20 Questions: Ed Begley, Jr.

Ed Begley, Jr., is arguably the hippest guy in series television. For five seasons, he has expertly portrayed the toadying sexist-clown resident Dr. Victor "You're a pig!" Ehrlich on NBC-TV's distinguished hospital-vérité series, "St. Elsewhere," garnering four Emmy nominations for himself along the way. The son of the legendary angry actor for whom he is named, Begley has become king of the comic-cameo film appearance and shortly will be "seen" as the son of the invisible man in the forthcoming John Landis production "Amazon Women on the Moon." He has the slipperiest sibilant S in show business and swears that his hair has never been bleached.

Bill Zehme followed Begley home from work one night to his cozy pied-à-terre in North Hollywood (the main casa Begley is an Ojai ranch) and rolled tape. Zehme recalls, "Ed drives 20 miles over the speed limit and speaks about as fast. But he's disarmingly candid. For our conversation, he flung himself onto an authentic psychiatrist's couch and instructed me to pull up a chair. 'I felt it would be appropriate,' he explained. It was."

1.

[Q] Playboy: Would you entrust your life to Dr. Ehrlich?

[A] Begley: Never. That may be an unfair reaction to problems he has that are not related to his medical knowledge. He's actually a good surgeon. But he has this fey attitude that seems to interfere. I suspect people like that, people who have this wild card in their deck. You never know when it's going to come up. Fifty-one times you're gonna be fine, but that 52nd time--bingo. Suddenly, he's stitching your pancreas to your lower lip. It doesn't appeal to me.

2.

[Q] Playboy: How's your bedside manner?

[A] Begley: Clumsy. I am as square and provincial a character as you might imagine--not an adventurous soul in the sexual arena. My sex drive was stymied early on by the whole Catholic routine. I was an altar boy. I mean, I never even masturbated until I was 16. I didn't have sex until I was nearly 21, which is pretty late for getting laid. And that was virtually laid at my doorstep, if you will.

The miracle was that my first experience also happened to be my first and only time with two women. Do you want to hear this? I had an apartment right across from Valley College out here, where I was studying theater. This cute girl I knew had left home, so I invited her to move in with me. I had visions, of course, of consummating my great affection for her, but she was resistant. Having never been any sort of Lothario, I didn't push it. She wasn't granting sexual favors and, after a few weeks, resentments built and she finally moved out. Later, I learned she was mostly interested in girls, so my ego wasn't quite as bruised.

Flash forward a couple of years: We became friends again. One day, she came over with a girlfriend who was even cuter than she was. And, unless I was misreading the situation, this girl was really making eyes at me. She seemed to like guys. Well, we began to drink and, at some point, they seduced me. It was a wonderful time. Although, to this day, I find myself having my hands full with just one woman. I'm not so arrogant as to think I could entertain large groups of people in the old sackeroo.

3.

[Q] Playboy: You're a survivalist; give us your shopping list for the apocalypse.

[A] Begley: I used to be extreme about it. I'm not psychic, but I have had one vision in my life--that Los Angeles would fall into the sea in 1971. My vision came on January 21 and the big earthquake actually hit on February ninth. It was dangerously close. I went up into the Rocky Mountains to wait it out and stayed quite a while.

For years, I had a survival jeep in which I carried around 50 pounds of brown rice, water, a tent, a shovel, a saw, seeds for planting. I figured I could live on the rice until vegetable-growing season. Even now, I fill up my glove compartment with a snake-bite kit, a sewing kit, miniature tool sets. I love stuff like that. All sorts of craziness. I'm a sick dude.

4.

[Q] Playboy: Since we're on the subject of compulsive behavior, burden us with the shame of being a neatnik. Is it true you actually arrange your pocket money numerically?

