A visit to Portland by the legendary actor, who died yesterday, led to a phone call and an unforgettable night.
When Turner Classic Movies and the Northwest Film Center announced in late winter that Ernest Borgnine would be coming to Portland to introduce a screening of "Marty," I was puzzled. The event, a preamble to the TCM Classic Film Festival, seemed rather a lot to ask of a man who had just turned 95, and "Marty," as estimable as it may be, had no special meaning that I could see for a Portland audience.Dutifully I reported the news and when I was asked if I'd like to speak to Borgnine to help promote the event, I said 'sure.' I'd known about Ernest Borgnine as long as I could remember, after all, and if I was never a huge fan or a completist, I greatly admired his work in "From Here to Eternity," "Emperor of the North," "The Wild Bunch," "The Vikings," "Escape from New York," "Vera Cruz" and, of course, "Marty," and I remembered watching "McHale's Navy" reruns as a boy with real delight. I respected his longevity, his vigor, his apparent enthusiasm for any kind of work that came his way (such as doing a voice on TV's "SpongeBob Squarepants") and the sheer unlikely good fortune of his career, given his sack-of-potatoes face, meaty body, unglamourous name and late start in the biz (he didn't get his first film credit until age 34).
Came the morning and the phone rang and on the other end was the unmistakable voice of the man himself, and when I greeted him with "Good morning, Mr. Borgnine," he boomed, "What is this ‘Mr. Borgnine’ stuff? Ernie’s the name!" And off we went, starting with his account of enjoying his days in a cabin he once owned along the Rogue River in Southern Oregon. So robust and funny and happy was his talk that I simply ran it all in the Sunday Oregonian in q-and-a fashion; I would have felt like a churl cutting any of it out.
A few days after my story ran, the "Marty" screening was held before a packed house at the Whitsell Auditorium of the Portland Art Museum, and I arrived with my 12-year-old daughter early enough to greet Borgnine in the green room. When we got there, he was seated in a chair, dressed in a suit and tie and wearing a cardigan under his jacket as a redoubt to the wet chill of a Portland spring. He was conversing with characteristic animation with a woman who was identified to me as Robert Mitchum's daughter (and who got away before I could chat with her). She was mentioning a pet film project that her father never got to make and how there was a great part in it for Borgnine, and he responded enthusiastically and told her to contact his office when she had an indication that the movie might go forward.
My daughter and I were next, and I was honestly taken aback when Borgnine stood from his chair to shake my hand and thank me for the story I'd run, which he said he enjoyed. (He was looking right in my eyes when he said this, and even though I'm a lousy poker player, I truly don't think he was shining me on.) He then bent over and smiled at my daughter and shook her hand, and when I told him that she, naturally, knew him best from "SpongeBob," he immediately did a bit of dialogue in his Mermaid Man voice, and she literally startled in delight. We spoke with him for another minute or so, and then said goodbye and made way for the other guests whom he was meant to greet and to find some seats in the theater.
I had been recruited to introduce Borgnine and TCM host Ben Mankiewicz, and I did that quickly and left the stage to them. And then I watched Borgnine pretty much do with Mankiewicz in person what he'd done with me on the phone: use him as punctuation for a series of anecdotes and reminiscences and jokes. He went through some of the same stories he'd told me about making "Marty" and winning the Oscar, shared a few laughs about the reactions he'd gotten over the years from Italian tough guys and Los Angeles cops who were ticked off with him for killing Frank Sinatra in "From Here to Eternity," and remembered how he was just about to turn down the lead in "McHale's Navy" ("I'm a movie star," he told his agent) when a kid selling candy bars for his Boy Scout troop rang the doorbell and could name every lead actor on TV but didn't recognize the Oscar winner who was standing in front of him.
The audience, which had greeted him with a standing ovation, ate it up like the best gelato in the world, and Borgnine was clearly having a gas. But there was a whole feature film to screen, and so he was finally led off the stage, to another standing ovation. He and Mankiewicz and some others headed off to Mother's Bistro, where he held court over dinner, and we all settled in to watch "Marty," which was still vital and entertaining and funny and sweet nearly 60 years after it was made.
Yesterday, when news came of Borgnine's death, I was saddened, but only briefly. The man so exuded verve and joy and bonhomie and gratitude for his life and career that my mournfulness lasted only a moment. Ernest Borgnine was truly filled with life, and simply connecting with him for a few fleeting minutes enriched mine in a way for which I'll always be happy. And the work he left behind: I'll always enjoy that, too.
-- Shawn Levy






































































