He was the consummate creep.
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As we're about to find out in person.
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As Tony and Jerry and Eddie and Pat and I are walking onto the set of "Ugly American," we see the "Closed Set" sign up, but that's pretty typical. We know the drill about being super-quiet. We don't say a word. We are very respectful.
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We are just going to walk onto the set and sorta look around and stand in the wings.
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We're watching this one shot, which of course Brando didn't know his dialogue. He wasn't even close.
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The director yells, "Cut!"
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And Brando specifically looks at Tony Dow, because Tony was standing nearer to him than the rest of us. He looks Tony right in the eye.
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He yells, "Get those fuckin' kids outta here. What the hell do you think you're doing? Can't you kids read?"
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That's when Tony turns to him and calmly hollers, "Up yours, asshole!"
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We turned deliberately and slowly walked out.
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I never was prouder of being part of "Beaver" than that moment.
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I mean, hey, Wally was never better as the big brother. He stuck up for The Beav. He stuck up for Eddie. Me. Pat. For us all. Just like a real family.
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Which we were. That was the cool thing about being on the show. We actually were like family to each other. Hugh Beaumont and Barbara Billingsley, who played Ward and June Cleaver, were like second moms and dads to us.
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I mean, I'm sure they wouldn't have appreciated the language we usedmake that I know they wouldn't have approved. I never once heard Hugh Beaumont swear or say a mean word to anyone. And Barbara was a flat-out saint, the most fantastic woman I had met in the world, next to my own mom, Sylvia.
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Hugh and Barbara would have sat us down and given us a good lecture and made us go to our rooms for talking like we did to Brando, the fat freak. Maybe they'd have made us apologize to the great man.
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"Gee, Mr. Brando, we're sorry you're a big fat, bitter blob, who doesn't like himself or anyone else. And we're really, really sorry you think you're God's gift to the entertainment industry, so you can come onto a set, not do your homework, blow your lines all over the place and blame it on some kids, who are not saying a word, just standing there watching you mess up a multi-million dollar production all by your big, fat blowhard self.
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"We're sorry, Fatso, you're such a sleazebag.
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"Sorry. We mean Mr. Fatso sleazebag."
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