[A] Begley: [Sighs] Compulsive neatening and straightening is a tough cross to bear. I used to be pretty bad. In the Sixties, I had a series of apartments that were very comfortable for me but nobody else. They smelled of Lysol. You had to remove your shoes upon entering--a nice Oriental custom, but it made people self-conscious about their socks. If somebody was using an ashtray, I'd clean it out and put the matches back in it--while the person was still smoking. When I was a total vegetarian, I made dinner parties very tense. I asked questions like "Is there any chicken broth in this soup?" "Were those vegetables on the same plate as the turkey?" "Are there eggs in that salad?" I've cut that out, but there's still a limit. I don't care how long anybody fusses over chorizo, I'm not gonna eat a plate of steaming entrails.

And, yes, it's true: I've held on to the habit of numerically arranging my pocket money. It has a slight practical application, I suppose. If I need a 20, for instance, I know right where to look. Also, I usually know how much I have on me, within a few dollars. Right now, I probably have about $190. [Checks pocket] Well, I've got $226--way off. But it's some sort of security. I've never understood people who claim to have misplaced their money or car keys. I always know exactly where my money and car keys are--in my right pocket. I'd say I've lost my keys twice in 20 years. No bullshit. I'm a maniac, but it makes for good copy.

5.

[Q] Playboy: You once found a garbage bag containing a dismembered human body behind your home--which sounds like a fastidious guy's idea of a religious experience. What happened?

[A] Begley: I had a little house in Studio City that shared an alley with a motel. A woman who worked at the motel knocked on my door one day and said, "I think your cat crawled under your house and died, because there's a terrible smell." Well, my cat was very much alive, but she wasn't kidding about the smell. I thought it was a rat, maybe. We went out back, poking through the trash cans to find its carcass, and we came upon these bags stuffed with bloody sheets. So I thought, Oh, my God, somebody killed a pet!

Later on, some cops showed up, wondering if I'd seen anything suspicious. The smell was now overwhelming. I said, "What's this about?" They tried to keep me from looking over the back fence, but I saw about four unmarked cars, five squad cars, ten police photographers, a whole crowd in the alley. They had assembled on the ground this stuff, and, still, I swear to you, I didn't get it. I said, "What is that? It looks like a hassock or a saddle or...a torso!"

Strangely enough, I never felt for a minute I was a suspect. I guess it would be pretty lame to kill somebody and put her in your trash can. (continued on page 144)Ed Begley, Jr.(continued from page 131)

6.

[Q] Playboy: Defend game shows.

[A] Begley: I love 'em. I've been a celebrity contestant on all of them: $25,000 Pyramid, Wheel of Fortune, Body Language, Hollywood Squares Match Game Hour, Tattle Tales. I've been giving it a rest lately, not that I feel aloof. Quite the opposite. My friend Dabney Coleman told me a couple years ago to stop doing them. I said, "But, Dabney, I really enjoy them. I mean, I'd pay them to let me play the games!" So he said, OK, play them. But six months ago, again, he told me, "I don't care if you like them; stop it! People don't think of you as an actor if you're doing game shows." That's very unfortunate; you should be able to do what you want, but it doesn't seem to work that way. Those shows, for me, are a great rush. My biggest regret is having to give up the Pyramid. It's the best game around.

7.

Playboy: Your first acting job was a role on My Three Sons. What's something only a 17-year-old would observe about Fred MacMurray?

[A] Begley: I seem to remember he packed a sack lunch. He wouldn't go eat at the commissary. I thought it unusual. I don't know if it was a dietary or a financial consideration. Well, actually, it must have been dietary, because he could certainly afford to eat Van Nuys for lunch if he wanted. He once owned a portion of what's now Century City, I think. He's a very nice guy.

On the show, though, I played a friend of Chip's who tricked him into dating a girl with a broken leg. I was a shyster. But what I remember best was the excitement of finally getting to act. I had a great attraction to the trappings of it: you know, standing in front of the camera, under the lights, with the make-up on. In fact, I left my make-up on when I went on my paper route that afternoon, hoping that somebody would notice and ask me about it. I had always been very pale, so I liked the way it looked. Gave me a little sheen, a little color. I'm not exactly a tanned individual, even today.

