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  He recalled how sensitive Marlon was to him, because everyone on the set seemed to sense he was going to lose the job. Al had started off playing Michael a bit erratically. It makes sense: Michael had just come out of the Army; he wasn’t a gangster. He was forced into it over time. Everything just kind of happens to him. Al thought if he played him as the guy who was going to take over from the get-go, there’d be nowhere to go. There’d be no space for that moment of change. So he approached Michael as an independent guy, but a kid who doesn’t know who he really is. The problem was, the director couldn’t see who Michael really was either. Finally, Francis Ford Coppola called him in and said, “You’re not cutting it for me, kid.” Coppola had Al sit and watch some of the rushes. By that time, Al didn’t even want to be in the movie anymore. Hey, if you don’t want me ...

  But the rushes told him exactly what Coppola was talking about. “You know, what?” Al said. “You’re right.” He knew he was onto something. It was just off the mark.

  The next scene they shot was the one where he gets the gun from the bathroom and kills the two guys in the restaurant in revenge for the shooting of his father. He went into it thinking that it might be his last scene. And that’s the scene where he discovers Michael Corleone. The look in his eyes as he drops the gun will live for as long as people can talk about it.

  Al spoke about learning to be blind for Scent of a Woman from his three-year-old daughter. He asked her how to do a blind person, and she was spot on. No preparation. Bam! So Al did a variation on her theme. He got to the point where by not focusing his eyes, he actually wasn’t seeing, and then he injured himself when he fell into a bush and a branch scratched his cornea.

  It was exploration, then discovery. The phrase huah! came to him when he was learning how to assemble and disassemble a .45 while acting blind. He spent countless hours working on it and when he finally nailed it, the military instructor let out a huah! There it was.

  Other times it was the reverse. Self-discovery led to exploration. He had to understand what was happening to his life before he could accept his role in Dog Day Afternoon. He was drinking too much at the time and he turned down the script after initially accepting it. One of the producers had to implore him to stop drinking for a few days so he could read the script again with a clear head. Al didn’t drink for a few days, read it and said, “Why am I not doing this?”

  During the shooting, a guy came over to Al and wondered if he might want to spice up the dialogue by referencing the prison uprising that had just shaken New York State. Now we’ll never forget the word Attica!

  “Say hello to my little friend,” in Scarface, came from his little son.

  We could have spent all day talking about acting and all night talking about the Yankees. But it’s a show, and soon it was over.

  When I walked away from the interview, the same guy who asked me the legacy question wanted to know what it felt like. After 50,000 interviews, he asked, did it feel good to know that I could do what I do as well at seventy-seven as I ever could?

  The question reminded me of an interview I once did with the golfer Sam Snead. Sammy had a perfect swing. The world has never seen a swing like Sam Snead’s. Slammin’ Sammy Snead. I said to Sammy, “You’re seventy now. Could you play in a tournament?” He said, “I could probably play on Thursday. But then Friday would be hard. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll play any player in the world one hole for money—and they can pick the hole.” I never forgot that. And they can pick the hole.

  My point is: I’m not Sam Snead. I didn’t feel like, And they can pick the hole. I didn’t feel like that because the interview wasn’t about me. Al Pacino hit the home run that day. Not me. I was the facilitator. That’s the job. To get the guest to open up so he or she can hit a home run. That’s what a lot of people in broadcasting don’t understand these days. But we’ll get to that later on ...

  6

  Crime

  This is a serious topic. So let me ease into it with a funny story. The topic is crime. The story goes back to when a I was just making a name for myself as a radio show host in Miami.

  There was a convention for police chiefs and another for There was a convention for police chiefs and another for district attorneys taking place over the same few days. They were both ending with Sunday afternoon sessions. Somebody came up with the idea to cancel both afternoon sessions, rent out the ballroom at the Fontainebleau Hotel on Sunday night, and conclude both conventions with a combined dinner.

