My Close Personal Friend
By Rob Morris
Circa October 6th, 1957
Doctor Sam Beckett, traveler through time, was in the midst of his best efforts to save actor Moe Stein, aka Captain Galaxy, when another situation crept in. It would not interfere with his efforts for Moe Stein, but it would lead to meeting an even greater hero from his early childhood.
"Kenny, please just follow me to my dressing room, and don't say anything. I'd like this to seem as routine as possible."
Sam was far enough along into leaping, swiss-cheese memory or no, to fall into line when the name of his leapee was brought up, though it still required an internal reminder.
"Sure thing."
He had been about to ask what the big secret was, but recalled his request to keep his mouth shut, and so he did, till they got inside Moe's dressing room.
"Is it alright now?"
A voice came from Moe's swivel chair, just before it spun around.
"Who's your friend, Moe?"
The man in the chair was well known to Sam, perhaps unbelievably well known. In fact, he was the first to make Sam believe a man could fly. Ironically, he would never get to call him by his given name. Sam (as Kenny would have, were he truly there) stood lost for speech. Moe nodded proudly.
"I did say he was my close personal friend, after all."
The man in the chair was wearing decent if casual clothes, neither fancy nor stylish. But in the distant eyes of the very young Sammy Beckett of Indiana, he was wearing the garb of a red and blue caped archangel made flesh.
"It's…it's an honor, Mister Ree-"
Moe cut him off abruptly.
"First The Scottish Play, now this? We have a lot of little visitors to this set and studio, young man. So when my friend here is with us, you will refer to him by his nom de guerre. Understood?"
Sam's selective memory kicked in at that reminder.
"Oh, that's right. When you appeared on I Love Lucy, even the closing credits called you that."
The visitor smiled.
"The kids were the only worthwhile thing about that bargain-basement production. So when I'm in public where they might be, I'm afraid you have to call me Superman."
Sam nervously shook his hand.
"It's an honor, Superman!"
Sam caught his inner fanboy just in time.
"I've been a fan of yours feats of…acting power…for a long time."
There was something else about the actor before him, something important, but this time his memory failed him.
'Superman' pointed to Stein.
"Well, meet my Jor-L—that's the Krypton father's name—the man who was the best dialogue coach a new actor could wish for. Just about rescued my steel butt during Gone With The Wind."
Stein shook his head.
"All this mortal man did was help Superman here with some tricky antebellum inflections. Helped to authenticate the role in his own mind, where the real work is accomplished."
'Superman' kept on with the praise.
"Yeah, but those same lessons enabled me to get through those smarmy speeches my character would make. Phyllis Coates wasn't surprised you trained me. Jack Larson might want to look you up, too. Wants to leave 'Jeepers Mister Kent' as far behind him as I do."
Now, Sam recalled at least one thing: 'Superman' had always felt the role had diminished him as an actor, typecast him as the iconic popular figure that, in the mind of the film-watching public, he would now always and forever be. Not least of all in his own mind, he and his siblings elbowed on the carpet as the orchestra began playing a fanfare etched into his heart and soul.
"If I do one-tenth as well as either you or Captain Galaxy, Superman, I'll be a happy man."
'Superman' didn't frown, but once again his distaste for his primary role shone through.
"Hopefully, kid, you don't do so well, they talk about reviving the trap you found yourself in. I mean, I just got out, and they're talking about bringing it back? Lucky for me, these things can take months if not years to pan out. What if I can't find real work in the meantime? They'll have me over a barrel."
Moe Stein looked at his friend with surprise.
"Now, Superman – a series is a series. If they do want you back, then you can make certain demands. Script and set upgrades. Those kids are growing up, and might buy into more sophisticated fare that grows with them."
'Superman' did not look convinced.
"Moe, your name may be short for Moshe, but that is a sea even he couldn't hope to part. Studios want pablum on the best of days. Now I hear the sponsors are going to have even more say. Hooray for Hollywoodland!"
Sam was not prepared to let his childhood idol off that easy.
