Up Till Now. The Autobiography

stink.”
    Apparently the driver of one of the cars that passed me had stopped down the road to call 911—there was a guy on the side of the road bleeding very badly from what appeared to be a head wound, he’d told them. They’d raced to save me. A part of me was gratified that the system had worked so well—but a much bigger part was embarrassed. “You get any calls tonight?” the wife of the EMT driver would undoubtedly ask him when he got home.
    “Just one,” he could respond honestly. “We saved Bill Shatner from dumping any more cans of tomato juice over his head!”
    It was almost impossible to work on Rescue 911 without wondering over and over how you would have responded to these situations. What would I have done in that emergency? Twice in my life I’ve faced that kind of crisis. And unfortunately, only once did it work out well.
    Marcy and I were walking on a Malibu beach on an overcast, windy day in September 1983. There were very few people on thebeach, but we walked past a father and his son playing in the surf at the shoreline. When we came back twenty minutes later the father was in the water up to his shoulders, but at first I didn’t see his boy. Then I saw him, much farther out, struggling. I realized that the father was trying to get to his son, but the surf was too strong for him. Somebody had to go in and save that kid.
    Marcy and I were the only people close by. There were no options.
    I don’t remember what I was wearing, but it wasn’t much. I’m a strong swimmer, so I put my face in the water and started fighting through the waves. It was a rough surf, and by the time I reached him I was totally out of breath. I knew that seawater would support a person who isn’t moving too much—but if you panic and start thrashing around you’ll go right under. I was out of breath, the waves were breaking into me, and this boy had his arms wrapped around my neck. I was on the edge of panic. And I suddenly realized I was going to die. I didn’t have time to be afraid, I was too busy fighting for survival.
    Meanwhile, Marcy was running up and down the beach, desperately searching for someone who could help me. Nobody could. Finally she remembered someone we knew with a house on the beach who could help. She raced to his house.
    I was holding on to the boy, trying to keep his head above water while fighting my way to shore. But I wasn’t making much progress. A strong element of self-preservation kicked in. I don’t know how I did, but by the time the strong swimmer had gotten to us I’d made it closer to shore. I did save that kid’s life and I felt...I felt unbelievably good and exhausted. I don’t think the man ever knew that his son had been saved by an actor who played a hero on television.
    The second time was a lot more personal. It was the night several years later when my wife Nerine drowned in our swimming pool.
    Marcy and I were married for seventeen years. I think if a young actor were to ask me for advice about relationships I would probably respond, whatever you do, don’t marry an actor. Of course, Marcy probably would respond exactly the same way. Marriage is the mostcomplicated of all relationships, made considerably more difficult when both people are dealing consistently with professional acceptance and rejection.
    Marcy was a wonderful person, a terrific stepmother to my three girls. As an actress, she had talent, she had class and style, but she didn’t have luck. And the reality that her career never seemed to take off always bothered her. We worked together quite a few times, she was killed in Kingdom of the Spiders, she stood in a long line in Airplane II, she played a crew member in Star Trek:The Motion Picture, we appeared on game shows together, and I had directed her in a good production of Cat on a Hit Tin Roof. We built a home and a family and that horse-breeding ranch in Kentucky together. We were good together for a long time. We liked so many of the same things; for us a perfect day would be to go to two or three movies, eat unbuttered popcorn with beer or Perrier—and then finish the night by going out for sushi.
    But her career was an extension of mine and that did not make her happy. She spent a lot of time searching for that elusive balance between being a mother and wife and being a successful actress. The fact that she never found it to her satisfaction made her unhappy.
    The failure of our marriage certainly wasn’t her fault. Where divorce