  This created a slight problem. The problem being that the most boring man on the planet was scheduled to speak to the district attorneys. The change would put him in front of the combined audience at the finale. So my friend, the state attorney in Miami, asked me for a favor: Will you please follow this guy and save the evening?

  “I’m just a local radio guy,” I said. “Nobody knows me.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll give you a big introduction.”

  So I go there Sunday night. I’m seated on the dais next to police chiefs from around America—all in uniform. I’m a little overwhelmed. My friend the state attorney comes over and says, “Relax. No problem.”

  Then, Frank Silverman gets up to speak. It’s hard to make the subject of crime boring, but Frank Silverman turned it into a commercial for Sominex. His own wife went face-first into the Baked Alaska. Frank droned on and on about how to solve crime. As soon as he stopped, half the crowd miraculously awakened and started running for the door.

  My friend the state attorney went to the microphone and said, “Now, before you leave, here’s my friend—Larry King.”

  That was my big introduction.

  So I rushed to the microphone and screamed, “Hold it! Wait a minute!

  The crowd turned.

  “I’m in broadcasting! Yes, broadcasting! In broadcasting we have an equal time code! A fairness doctrine! You have just heard Frank Silverman speak against crime. I’m here to speak on behalf of crime.”

  It’s a cliché to say you could have heard a pin drop. Believe me, at that moment you could have heard the tinkle. Everybody sat down. I’ve got them, I thought. Only now, I have to think of something to say.

  “How many people in this room,” I ask, “would like to live in Butte, Montana?”

  Nobody raises a hand.

  I slammed the lectern. “You see! Nobody wants to live in Butte, Montana! Butte, Montana, is the city with the lowest crime rate in the Western world! Last year, there were no crimes in Butte! There is not even a locksmith in Butte, Montana!

  “Tell me, what are the top five crime cities in America? New York, Chicago, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, and Miami—the top five tourist cities. So you see, crime is a major tourist attraction. You put crime in your community, you’re gonna double the size of the airport. People flock to crime.

  “And another thing that he”—I’m pointing at the suddenly important Frank Silverman—“didn’t mention. The money stays local. The local bookmaker goes to the local coffee shop. The local hooker goes to the local beauty parlor.

  “And! Criminals have a tendency to take care of their own problems. They don’t put added stress on the police department. They commit crimes you don’t have to solve.

  “One more thing that Frank Silverman totally left out. If we listen to everything he says, and we do everything he wants us to do, we will wipe out crime in America. Think of the consequences. The unemployment rate in this room is going to hit 100 percent!”

  From the middle of the crowd, the police chief from Louisville jumped up and said, “What can we do to help?”

  I bring up that story to make a larger point. There’s always more than one way to see a crime. Crime is rarely simple—and it’s very often complex. It can also put innocent bystanders in no-win situations. Like the time Bob Costas was eating dinner in a restaurant and found out that the mobster John Gotti had picked up his check for him. Do you go over and shake his hand? Or do you refuse the offer? Is there a diplomatic way out?
Crime can even make us wonder about our own sense of values. Like the time Yogi Berra was asked what he’d do if he stumbled upon a million dollars in the street while nobody was looking. “I’d find the guy who lost it,” Yogi said. “And if he was poor, I’d give it back.”

  Bottom line is, crime is very rarely black and white.

  Wesley Snipes was the guest the night after the Al Pacino interview aired. I thought he was terrific with Halle Berry in Flight 57, but he wasn’t on to discuss an upcoming film. He came on as a man about to surrender himself to a federal prison in less than forty-eight hours.

  It was a very confusing story. Ultimately, he was convicted of three misdemeanor counts of failing to file federal tax returns in 1999, 2000, and 2001.

  Snipes claimed he was innocent. He claimed that someone else was supposed to file the taxes for him. The jury agreed in part—acquitting him of two felony charges. The judge gave him the max: three years in prison.