"But it could be just like those Japanese action shows they import and splice in American actors. Those started as pure silliness, but eventually took a tougher tack as their audience grew up…"
Sam stood with his mouth open and his jaw dropping, as he realized he had broken a cardinal rule of time travel and likely made himself look like a fool. But Moe Stein's laughter was gentle.
"Superman, this young fellow is a method actor like few others. Our Future Boy stays in character. Saved my bacon earlier today, when a kid clobbered me with a question about losing his dog. I just had no answer for the boy."
'Superman' regained his smile.
"Still trying to make everything right that goes wrong, eh, Moe? Maybe one day, Superman will run across you when he breaks the time barrier. But for right now, let's say we find a tavern and break a few bottles of the good hard stuff. Something with a skull and crossbones next to its proof label?"
While Moe certainly had troubles of his own – the entire reason Sam was there – he could see his friend needed such a night out even more. After they left, Sam used the privacy of the dressing room to make his own much needed contact.
"Sorry, Sam. Ziggy's still seeing Stein either killed when he tries for that train or hauled off because of his daughter's concerns."
Sam knew they would have to wait for another opening on that front, so he moved on an entirely different front.
"Al, you know who I just met? TV's Superman. I mean, the original. He's a friend of Moe Stein's."
Al Calavicci showed his surprise by putting his cigar away entirely, presumably in a safe spot in the contact chamber.
"Wow. That's big Sam. I wasn't a kid for that whole run, but I remember that one."
Sam looked down.
"Al, my swiss-cheese memory is at it again. What happened to him? I seem to recall it was something…unfortunate."
Al knew his friend all too well. He knew there was no Kryptonite for his inner boy-scout, once enabled. They had to concentrate on helping Moe Stein, the reason they were there to start with. So he silently asked forgiveness and lied to Sam.
"You know the drill, Sam. He put on weight as he got older, a lot of B-Movies and game shows. Ended up denouncing most of the kids who grew up with him as an idol, but he softened up late in life."
*The worst lie of all is a lie that contains half-a-truth. Please don't spot me out, Sam. There's enough other people's bios in that one to pass muster, right?*
"Thanks, Al. I guess that's about what I'd expect from how cynical and worn-out he sounded."
As he exited the chamber in their present-day, Al almost hated himself for how smoothly his deception went. He reminded himself that the 'big picture' history seemed immutable, and that things like saving Jackie Kennedy were all they usually got. This only helped a little.
The next morning, relative to his leapee's native time, Sam arrived early at the studio, hoping to push ahead with helping Moe Stein in the best way possible. For his part, Moe needed a little more help than anyone could have thought.
"Make that coffee as black as pitch, Kenny. If you can locate any hot sauce somewhere, I'm wide open."
Sam knew a trick with re-using old coffee grounds to kick things up, and Moe welcomed every bitter drop.
"Son, NEVER go out drinking with a man who can change the course of mighty rivers. Because those rivers have names like Johnny Walker and Seagram's. I had forgotten how much Geo—how much Superman can put down when he's upset."
Moe grasped his by his wrist, in a pleading way with a look to match.
"Which brings me to my second favor. You don't have to do it, but I would owe you so much. Our strange visitor is in even worse shape than I am right now. Please go back to his hotel room and babysit? I don't want kids or the press to see him like this. We can film around your parts today—maybe give you some solo action. My daughter's lawyer postponed the hearing till tomorrow. Kenny, I just worry about him in this state."
Al had called it correctly, as regarded Sam's inner boy scout. Soon, he was using the key Moe gave him to try and help a man who had helped him so many times in his boyhood dreams.
*Al was right. I do know this drill.*
From Al himself to a great many of his leapee's companions or even the subjects of his leaps, Sam, faulty memory or no, had become something of an expert on helping the badly inebriated. It took about five hours, but 'Superman' already stopped looking like seven planets under a red sun.
"Tell you what, kid—lightly toasted white bread? I thought I knew every hangover trick in the book—I actually thought about writing a book, truth be known."
Sam shook his head.
"It's actually for a sour stomach, but close enough for government work."
Sam was also thankful that the ginger ale in that era had actual ginger in it. The man had a good constitution, and with him on the road to recovery from his binge, Sam tried to bow out.
