walk up and go in. He didn't see me — so I went in and got into the cafeteria line right behind him, unnoticed for about two minutes until I did the following. We were halfway through the serving area, loading delicacies onto our respective trays, when I finally leaned over and asked him to pass me a plate of the steamed carrots. He handed one to me, realized it was me and did a "take" that would have been considered overacting in a Tex Avery cartoon.

He was so glad to see me — gladder than if we'd made a date to meet there. We dined together and talked for a long time‚ until I told him I had to get home and finish a script. He started to ask if he could come over and sit in my living room and watch TV while I worked — but he stopped himself. Before I could even reply, he said, "No, I have to go home and face it. It's just an empty house. I can get through this week." He did ask if we could have dinner again the next night and I told him, "If I'm free, I'll give you a call."

The next day when I hadn't called, he figured, "Well, I guess the boy's too busy." He drove over to Nate 'n Al's, walked in — and there was "the boy" sitting at a table for two, waiting for him. He laughed, sat down and said, "I'll bet you won't be able to figure out where I'm going to eat tomorrow night." I said, "I already have. You're going to go back to Clifton's and you're going to eat the exact same meal you ate last night."

Again, he laughed. Then he said with a big grin, "Okay, Mr. Detective. I'm not going to eat at Clifton's and I'm not going to eat here. I dare you to figure out where I'll be and meet me there." I accepted the challenge and I thought it was a good sign. Instead of being afraid to be without me, he was now half-hoping I wouldn't be there when he walked into wherever he chose to dine. It was kind of a win/win. He'd win if he outsmarted me and he'd win if he got to eat with me again.

I spent much of that evening and the next day trying to figure out where he'd eat. He wasn't going to go somewhere he'd never eaten before because that would have ruined the game for both of us. It had to be a place that I could have guessed but didn't. The trouble was that after I eliminated Clifton's and Nate 'n Al's from consideration, no other eateries stood out. I could think of about six possibles but no probables. There was a great Chinese restaurant where he often lunched with his best friend from the office but I decided he wouldn't go Chinese on me. What he liked about Chinese food was ordering several dishes with someone else and sharing. You can't share when you're dining alone.

Finally, I did what you would have done. I cheated. I drove over to his house around 4:30 and parked halfway down the block. When he came out and got in his car, I followed him at a safe distance. I followed him long enough to realize his destination was Junior's Delicatessen over on Westwood Boulevard. Then I turned down another street, took a shortcut and got there before him. I had the advantage because I had the ability to valet-park. My father, having been reared in the Depression, would park three blocks away and walk rather than pay some kid to park his car.

So when he walked into Junior's, he found me sitting in the waiting area, reading a newspaper. I looked up from it and asked, "What kept you?" He was delighted. Absolutely delighted.

Over dinner, I told him, "I won't be able to join you tomorrow night. I have a network meeting I can't get out of. So it's okay. You can go back to Clifton's or Nate 'n Al's." He smiled and said, "I'll be fine. It's not as scary being without your mother as I thought it would be." God, was I happy to hear him say that.

The next day, my network meeting was canceled and for about two minutes, I thought about going over to Clifton's, where I knew he'd be and surprising him again. I didn't for two reasons, one being that I realized it would be good for him to eat by himself that night. He was a very good man, as he proved time and again throughout our lives together. He knew it was a fear he had to overcome and he was overcoming it as much as he could.

They may not ever speak it aloud but with a couple that has a good shot at enduring "'til death do us part," there's always this concern about who's going to part first and how the other one will manage. That is, assuming they can manage. My father had long worried about what would happen if my mother died before he did. That didn't happen — by a wide margin. He died in 1991 and she lived another 22 years after that. He could never have lived 22 years without her. I'm not sure he could have lived 22 months. But after those five days she was off in Hartford, I think he was bit less worried that, should it come to that, he couldn't have lived 22 minutes without her.

So that was one reason I didn't go to Clifton's Cafeteria the next night. The other was that my father could be very smart at times — smarter than anyone expected. I had this feeling he just might double-cross me and go to Nate 'n Al's.

Colin Powell, the former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff who served as the first Black U.S. Secretary of State, has died from complications from COVID-19. Many people lost respect for this man when he promoted what turned out to be faulty intelligence to plunge this country into war. Unlike a lot of those who did that, Powell had the strength of character to admit the error. It would be better to remember him for statements like this…

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