FUN FACTNER: William Shatner usually goes with fruit and a protein or grain, along with some vitamin supplements, for breakfast.
Why am I doing Aftermath? Well, perhaps it’s time for me to sit in the hot seat and discuss my own truth.
My wife Nerine died in 1999, after battling a severe addiction to alcohol, one that both she and I were powerless to control over the course of our marriage. The coroner ruled that she had died of an accidental drowning. She had alcohol and Valium in her system at the time of death, and I discovered her at the bottom of our pool when I returned from a family dinner in Orange County, California.
Some months later, I went to New York, along with one of my daughters, to be interviewed on a tabloid news show about a television project I was involved in. I sat down across from the woman who was to interview me, and what was the first question out of her mouth?
“What’s it feel like to murder your wife?”
Needless to say, she didn’t get a follow-up question. I ended the interview and demanded the tape. My daughter started crying, the reporter started crying, and I stormed out.
Apparently, when there is an unnatural death of someone at an early age, there’s a good chance a family member was involved, and—for the briefest period of time—I was a suspect in Nerine’s death. It’s standard operating procedure. The husband is always the first suspect. But I was cleared within minutes of the police arriving at my home.
I was cleared in the eyes of the law, anyway. In the jaded and jaundiced eyes of the tabloid press? Well, that’s a different, under-researched story.
And within days of her death, as I was experiencing a whirlpool of emotions, grief coming from many different directions all at once, dragging me down, I got a phone call from The National Enquirer. They were going to run a story saying that I was the prime suspect in the murder of my wife.
They offered me money to participate in the story, to tell my side. If I didn’t play ball, they were going to run with the angle that I was a murderer.
What would you do? Probably the same thing I did.
I gave them my story, took their money, and used every cent of it to fund the Nerine Shatner Friendly House, a center for women recovering from alcohol and substance abuse. It’s a home where up to twenty women at a time can get the help they need to fight their addictions.
Did you know that? Maybe you didn’t. But you probably heard some of the allegations about my supposed role in her death. That’s because in America, you are guilty on page 1, and exonerated on page 30. (Also, many tabloid reporters can’t spell “exoneration,” so they decide to skip the whole thing entirely.)
And I wanted Aftermath to be a show where the exonerated—and the punished—could speak, long after the press had packed up their microphones and moved onto the next scandal. I want to give people a pulpit to tell their side of the story—their truth—after they’ve been declared guilty by the press and the public.
I know what condemnation in the media feels like, and it is a terrible thing. It follows you like a comet’s tail. So I want to use the media as a tool to give some strength back to these people, no matter what their story.
And that’s why I’m doing Aftermath.
My interview with Mr. Goetz ended, and I began to pack up my things and get ready to go home. He came up to me and asked for a favor. After I was convinced that the gun had been taken away, I agreed.
“Can I get a picture?” he asked, holding his camera phone.
Bernhard Goetz and I took a picture together, and I gave him an autograph. I made it out to him alone. If the squirrel wants one, he can come to the next convention.
CHAPTER 20
RULE: Talk Is Cheap—Unless You Can Make Money with a Talk Show
“Hey, Bill,” my producer said, rushing into my office. “We got Meat Loaf.”
“Oh, all right,” I sighed, pulling myself up from my desk. “I’ll go easy on the gravy and make sure I spend a little more time on the StairMaster tonight.”
“No,” she sighed. “Meat Loaf—Meat Loaf as a guest.”
“What the hell is a Meat Loaf?”
I really didn’t know. I really thought she was talking about food. There appeared to be a very large gap in my pop culture knowledge, one large enough to fit Marvin Lee Aday—the actor and singer who would gain fame as Meat Loaf after selling 43 million copies of his debut album Bat Out of Hell.
I was going to interview him for a few hours as a guest on Raw Nerve, my talk show on the Biography Channel.
And yes, during the course of our interview, Meat Loaf made me cry.
