I first met Maxwell Smart at The Gavel, a rooming house directly across University Street from the University of Utah law school and supposedly populated by law students; however, resident manager Bob Macri had turned it into something of a halfway house for non-matriculated drifters such as myself. I remember there was just one telephone in the entire building, and whenever a call would come in for Max, whoever had answered would shout, “Hey, Max! The call’s for you. Do you want to take it on your shoe?”
A person of lesser temperament would come to resent constant references to the bumbling secret agent portrayed by actor Don Adams; however, the real life Maxwell Smart never did—not even after the time I presented him with a working shoe phone.
In addition to being drifters, it turns out that Max and I had something else in common in that our fathers had been classmates at Provo High, where Neff “Tiger” Smart was a champion wrestler. Son Max was not a jock, although he had inherited his father’s muscular build. Was Tiger disappointed in his son? Let’s just say that, like so many of us in those days, Max was disinclined to follow in his father’s footsteps. Problem was, Max’s footsteps were all over the place. After leaving Utah, he had worked as a longshoreman, a beekeeper in Hawaii, a hat salesman in Tahoe, and a backstage hand at a casino in Sparks. I remember once my son and I paid him a visit when he was manning the light booth at “Splash”—a spectacle that involved high divers, scantily clad mermaids, motorcycle jumpers, a rampaging giant ape—even a jumbo jet! We enjoyed the show from a comfy overhead sofa, at times shielding our eyes against incoming laser beams.
On another occasion, I imagined that I had recognized Max as a Barnum & Bailey circus strongman. At the time, he was flexing his muscles and hoisting first one, then, two, then, three, then four acrobatic women.
“Max!” I shouted from the stands as the human pyramid continued to grow. No response. “MAX!!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Whereupon the strongman shot me a dirty look, as if to say, “How many women do I have to pick up before you’ll be satisfied?”
Turns out I had the wrong guy, although in fact the real Maxwell Smart had no trouble picking up women. Problem was, he could never maintain a romantic relationship for long, which I suppose is one reason he felt comfortable in show business, no matter that he never gave up on a dream to practice law, and in fact, did manage to obtain a law degree later in life at about the same stage when many attorneys begin to consider running for public office. Maxwell had long held strong political convictions, which is what we talked about last time we met face-to-face, at a restaurant in Washington, D.C.
Problem is, how do you get people to take you seriously when your name is Maxwell Smart? True, many former actors have segued successfully onto the national stage, but none whose name evokes a bumbling secret agent.
The past few years, we’ve kept in touch via sporadic emails. From Maryland, Max relocated to Orlando, Florida, where I suspect he had a job of some sort at Disney World. But his main interest was watching rocket launches. Something about things getting off the ground appealed to him on a visceral level, no doubt.
And now, sadly, I’ve lost touch with him. If anyone knows of his whereabouts, or even if you, Max, should happen to read this, please get in touch. I still have a landline, if you still have that shoe.