8.

[Q] Playboy: Assemble a random retrospective, with running commentary, of your most forgettable cameo roles in television and film.

[A] Begley: Got a week? I've done little parts in maybe 40 movies and about 100 television jobs before St. Elsewhere. In This Is Spinal Tap, I played the drummer who died in a bizarre gardening accident. Total screen time of about a minute. My arm was yanked off in Cat People. I was killed by a frying pan in Eating Raoul. I was a C.B. priest in Citizens Band. My meatiest film role was in Transylvania 6-5000; unfortunately, the meat was chuck roast. I belonged to a club that was hazing Potsie and Ralph Malph on Happy Days until the Fonz exposed us. On Room 222, I was usually the gangly basketball player, Stretch Webster. On The Doris Day Show, I played the mail-room boy who tried to impress everybody with his beard, only you couldn't see it. My voice was in Ordinary People, during the flashback scene where they're putting Timothy Hutton into the ambulance. When somebody yells, "Watch your backs!"--that's me.

Oh, and let's not forget my Disney years. I made a lot of those Kurt Russell movies: The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes, Now You See Him, Now You Don't, Superdad, and so on. Thinking back, I don't know if they wanted to hire me as much as they did my glasses. I had these unusual sort of geeky-looking glasses then. These weren't props that I kept in a drawer somewhere; they were my street glasses. Whenever the casting guy from Disney would call, he'd say, "You're bringing the glasses, right? Don't forget the glasses."

9.

[Q] Playboy: Compare Ed Begley, Sr., with Ed Begley, Jr.

[A] Begley: I promised myself that I would never be anything like him, typical of father-son relationships. He died right after my teen years, but we had some good times together before he passed away, thank God. Still, a lot of the tone of our relationship remains, and this is the area in which I'm exactly like him. For instance, he had a short temper about things around the house, which he used sarcasm to deal with. I developed that myself, though I've tried to eliminate it. Rather than say, "Listen, would you please water the lawn?" the approach was, "Eddie, I don't want you watering that lawn! Sit down here. You've had a hard day watching TV, damn it!" I don't know that this is the best way to motivate your kids.

On camera, of course, he was considered one of the great angry actors. But right up to the moment they'd start rolling, he was the nicest guy on the set. He got along with all the Teamsters, the electricians, the grips. I fancy myself that way as well. Also, he had a very quick gait. He would move from point A to point B at great speed. As a kid, I thought that was the way you walked. And I have longer legs. So when I go to the corner store, I really boogie.

10.

[Q] Playboy: Is it true that you broke your father's Oscar?

[A] Begley: My father had won the supporting-actor Oscar in 1962 for Sweet Bird of Youth, and whenever we went on vacations, he took it with him. He had a little velvet sheath to cover it and he carried it in the back of the car. People would ask to have their pictures taken with him and he'd get out the Oscar. He'd say, "Here, look. Heavy, isn't it?" People would hold it for photographs, you know.

Now, I personally don't remember spending a lot of time holding it. One summer, though, we were at Los Angeles Airport and he asked me to hold it while he went for our tickets. I was kind of nervous about touching it, and I somehow fumbled and dropped it, loosening the base. He came back: "OK, Eddie, I've got the tick---- What the hell have, you done, boy? Ehh-deeeeee! Ehh-deeeee!" I mean, he had that voice. No need for corporal punishment--the voice alone was enough to make you think you were going to die. In the end, the Academy's trophy shop fixed it, and it sits, repaired, on my mantel to this day.

11.

[Q] Playboy: What's the most impossible advice your friend Jack Nicholson ever gave you?