"Listen, if you're all right now, I feel like I should get back to Moe."
Sam wanted to stay and chat with all his heart, but he kept seeing Al pop up in his imagination, warning of a dire new Ziggy prediction. Besides, however much he wanted to help 'Superman', his mission was to keep Moe Stein from getting himself killed. 'Superman' raised a shaking hand in the air.
"Stay. Maybe another hour. Moe's the biggest pro I've ever met, and he can handle any show you can name all on his own. Right now, I need someone, anyone here, or I honestly don't know what I'll do with myself."
That nearly triggered Sam's memory, but not quite. If the man had specified just what he might do with himself, it might have done the trick. So he pulled up a chair. 'Superman' looked grateful.
"Thanks, really. Boy, last time I was this lit, I signed up for a little piece of schlock called 'Jungle Goddess'. Nothing but regrets."
Sam found himself going from being nervous about violating the rules of his mission (so far as he understood them) and becoming far too relaxed about it all. In the mix between these poles, Sam made the kind of mistake he sometimes did on these leaps, and likely would have, even if his memory had been perfect.
"Joel and the Bots agreed with you on that one."
Sam regained himself and thought very, very quickly.
"They're a comedy troupe out of Minnesota. Their—shtick is to do that whole 'talk during the movies' thing obnoxious folks do, making fun of movies that are less than classics, so to speak."
'Superman' seemed to forget his fading hangover entirely, a smile now on his face.
"I think that frankly sounds brilliant. You know what they say in Hollywood – some films weren't released – they escaped! I would love to see them do their act. Maybe next time I'm up that way…"
Which had Sam thinking fast yet again.
"Unfortunately, they ran up against some copyright issues – one fertilizer salesman from Texas didn't like them making fun of his slow-paced 'horror film' and the whole thing went South fast."
The smile faded.
"Why does every director think they've created the next well, 'Gone With The Wind'? But that idea would be great for Television, provided our friends in Burbank et al ever actually allow their films to be shown on TV!"
In fact, that situation had already begun changing, even in the time Sam had leaped into, but the traveler felt one temporal faux pas was enough for then and there. Instead he went with some old-fashioned gut instinct.
"Jeepers, Mister Kent—what are you doing in town?"
The question was sarcastic, blunt, and could easily have gotten Sam thrown out. But for his part, 'Superman' only shrugged.
"You mean, why come this far out of my way to visit an old friend, just to get loaded in the next heartbeat?"
With his subdued tone and frankly mild-manner, Sam could not shake the notion that he really could be talking with Clark Kent, if that man actually existed.
"Well, up-and-coming Oscar material though I may be, I really doubt you came here to talk to Future Boy."
The embodiment of an American icon looked badly lost.
"Moe has regrets. But they're about his wife and daughter—and how to gain back lost time-don't see how you do that, but Moe has always been made out of determination. This little regional kiddie show he's doing? About that, he is just fine. A man of his acting stature is just perfectly fine being remembered for playing a silly character with all the depth of a toothpaste commercial narrator!"
Sam made a simpler leap, one of logic and simple insight.
"And you're not?"
'Superman' lay back in his chair.
"Like I said, I love the kids. But by now, I should be getting roles like Clark—Clark Gable did. They all tell me the public is too invested with me in the circus strongman's outfit to see me any other way. I was hoping Moe could show me some secret, some long-lost method for dealing with a role that is all burden and rewards only when you've hit one out of the ballpark. It's like—like—"
Sam once more risked cutting the conversation short.
"A never-ending battle?"
However down he was feeling, the man was good-humored enough to at least chuckle and appreciate the effort.
"Really, yeah. All the people I work with are good folks themselves. I'm not the first actor to have to tolerate less than ideal filming conditions and scripts. Yet given my career, and some less than wise choices, I may have no choice but to go back if they resume filming. I can't do personal appearances and wrestling shows forever."
Sam felt awkward, the boy scout still feeling awed by, fiction aside, the ultimate boy scout.
"You know, Moe is your old friend. You and me, we just met."
