Up Till Now: The Autobiography

in a hole in a tree. And we definitely could not tell the story about the couple who liked to play sex games.
    I was told by our producers that this was indeed a true story: apparently a man dressed in a Batman costume had tied his willing partner to the bed. The man in the Batman costume then climbed up on a bureau. The plan was that he was going to leap onto the bed—Batman arrives to save the day! Unfortunately, when Batman jumped into the air he hit his head on a beam and plummeted straight to the ground, unconscious. Somehow the woman managed to call 911, and the firemen who rushed to the scene found the naked woman still tied to the bed and Batman lying unconscious on the floor.
    Now, had we done that rescue the re-creation certainly would have been interesting. Perhaps you’d like to write my introductory narration: “For Jane and John Doe it started as just another boring evening at home; as usual he was dressed in his Batman outfit while she lay naked, tied to the bed...”
    Another story which we could not use on the show was my personal encounter with an EMT. Just before Rescue 911 went on the air I’d bought a horse farm in Kentucky. I had always wanted to own a brand-new pickup truck with those big tires and a rifle hanging in the rack on the back of the cab. I don’t know why, perhaps I’d seen too many Marlboro commercials. The horse farm provided the rationale for me to buy me a rip-snorting new pickup, although I never did get that old rifle. One night just after I’d gotten the truck I was driving alone at night on a dark side road, really just having fun with my new pickup, when... boom! I hit something. It was the most awful feeling. Many years earlier, when my father had been teaching me to drive in Montreal, a dog had run into the street and I’d hit it. I’d slammed on the brakes but the car slid on leaves and I’d hit the dog. I looked in the rearview mirror and the dog was obviously dead. I wanted to stop but my father had insisted, “Keep going. There’s nothing we can do.”
    I’d felt guilty for years afterward. And now, once again, I’d hit something in the road. This time I wasn’t going to leave. A dark lump was lying in the road, still moving. A squirrel, I thought. But as I approached this animal I realized it was a skunk. Oh my God, I thought, I’ve killed a skunk. And as I got within a few feet the tail came up and it squirted me. That was its dying wish: skunk juice all over me. I was bathed in skunk juice and I didn’t know what to do. I certainly couldn’t get back in my new pickup which I loved so much, the smell would permeate the seats. I’d never be able to get rid of it.
    I started thinking. All the way back to that summer I’d lived in the back of my truck while doing summer stock. I’d had my dog with me, a beloved Doberman. We would go everywhere together. When I was performing he’d sit in an aisle and watch the show. A wonderful dog. But one night he’d apparently had an encounter with a skunk and carried the evidence with him into the tent theater. The odor was just terrible and the audience couldn’t take it. One of the stagehands solved the problem by pouring several cans of tomato juice over my dog. Apparently the acid in tomato juice neutralizesthe stink of the skunk. So standing there on that dark Kentucky road I realized what I needed to do.
    I’d passed a gas station a mile or so down the road. They might have cans of tomato juice there. I ran to that store and shouted my needs to the clerk. He tossed over several cans which I proceeded to pour over my head and my clothes. Within minutes the terrible smell began dissipating and I started walking down the road to my truck. If necessary I would get rid of my clothes before climbing into the cab. Several cars passed but I wouldn’t dare ask for a ride. Then about ten minutes later I heard the wail of sirens coming from somewhere down the road. Soon I could see the flashing lights of what turned out to be a police car and an EMT ambulance racing toward me. I stopped walking to watch them pass, but instead they squealed to a halt in front of me. A police officer leaped out of his car, yelling, “Are you okay? What happened?”
    The EMT personnel was right behind him. “Oh no,” he said, then started laughing hysterically. As it turned out, tomato juice is not as effective as I had believed. “Shatner,” he added—obviously I was not the first person to have had this problem—”you