The late-night talk show host leans across his mahogany desk, a mischievous glint in his eye. He looks at the guest across from him, a man whose face…

The auditorium was filled with the kind of low-level hum you only get at these nostalgia conventions. I was sitting on a stage in a hotel ballroom that…

The studio lights were a bit softer than the ones we had at Desilu, but the warmth in the room felt exactly the same. I was sitting across…

The studio lights were always a bit too bright for a man of my displacement. I remember sitting across from a young interviewer in 1971, just as the…

The lights in the television studio were always a bit too bright for Werner Klemperer. He sat there, years after the bunkers of Stalag 13 had been dismantled,…

The sun was hitting the pavement of the old studio lot at an angle that made everything look like a faded photograph. Robert Clary walked slowly, his gait…

The studio lot was quieter than I remembered it being forty years ago. The sound of my own shoes on the gravel felt too loud, a rhythmic crunching…

The studio lights were a bit too bright, and the air conditioning was doing that low-frequency hum that usually bothers a man trained in the nuances of orchestral…

Werner Klemperer sits back in the leather chair, the soft light of the studio catching the sharp lines of his face. Even in his later years, he carries…