Working for Scale

By Gordon Hopkins I have reached that age when, almost daily it seems, I hear word of the death of a TV or movie star from my childhood. Quite often, it is someone I haven't thought about in years. It may be someone who's name I didn't know. It may be someone I didn't give a damn about, or so I thought, until I see that familiar face on a new program with a chyron that reads, “Star of…dead at…” Then I get a lump in my throat as I realize another part of my childhood has vanished forever. It happens a lot to those of us with more years behind us than ahead of us. It happened again this week when they announced the death of Morris the Alligator. Like so many other familiar faces on the screen, I never knew his name until after he was dead.He was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, nearly 11 feet long and weighing 640 pounds. He reportedly died of old age at 80 with a list of screen credits any character actor would find enviable.Unfortunately, most obituaries published this week about Morris' oeuvre decided to focus on a “comedy” called “Happy Gilmore.” I say unfortunately because Morris co-starred in that film with a man who is to comedy what a toxic waste dump is to property values: Adam Sandler. Morris had so many other credits on his IMDB (Internet Movie Database) resume.The first time I saw him in was probably as the title character in 1980's creature feature, “Alligator.” It was the classic tale of a family returning home from a vacation in Florida that realizes taking care of a pet baby alligator is a colossal pain and decides to flush the little Gucci bag down the toilet. Fast forward a few years and, despite having been abandoned by his family, the young alligator grows up to be a successful murder machine, chomping on human victims in the sewer. His on-screen magnetism garnered him roles in a slew of productions of varying quality, from “Interview with the Vampire,” to “Eraser” to “Dr. Doolittle 2.” Casting agents keep a list of character actor “types.” If your movie needs a goofy nerd, you call Eddie Deezen. If you need a creepy mutant, you call Michael Berryman. If you need a bellicose authority figure, you call J.K. Simmons. And if you needed an alligator, you called Morris.Morris the Alligator's legacy should be measured by more than one (horribly unfunny) costar.You will be missed, sir.

Robert (Huff) Huffman

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