I’ve been a guest hundreds of times on as many different talk shows. I’ve lost count—I see things on YouTube that I don’t even remember doing. I’ve been interviewed by Merv Griffin, Mike Douglas, Alan Thicke, Arsenio Hall, all the ladies on The View, all the ladies on The Talk, Bill O’Reilly, Oprah, Ellen, Tony Danza, Donny Deutsch, Tom Snyder, Ryan Seacrest, Wayne Brady, Dinah Shore, Graham Norton, Richard and Judy, Crook and Chase, Regis and Kathie Lee, Regis and Kelly, Rosie O’Donnell, Larry King, Howard Stern (many, many times), too many other shock jocks to remember, Henry Rollins, Glenn Beck, Joan Rivers, Jon Stewart, David Brenner, Craig Kilborn, Johnny Carson, the teams at Good Morning America and The Today Show, Jimmy Kimmel, David Letterman, Jay Leno, Craig Ferguson, and George Lopez, and I’ve been on Conan O’Brien’s shows more times than the Masturbating Bear!
FUN FACTNER: William Shatner’s hundreds of talk show appearances over the years have left him with a debilitating case of “couch sores.”
So, I’ve talked myself hoarse over nearly fifty years of talk show appearances. Quite a few of my clips have gone viral, which—nowadays—is a good thing and doesn’t require a shot. I’ve sung on these shows (most recently Rihanna’s “Umbrella” on Conan). I almost lost a William Shatner trivia contest on Kimmel against an uber-fan. I was interviewed by the animated Space Ghost. I was even banned from Carson after a mid-1980s appearance when I talked too much and monopolized our discussion.
It seems some of these talk show hosts prefer to be the ones who get all the laughs.
I’ve been grilled by guys who are ultra-prepared, reading questions off their little blue cards, and grilled by guys like Stern and Ferguson, who might go in the most outlandish, unexpected directions. I came with stories and things to promote, and I’ve answered all their questions, but I also observed their questioning.
So I knew one day I would get off that couch and hop behind the desk. The executives at the Biography Channel were interested, and I told them that I wanted to do an interview show with a Vanity Fair magazine vibe. I didn’t want to do just celebrities; I wanted to interview newsmakers, kings, aristocrats, politicians. I wanted to interview a variety of different kinds of people.
RULE: Advertisers Stop Listening after They Hear the Word “Celebrities”
Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t be interviewing newsmakers, kings, aristocrats, and politicians. Raw Nerve was going to be a forum for celebrity interviews. But I refused to make it a conventional Q&A where a celebrity hawks his product to a bored audience.
(Not that there’s anything wrong with hawking a product, mind you. Have you visited WilliamShatner.com yet? Or have you downloaded Raw Nerve episodes from iTunes, as a complement to this chapter?)
First off, this show was going to be called Raw Nerve, not Breakfast with Bill. (Although that’s not off the table. What a wonderful idea for a show! Producers—call me!) Nerves were going to be touched, and they were going to be, well, look at the title. Raw!
Am I a grand inquisitor? Depends on who you talk to. If you talk to any member of my family who has ever shared a meal with me, the answer will be “yes.” My daughters have often joked, “It’s not dinner with Dad unless someone leaves the table crying.” While tears are rare—and they’re usually mine (you’re not that s
pecial, Mr. Loaf)—we do often have spirited discussions at dinner, and I am often the one leading the hard line of questioning.
I’m not a fan of boring conversations. I want to hear something interesting, I want to share something interesting, and I have many methods of getting a rise out of people to help spur discussions. A good debate also burns calories, so you can help yourself to another slice of meat loaf with gravy.
On Raw Nerve I try to dig until I find the soul. Sometimes, celebrities get very good at hiding theirs. I want to talk and find out what their “point of entry” was in life, where they truly discovered who they were. I don’t what to know what happened to them; I want to know what they felt like when the thing happened. If they are going to plug something, I want them to plug the real human being inside.