[A] Begley: Just recently, he told me [doing a perfect Nicholson], "Go for the leading-man parts, Begs." He'd seen me doing some silly stuff on television and he said, "What do you want to do that for, Beg? You need that stuff? Go for the leading man, Beg. Don't make the move on the game show. You're out there doin' some John Denver ski thing, lookin' like a mo-mo. Don't do it to me, Beg. Go leader!"

I don't fancy myself a leading man. I'd really like to play a villain with arched eyebrows, though. I don't always want to be the lovable, goofy jerk, which is how people usually see me. I want to be evil.

12.

[Q] Playboy: You had a drinking problem in the Seventies that you've always been open about. Can you recall the worst night in your alcoholic life?

[A] Begley: It wasn't even a night. It was a day. I was at a bar and it was one of those days when you can't get drunk anymore. I mean, you're drinking, but you can't get drunk. And you can't get sober, either. You can't wash the pain away. You're caught in this terrible limbo that you know will end in extreme physical pain. It's like a bad movie, a nightmarish sort of feeling. Most people with grave alcoholic problems get to that point. You can anesthetize your central nervous system for only so long, and then, finally, there's a note that's due and payable. You just keep rolling over the interest for however long you stay drunk. But one day it has to come due. That, for me, was rock bottom.

13.

[Q] Playboy: Tell us something about John Belushi that we don't know already.

[A] Begley: John really saved my neck when we were making Goin' South in Mexico with Jack. I had gotten into the foolish habit of entering drinking contests with Jack's now-deceased uncle, Shorty Smith, who was a great guy with great stories. We got along right away--we were both quart-a-day vodka men. These contests went on for a while and I never won. I got kind of ill in the competition. Belushi saw that I was headed for great disaster and physically dragged me out of the hotel lounge. He said, "Come on, you've spent enough time in here. We're going outside. I've rented a car." I hadn't really been outside the saloon the whole time I was there. He and his wife, Judy, took me for rides around the Mexican countryside. We had great times together.

When my daughter Amanda was born, he bought this beautiful little pink quilt as a gift, which he kept in New York until he came to L.A. to see her. It seems he took such a liking to the quilt that he started using it himself, snuggling under it for watching TV. He didn't want to give it up. Finally, Judy reminded him that they'd bought it for a small child. So when they came to L.A., he made it a point to tell me that he had grown quite attached to this little blanket and what a sacrifice it was to give it up. He was a great guy.

14.

[Q] Playboy: There was a low point in your career when you chucked acting to become a cameraman. Ultimately, which is harder work?

[A] Begley: Oh, the camerawork is much harder. I was an assistant cameraman, which involved maintaining the camera, loading the magazines, threading them through, doing the follow focus, all that business. 1 worked on a lot of location shooting for low-budget movies. I'd be a human tripod, then carry the camera around deserts in the heat. All this equipment is very heavy, too. It's a hard gig. But I've never been one of those actors who sit around waiting for the phone to ring and enrolling in more classes. I always wanted to make a living. So I was not averse, as recently as five years ago, to taking some carpentry jobs, putting up dry wall and framing work. I have no pride in that area. No way.

15.

[Q] Playboy: Let's not overlook your shortlived stand-up-comic years. Why was it that you got no respect?

[A] Begley: Actually, I've painted a kind of gloomy picture of my night-club act. Several people who were there at the time have taken exception and seem to have thought it was really good. I thought about it and realized I had had only about three bad nights over four years of intensive stand-up. During the early Seventies, I did clubs, colleges and concerts and opened for Dave Mason, Canned Heat, Loggins and Messina, Poco, Neil Sedaka, my good friend Don McLean. And, basically, I couldn't do it anymore. I got tired of my material and, eventually, I hated my act. I'd do characters, you know, like this musician named Bernie Synapse, who didn't play an instrument, which he felt would have been all part of "the same capitalistic scheme, man." Instead, he played his body. So I'd rap out this tune on my actual person. In case you're wondering, I hit the high notes on my cheeks.

16.

[Q] Playboy: Most comics can't get arrested, yet you did. Tell us about it.