  Wesley was hoping my show would allow people to see his case in a different light and halt his incarceration. One of his big problems was that the case had attracted the attention of groups that believe nobody should have to pay taxes. He became a poster child for these groups. So it was plausible that the government wanted to make an example of him. Wesley’s attorney said he’d paid more than $30 million in taxes and that he’d shown up in court with a $6 million check to try to resolve the problem. You couldn’t help but wonder. Why was that check rejected? Wouldn’t anyone want to look into the case after it came to light that the chief witness against him turned out to be the same business manager who’d ripped off Al Pacino for millions? But also, why did Wesley wait until the last minute to make his case public?

  It was hard to do the story justice. To do it right you needed to have the prosecutor on the show. Anyone can look like they were railroaded in a case when you don’t hear from the other side.

  Which is why I’d really like to interview Bernie Madoff. Because when it comes to Bernie Madoff, there doesn’t seem to be another side. If there is, I’d like to hear it.

  I’m often asked to name someone I would have liked to interview but never got the chance. Near the top of the list would have to be Madoff. There would be a double lure—it would be a victim interview. I’ve never interviewed anybody who ever committed a crime against me.

  I was one of thousands of “investors” who got taken by Madoff. Time magazine estimates there were up to 3 million direct and indirect victims. In some ways, you could say I’m the last guy who should have fallen for his scheme. Over the years, I’ve talked with FBI agents about great frauds and Secret Service agents about counterfeiting. I’ve sat down with the legendary bank robber Willie Sutton. Recalling great crime capers always makes for a great breakfast at Nate ’n Al’s. After hearing all those stories, how could a guy like me not have a clue?

  There’s a good answer to that. Bernie Madoff was brilliant. There was even a little Willie Sutton in him. Willie was a robber, but he never carried a gun. He had an amazing mind and he had that great line. I said to him, “You could have been a giant of industry. Why rob banks?”

  “That’s where the money is.”

  It was logical to him. He was more interested in being outside the law than inside. Robbery attracted his cunning.

  Once Sutton pulled off a bank robbery in Queens. Get this setup: What Willie did was go to the bank for months in various disguises—a couple of them female. He opened about eight accounts, deposited money, made withdrawals. The idea was to go almost every day so that all the tellers trusted his characters. In a sense, he befriended the people at the bank. All the while, he was casing the joint.

  It took him a couple of months to know every move. He knew exactly when the Brinks boys made their pickups. Then, one day at precisely that time, he came in dressed as a pregnant woman. That gave him ample room to hide bags filled with confetti next to his stomach. The bags looked just like the ones the bank used for the Brinks pickups. He casually switched his bags for ones that had cash and walked out the door. There were no video cameras in those days to replay what had happened. Nobody even discovered the switch until that night when the money was counted.

  You know how cunning Willie was? He kept going back to the bank dressed in the different disguises for weeks after the robbery. The investigators never suspected any of his characters because none of them stopped making deposits. The police just couldn’t solve the crime. They found out only when Sutton was caught for another robbery and decided to confess.

  One reason why Madoff’s scheme worked for as long as it did was that he was disguised. He didn’t need a costume as elaborate as maternity wear. His disguise was much better than that. He was disguised as himself—the former chairman of NASDAQ and a pillar of the Jewish community. Charities trusted him to watch over their money—and, why not, he made large donations. Who would rip off a charity? What Jew would rip off Elie Wiesel—a Holocaust survivor? Madoff was the best friend of respected and well-known people. Is there a better way to lure in someone than with a friend’s recommendation?

  Shawn once mentioned to Freddie Wilpon that we were looking for investment advice, and Freddie said, “Ever hear of Bernie Madoff? He’s been my friend for years ...”

  Freddie is the owner of the New York Mets. Freddie has been my friend for years. Of course I’m going to listen when he says, “Madoff’s the best. The best! I’ll try to get you in with him. I’ll try ...”