A lot of people might ask, “Bill, how can you possibly take on another TV project?” Well, Raw Nerve is easy—I don’t prepare for it.
Nope. I don’t do pre-interviews, I don’t go over press releases, and I don’t sit there and obsess over my little blue cards full of bullet points. I sit down across from the guest, and just start grilling.
(NOTE: If you’re ever going to be a guest on Raw Nerve, clear your calendar and bring a change of clothes.)
The interview that makes it to air is cut down. Sometimes it takes me several hours to find the raw nerve. I dig, and dig, and dig, and I always find it.
Valerie Bertinelli opened up about sin, adultery, and hell. Ed Asner discussed how his father never forgave him for being born. Weird Al Yankovic explored his feelings about his parents’ tragic deaths. Wayne Brady talked about the dissolution of his marriage.
Tim Allen shared with me tales of his alcoholism and stint in prison, Fran Drescher spoke of her rape, Gene Simmons and I discussed Jewish identity, Larry Flynt talked about the assassin’s bullet that put him in his wheelchair, Jenna Jameson showed us the ups and downs of porn, and Kelsey Grammer explored the painful family tragedies that have marked his life.
Both Rush Limbaugh and Jon Voight cried!
RULE: A Lot of Conservatives Are Pretty Liberal with the Tears
The hardest nuts to crack? The comedians. Carl Reiner was especially tough. I’ve known Carl for a long time, and we even acted together on Boston Legal, but I could not get him to open up about the death of his wife. I’ve been a widower—I wanted to know if we had shared emotions, feelings. He told some wonderful jokes, made some delightfully witty observations, but not once could I get to the emotion of it. Raw Nerve has taught me that comedians are hyper-attuned to “the laugh.” They have made their living at it; it is what they are programmed to provide. Anything else is forbidden. He was a pro, and that finely tuned guard was not going to come down.
The show has been a hit for the Biography Channel, and the ratings have continued to grow with each season.
What did the critics say?
“[William Shatner] is surprisingly effective at getting his celebrity subjects to reveal aspects of their lives that are fresh and surprising.”—The Hollywood Reporter (A fine publication; I get it delivered.)
“Surprisingly sharp and intimate.”—Newsday (Hooray for Newsday! I always read it when I’m in New York.)
“Nerve eschews the prototypical talk show format—Shatner’s interview style is part Charlie Rose, part James Lipton, part Dr. Phil.”—USA Today (A terrific paper—I love it when they drop it off outside my hotel room.)
“This could be the freshest take on talk we’ve seen in a long time.”—DISH Entertainment Magazine (Haven’t read it, but I would love to.)
“Shatner’s intense weirdness makes things compelling.”—The New Yorker (I dunno—some magazine that runs a lot of comics about talking dogs and psychiatrists.)
From the Star Trek universe, I’ve interviewed Leonard Nimoy, LeVar Burton, Scott Bakula, and Walter Koenig. As I mentioned earlier, the interview with Walter was good for both of us and made for some great television.
I suppose no discussion of Raw Nerve is complete without talking about . . . the chair.
My talk show was going to be a different kind of talk show. I didn’t want blue cards, I didn’t want to prepare, I didn’t want a sidekick (although I reconsidered that after meeting Jenna Jameson), and I sure as hell didn’t want some boring old desk and a couch.
So I designed the S chair.
The S chair for me represents the whole show. We could not get any closer, any more personal, any more intimate. My guests are not even eighteen inches from my face. They must engage me, and answer the questions.
FUN FACTNER: William Shatner starred in a 1975 made-for-TV movie called The Tenth Level, which dramatized Stanley Milgram’s obedience experiments. Shatner knows what he’s doing when it comes to getting people to do what he wants them to do.
The S chair is almost a love seat. A love seat/hot seat! It’s shaped like an S, with each participant facing the other in their respective S loops. Normally, such intimacy involving a chair will leave its occupants with a cleaning, several new fillings, and a new toothbrush. The only way Raw Nerve could be more intimate would be if I ditched the chair entirely and just replaced it with a bed.
Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. (See Jenna Jameson.)
But I decided to go with the chair. (See Meat Loaf.)
CHAPTER 21
RULE: Birds of a Feather Flock Together. But They Make for Dull Football Parties.
I mentioned earlier in Shatner Rules that I often hold salons at my house—evenings where creative thinkers from many fields get together and share ideas and philosophies. These are very enriching experiences for me.
But when I get tired of all that enrichment, I whip up some nachos, crack open a few beers, and throw football parties on Monday nights.
It’s a tradition with me. There are about twenty guys who are regulars at my house for this, and the occasional special guest. I love to put different people together in the same room, and my football nights are a perfect vehicle for that. I mean, you will already be shouting at the screen—why not invite some guests who might encourage a little shouting at one another?
And after meeting him on the set of Raw Nerve, I decided that Rush Limbaugh might be a pretty interesting guy to throw into the party mix. In many respects, I believe Rush is as much of a performer as I am, and I wanted to get to know this guy a little more. So I invited him to vacate the S chair at Raw Nerve and settle into one of the La-Z-Boys we have in our TV room.
I was taking a chance—Rush is a somewhat controversial figure. Especially in Hollywood. How would he behave at a football bash? Would he demand that the nachos show proof of citizenship? I kept my fingers crossed that things would get lively, but not too lively.
Rush showed up, and I introduced him around to the usual members of the gang. My buddy Fred Dryer, the former star of Hunter and former defensive end for the New York Giants and the LA Rams, stops by my football nights too. Having a real, honest-to-goodness professional football player watch and comment on games keeps the usual armchair sports bloviating at bay. Would it work on Rush?
Yep. Despite his brief stint in the NFL color booth for Monday Night Football, Rush left the analysis to Fred and was having a heck of a time. He’s a fellow who really fills a room, and I could see he was really mixing in well with my usual gang.
And soon, another regular sauntered through the door. My other football buddy, Henry Rollins.
As previously mentioned, Henry is my pal from our work together on Has Been, and he has had an amazing career as punk rock singer, author, and spoken word artist. And before you sniff at “spoken word artist,” you might take heed and Google a picture of him. If he didn’t talk so much, his muscles could do his talking for him.
It is a pretty well-known fact that Henry is as liberal as Rush is conservative. In fact, he’s so left wing and Rush is so right wing that I’m sur
prised they don’t swing all the way around and bump into one another.
I was sitting with Rush, sharing a beer, when Henry entered. Being a regular, he walked over to the fridge to see if he could intimidate the appliance into giving him a beverage. I grabbed Rush by the sleeve and led him to the kitchen, determined to make this introduction.
“Henry,” I said, switching into host mode, “have you met Rush Limbaugh?”
Henry pulled his head out of the fridge, his mouth agape. Rush smiled. Henry said nothing, and turned and stuck his head back into the fridge. It looked like a handshake was not in the offing.
Being a good host, I then attempted to distract Rush with a bowl of onion dip, and quickly brought him back to the couch.
Good Lord, football games are three hours long. How was I going to keep Rush and Henry separate?
Henry solved this dilemma by turning around and leaving the room, walking down the driveway, and getting into his car and taking off, shortly after my abortive introduction. Later, he left a voice mail on my machine:
“Hey, Bill, it’s Henry. Sorry I left. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with that guy.”
Apparently, Rush had found Henry’s raw nerve, although I think if push had come to shove, Henry could have taken him.
I think those two need a little time in the S chair.
THIRD RULE FOR TURNING 80: You’re 80. Say What’s on Your Mind.
If you’ve made it to eighty, congratulations are in order. You’ve worked hard, you’ve learned much, and the gleaming armor that protects your soul and spirit was forged in the mighty fires of wisdom!
Right?
Shatner Rules Page 12