[A] Begley: I was working the Troubadour on Santa Monica. My opening piece was always a cop routine for which I wore an authentic uniform that I'd made. I would be introduced as "Officer Ed Begley, West Hollywood Police Division." I'd take the stage and give this spiel: "Hi, kids, I'm here tonight to rap with you about a problem we're having in the community. I'm talking about drugs, and we'll be discussing the whole gamut: the reds, the yellows, downers, dragonflies, snapping turtles--everything from the first reefer to the final needle in the arm and trip to the morgue." It was supposed to be a put-on, though it prophesied what would come later in my life, since I came real close to checking out from chemical imbalances myself. Anyway, this was my most popular bit.

On the evening in question, I had gone out to my car to get some props. My luck, a sheriffs-department car was in the parking lot. The cops were waiting to nab some guy who'd done something nefarious. They were instantly confused by my L.A.P.D. uniform, because this wasn't technically L.A.P.D. territory. They very quickly realized that I wasn't from the L.A.P.D. at all, and they were naturally quite pissed. I said, "Wait, I'm just playing here! I'm just an actor! Do you go onto the set of Adam 12 and arrest Kent McCord and Marty Milner?"

I was taken to the station, where I figured I'd be able to talk to someone with an above-Cro-Magnon mentality. When the desk sergeant did a knuckle walk over to where I stood, I knew I was in big trouble. I was put in county jail with some very serious offenders and waited three days to go to trial. Very high bail, very serious crime--impersonating an officer. But I found that I did some of my funniest work in the jail cell. I was going a mile a minute. You know, you want to keep their minds off other things.

17.

[Q] Playboy: Describe your business card.

[A] Begley: Where did you hear about this? Currently, it says, Ed Begley, Jr., Since 1949. A simple bit of chronology, really. I've had several business cards, however. From about 1974 on, my card read, Ed Begley, Jr., Serving the World. By 1982, I'd decided that serving the world had gone on long enough--too much responsibility for one guy. So I changed it to Ed Begley, Jr., Hollywood Phony. People didn't know quite how to take that. I can't imagine why.

18.

[Q] Playboy: Women in Hollywood are said to be attracted to you. What's your allure?

[A] Begley: No! Who told you that? Jeez, I don't know.... That's a good question. I love women. And I love my wife. It's true that I have a lot of women friends, with whom I get along very well. I guess part of it is that they feel safe knowing I'm not going to make any moves on them. There's no confusion for a moment. But, mainly, here's what it is: I find a good audience in women. They seem to like a sense of humor; they like to laugh. When I'm around women, I always feel the need to entertain them. I perform. I have my good nights and my bad nights, but the good seem to outnumber the bad. Perhaps they like me for that reason. Jeez. ...

19.

[Q] Playboy: Do Valley boys ever grow up?

[A] Begley: It's funny you should ask. I was thinking about that today. In some ways, I grew up around the time I turned 30. In other ways, I still haven't grown up. I'm very childish, even though I'm the father of two kids. Sometimes they're more adult than I am. I never get serious unless I think it's needed--and it's rarely needed. I seem to take child raising very lightly. They're like peers. We're always rolling around on the carpet. I'm constantly playing jokes on them, making empty threats and insane statements. They'll be eating their cereal and I'll say, "You get right to bed, right now!" "What have we done?" "I'll think of something!" Of course, they don't move. This is good for discipline. Basically, I've ruined two children's lives, but they have a good time.

20.

[Q] Playboy: When are you at your absolute smoothest?

[A] Begley: When I'm roller-skating. That's my smoothest. I walk in a clumsy fashion and I look very silly when I'm dancing. I have no dancing skills, though I overcom-pensate with a great deal of energy. But when I've got my skates on, I look great. I've always skated.

"Jack Nicholson told me, 'Go for the leading-man parts, Begs. You're lookin' like a mo-mo. Go leader!'"