Interviewer: Robert, I have something here that I think you will really appreciate. It is an old black-and-white still from the set, looks like it was taken somewhere during the production of Season 3.

Robert Clary: Oh, let me see that. Ah, look at us. There is John. Dear John Banner. You know, people always ask me if he was really that jolly in person. And I tell them every single time, he was even more wonderful than Schultz. He was a man of great appetite—for life, for food, and certainly for a good joke.

Interviewer: He looks like he is trying very hard not to smile in this particular shot. He has that classic wide-eyed look.

Robert Clary: (Laughs) He was! That photo… that must have been taken on the day of what we later called the ‘Sausage Incident.’ We were filming a scene in the barracks. The script was simple enough. It called for LeBeau to distract Schultz by bribing him with a stolen link of bratwurst while the rest of the boys did something suspicious in the background. It was a basic transition scene. I was supposed to slide the meat into his pocket while he pretended to be looking for contraband in a trunk.

Interviewer: Sounds like a standard day at the office for Hogan’s Heroes.

Robert Clary: You would think so. But on our set, nothing was ever truly straightforward. Howard Morris was directing that day, and Howard absolutely loved physical business. He wanted everything to be exaggerated. He told me, ‘Robert, do not just give it to him. Make it a struggle. Make it look like you are trying to hide a live eel in his clothes.’

Interviewer: And was John in on the plan?

Robert Clary: John knew I was going to be difficult, but he did not know exactly how difficult. He was standing there, chest puffed out, doing his best ‘formidable’ guard impression. The lights were hot, the air was still, and the prop master handed me this bratwurst that was—well, it was not a prop. It was very real, and it was very, very oily.

I took a deep breath, the camera started rolling, and I moved in for the bribe.

And then it happened.

Robert Clary: I reached out to shove that greasy sausage into his deep overcoat pocket, but in my haste to be ‘dramatic’ for Howard, I missed the opening of the pocket entirely. Instead, I shoved it right into the gap between his tunic and his belt. Because the meat was so slick with oil, it did not just sit there. It began a slow, gravitational journey downward, straight into his trousers.

Interviewer: Down his trousers? During a live take?

Robert Clary: Exactly! You have to understand the physics of John Banner. He was a large, wonderful man, and his uniform was tailored to be quite snug. I felt the bratwurst vanish. I looked up at John, and I saw his eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. He knew exactly what had happened. He could feel this cold, slimy object sliding down his right leg, inside the heavy wool fabric.

Interviewer: Did he break character immediately?

Robert Clary: No! That was the absolute brilliance of John. He was a classically trained actor with incredible discipline. He stood there, frozen like a statue. He tried to deliver the famous ‘I see nothing’ line, but his voice went up about three octaves. It came out as a tiny, strangled squeak. ‘I… see… nothing!’

Interviewer: How did the rest of the cast handle it? I can only imagine the faces in the background.

Robert Clary: We were all watching, and the tension was unbearable. Richard Dawson was hiding behind the trunk, and I could see his shoulders shaking violently. Larry Hovis turned his back to the camera, which was usually his secret signal that he was about to lose his mind with laughter. But the real problem was the sound. As the sausage continued its descent, it made a very distinct, very audible sliding sound against the silk lining of his pants.

Interviewer: I assume the microphones picked that up?

Robert Clary: Oh, the boom mic was hanging right over his head. The sound man, a lovely fellow named Bill, actually pulled his headphones off and started pointing at his equipment like it was possessed. John finally reached the point where the sausage hit his boot. It did not stop there. It slid out the bottom of his trouser leg and landed on the floor with a wet, heavy ‘thwack’ right in front of the camera lens.

Interviewer: That must have been the end of the take.

Robert Clary: The end? It was the end of the entire afternoon! John looked down at the sausage on the floor, then looked at me, and his face turned the color of a very ripe beet. He let out this booming, Santa Claus-like belly laugh that shook the entire barracks set. Once John started, it was over for everyone. Werner Klemperer was standing off-camera waiting for his cue, and he was doubled over, clutching a wooden support beam. He was laughing so hard he was actually crying, which, if you knew Werner, was a very rare sight when he was in that stiff, formal Klink uniform.

Interviewer: Did the director try to restore order?

Robert Clary: Howard Morris was on the floor. I mean that literally. He was on his back, kicking his legs like a small child. He kept trying to yell ‘Cut,’ but it just came out as a series of high-pitched wheezes. The crew was no better. The lead cameraman had actually stepped away from the lens because he was shaking the frame too much with his own giggling.

Interviewer: I imagine the cleanup was a bit of a disaster for the wardrobe department.

Robert Clary: It was an absolute catastrophe! John’s uniform had a giant, dark grease stain running from his waist all the way down to his ankle. The wardrobe lady came rushing in, looked at the stain, looked at the sausage on the floor, and just threw her hands up in the air. She shouted, ‘I cannot fix this! He is a walking delicatessen!’ We had to wait nearly forty-five minutes for them to find a spare pair of trousers that fit John, which was no easy task because he was a very unique size.

Interviewer: Do you think that kind of humor is why the show has such a lasting legacy?

Robert Clary: I absolutely do. We were not just actors playing parts; we were a family that truly enjoyed the absurdity of what we were doing every day. Here we were, in the middle of Hollywood, dressed in these costumes, playing out these ridiculous schemes. When something went wrong—like a rogue bratwurst—it reminded us of how lucky we were to be there. We were not just making a television show; we were having the time of our lives. Even today, decades later, whenever I see a sausage, I think of John’s face in that moment. It was a look of pure, comedic betrayal.

Interviewer: It is amazing how those tiny accidents become the biggest memories.

Robert Clary: They do. They really do. You can script a joke and rehearse it until it is perfect, but you can never script the genuine joy of a man with a sausage in his pants. It is the unscripted life that stays with you.

Sometimes the best part of the job is not the performance itself, but the moments that remind you to never take life too seriously.

What is your favorite unscripted moment from a classic television show?