  This was yet another lure Madoff had going for him—exclusivity. Madoff didn’t take just anybody. So there wasn’t a normal vetting process. Instead, Madoff had me wondering if my money was good enough for him to handle. When Freddie called back and said, “Good news! Madoff will take you,” I wasn’t thinking about checking the guy out. I was happy to be accepted into the club.

  I spoke with my accountants. No warning bells there. They never even spoke to Madoff. They talked with one of his guys. We sent him $250,000 to start. A month later, we got a list of stocks he’d bought for us. The statement said our investment had already grown to about $272,000.

  If our account had lost money during a bad stretch we might have paid close attention to it. Sort of like the grocery store that week after week was coming up short of cash. Merchandise gone, unaccounted for. The owners searched and searched and just couldn’t figure out how they were losing money. Then one day, somebody looks at the receipts from all twelve cash registers and then counts the registers in the store. There are thirteen. The manager had installed the thirteenth register for himself. Terrific thinking, but when you’re constantly losing money, the scrutiny is eventually going to catch up with you.

  Madoff did the exact opposite. Month after month, you got good news. Two months after we sent him the $250,000, we got a statement that the account was worth $291,000. Why would you want to scrutinize him? The guy never lost. You’re thinking: This is almost too good to be true. That’s where I should have caught myself. When you’re telling yourself it’s too good to be true, then it’s usually too good to be true.

  The biggest reason to have faith in Madoff was that you got your money as soon as you asked for it. I had a large insurance premium to pay a few years back. The same day my accountants requested the money—bam!—it was wired to my account. Madoff could do this, of course, because so many other people were giving him money that he wasn’t really investing. It’s estimated that $170 billion rolled through his offices at one time or another.

  Should I have paid attention to the one guy who didn’t trust him and made a public squawk? Of course! But everybody else ignored that guy, too. Nobody else asked the basic questions. He’s handling billions of dollars and not dealing with any of the top accounting firms? Why are Madoff’s accountants three guys from Queens? Those are questions you don’t ask when winning statements come in month after month.

  What you do is spread the good news. It’s only natural that you’d want to tell your brother about Madoff. Now, my brother was interested. Only—get
this—my brother’s money wasn’t good enough. Madoff rejected him. Freddie called back and said, “Sorry. What can I say? Bernie doesn’t just take everybody.”

  Are you going to pull out your money in anger? No. It’s Madoff’s business. It’s his prerogative. And it’s just your luck to be one of the chosen.

  If the economy had continued rolling along, Madoff would have remained undetected. But when the financial meltdown hit in the autumn of ’08, requests came in for billions. I try to imagine what that must have been like. This is going to sound crazy, but when I think of myself stealing, the first thing that comes to mind is a Duncan yo-yo.

  The letter that Frank Sinatra sent me in 1988 is one of my most cherished treasures. You can tell it’s from Frank because he always signed his letters with his full first name.

  (Credit: Shawn Southwick-King. Courtesy of the Sinatra Estate.)

  I was surprised to find out how much in common I have with the world’s richest man, Carlos Slim.

  (Credit: Simon Cordova. Courtesy of Larry King.)

  The interview I’m most asked about is the one in which I was kissed by Marlon Brando.

  (© 2007 Cable News Network. A Time Warner Company. All rights reserved.)

  It took years of coaxing, but my good friend and best man, Al Pacino, finally came on the show just before Larry King Live ended after twenty-five years.

  (© 2010 Cable News Network. A Time Warner Company. All rights reserved. Photographer Mathieu Young.)

  No subject I interviewed during the last year of the show got more reaction on the street than did Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.

  (© 2010 Cable News Network. A Time Warner Company. All rights reserved. Photographer Lorenzo Bevilaqua.)

  One of my proudest accomplishments of the last year was raising $9 million for the earthquake victims of Haiti—with help from Seal and a lot of others.