'Superman' looked in desperate need of some sunlight.
"I will take whatever you have to offer, cheerfully and gratefully."
Sam did just what was asked of him.
"I've watched your show with my little cousins – sometimes even by myself. You're right. The sets are sparse, the effects sequences often repeated, and some of the ideas are goofy. Not that the original comic books and newspaper strips were always free of that, but on-screen, a lot of it looked even sillier. One thing stood out, though – Superman himself."
When the recovering hangover didn't interrupt, Sam kept going.
"Maybe you really are too good for that role. Or maybe, that role being so limited, you, by virtue of being so good, invest it with something that it wouldn't have otherwise. I once read one of those old comics, and in it, Superman said almost anyone could have been the one sent from Krypton, and received his strange powers when they got to Earth. But that alone wouldn't have made them Superman. Not everyone would have just started fighting crime. I heard tell once his creators toyed with making him a disturbed little man who tried to be a world-conquering tyrant. Other people might have just avoided notice, or only helped when the world was near to ending, like that episode where you stopped the meteor. But the baby who grew up to be Superman decided that, if this all was his lot in life, he would use what he had to make the role he had to play not just a helper, like a super-cop or fireman, but something to remember."
Sam tried to wrap up, again almost feeling the presence of a worried Al emerging.
"That is what I think you have done with this role that any actor in theory could have played. Invested it with a determination to make something out of it. With an acting super-power. In his fictional world, there must be days when Superman's responsibilities take the wind out of his cape. But he pushes past them, the way you obviously did with your show. I don't know if you'll ever go back to doing it, presuming this revival takes hold. I don't even know if you should, since it seems to weigh on you so hard. But if you do, I know one thing – I'll be watching, and consider us all lucky that someone with your abilities is, even in cheap sets and plots, fighting for truth, justice—and yeah, The American Way."
'Superman' indicated he felt past the worst of his sour mood, and thanked 'Kenny Sharpe' for staying with him. Surprising himself, Sam was back with an equally grateful Moe Stein before Al gave the latest on the ever-changing situation with Moe's life and his daughter. Within the day, both these matters would be resolved, and after watching Moe briefly surrounded by a familiar blue light, Sam and Al got one more surprise. Evoking a slight but explicable paradox, it seemed that Moe Stein had in fact provided Sam with the basic theory of time travel that led to Sam's current situation.
As Sam leaped out, Al experienced a rare but not unknown occurrence . Gooshie had once compared it to the old analog TV sets, when you would suddenly shut them off, sometimes leaving a static impression of what had just been on the screen when the power was interrupted.
"I'm still here. Heh. Every once in a blue moon…"
As Al moved to use his handlink to sever the already fading connection entirely, he saw a slightly confused Kenny Sharpe (now actually Kenny, and not Sam) turn and look off-set. A decent actor who at least knew how to improvise (perhaps with some aid from some Sam-neurons) he spoke in-character as Future Boy.
"Oh, Boy—Captain Galaxy! Look who's here to see you off on your final journey!"
Al turned as well as the children in the gallery began to squeal in primal delight. Lots of pictures would be taken on this day, and not just with the kids. Moe Stein outright laughed, and his daughter nearby raced to get her kids on the phone.
"A strange visitor has come by – and in full dress uniform no less."
Al shook his head. Whenever he had grown up, he was now one of those kids, seeing nothing less than an archangel in red and blue as he strode up.
"How can I do any less for my close personal friends – Captain Galaxy and Future Boy – both of whom have aided me in my times of greatest need?"
The link broke entirely at that moment, and Al had to fight not to stamp his feet.
"You couldn't have managed one more lousy moment?"
Calming down, Al exited the imaging chamber and the usual crew, standing down.
"I got the Popcorn!", said a more-bubbly than usual Tina.
Verbeena Beeks seemed to have taken a bit of bubbly cue from Tina.
"Plenty of soda! Five flavors, diet and regular."
Gooshie looked ready to pop, Soda or no.
"I don't care how many times I see this one, I'm always five years old again."
Al was of course badly confused.
"What's the to-do about?"
Gooshie shrugged.
"Admiral! Tonight Time Warp TV is showing all four crossover episodes of the 1966 Batman series!"
Al wasn't perfect on TV or superheroes, but he recalled something.
"Nah, that show only had two crossover episodes. With The Green Hornet and Kato—Bruce Lee."
Gooshie looked askance at Calavicci.
"Before his run on Kung-Fu. Well, yes, those were the first two. But I'm talking about the two from Season 4, after they moved to NBC. In fact, it was the promise of these episodes that got them un-cancelled."
Again, Al distinctly recalled a different set of events, and this would continue. As he sat down with the others, their chatter gave some of it away.
"They say he was too out of shape for this appearance, but who cares?"
"Remember when he and Lucy played Captain Kirk's parents in the Season 5 series finale?"
"Well, I think it was decent of him to play Perry White in the 70's and 80's films."
Al muttered as the episode began.
"Nah, that was Jackie Cooper…who are we talking about…wow…"
As the new-to-him episode played out, the answer to this became very apparent as the Dynamic Duo were once again facing an over-built death trap from their greatest foe. When the set's nearby wall busted down, all doubt was erased. Robin for his part cried out *Holy Strange Visitor, Batman!* to which the hammy Batman replied *The cause of justice is a generational one, old chum.* The stunned Joker frowned and called out the intruder. *Aren't you a little old for this…Stoopey-kins?*
As Al left to check with Ziggy, he heard the hero's response: *I may be old, Joker, but there's some things you just never forget. I think I can still pull this off.*
Al had the super-computer lower the sound-absorbers for this conversation.
"Alright, Ziggy-what the HELL did Sam do?"
The hybrid A-I was its usual flippant self.
"I think it would be obvious, Admiral. Somehow, via his conversation with the actor in question, Doctor Beckett prevented either his suicide or kept him from being at the time and place that would have led to his murder. Of course, while the suspicions tended strongly towards him taking his own life, we now have no chance of knowing what truly happened in the original timeline."
Al closed his eyes at this concept.
"This is supposed to be impossible. This is supposed to be against all the rules."
Ziggy seemed to lose a bit of its sarcasm.
"The rules as we understand them, Admiral, said understanding being highly incomplete."
Al opened his eyes and nodded.
"I get that. But Sam has tried to save big history figures before. Time and history just always looped around to put things back. What was different this time?"
Ziggy calculated some of this.
"Admiral, what did Doctor Beckett say when he asked you about the fate of TV's Superman?"
Al knew Ziggy was back to being cutesy, using the euphemism Sam had obeyed at Moe Stein's request.
"He didn't remember it, so I didn't tell him. I knew better than to put him on a crusade inside a crusade. I lied, and said the guy burned out, faded away. He was there for Moe Stein, and that one was close enough. Turned out to be big time important, too."
Ziggy took on a pondering tone.
"I could speculate that this mission being tied in with the deep-seeded origins of Doctor Beckett's current life and situation unleashed unique energies that enabled a one-time violation of established norms and pathways, but I lack hard evidence for such. So a more mundane explanation may be more helpful."
"So give."
Ziggy made noises Al associated with deep file searches.
"I believe I may have it, Admiral. Whether dealing with what you crudely but accurately called big picture history or those close to him, Doctor Beckett has the tendency to issue warnings of a specific nature that often confuse his target, sometimes render them hostile to his advice, or that restrictions force him to make less than complete, even leading them back onto the path he wished to guide them off of."
Al shrugged.
"Yeah, Sam's like a terrier once he gets the scent of something he can change, and the boy scout in him goes into over-drive. But- he didn't know enough about what happened to 'Superman' to give any specifics. He just gave his best. The best Sam Beckett had to offer, not knowing the outcome. It sure as hell pulled me out of the pit-"
Al looked up, even though there was no sky above him.
"-and I guess that it was good enough to save Superman."
For his part, Al returned just in time to witness the epic scene, considered an effects triumph of the era, when Superman lifted the Batmobile to fly it home.
The wink at the end of the episode had everyone groaning except for Al.
"Able to leap…"