THE CONFESSIONS OF PAUL LYNDE

In March 1973, in an article for a fan magazine called Motion Picture, Paul provided short answers to the following topics: I Love; I Hate; I Cry; I Fear; I Laugh; I Forget; I Worry; I Sleep; I Remember; I'm Happiest; I'm Grateful; I'm Bored; I Lose My Temper; I Lie; I Regret; I'm Shy; I'm Stingy; I'm Nostalgic; and I Wish. Here's the opening paragraph of that article and Paul's responses to the uber-Paul Lynde topic, "I Hate":

Anyone attempting to describe Paul Lynde invariably concludes with the succinct observation: "He is a very funny man." Paul's wizardry as a wag is based on a simple conviction that "comedy is exaggerated realism. It can be stretched to the almost ludicrous," he maintains, "but it must always be believable." The man with the wagging head, the amazingly mobile face and the headlight smile is as funny in private life as he is on screen. But he does have a serious side, which comes out in his well-informed discussions of everyday news, politics, and world affairs.

I HATE

Writing letters.

Tipping New York cap drivers. I wish I had the nerve not to tip.

In traffic, to be behind two women shopping. They don’t know there’s anyone else on the road. In Beverly Hills, particularly, where because they’re in Cadillacs, they think they’re in a tank. Yak-yak-yak, and going 15 miles an hour. And they wait until they make a left turn and then turn on the left-turn signal.

Still in traffic, to be behind a VW bus with eight or nine people in it and you can’t see anything but hair. Because of the hair, they can’t see where they’re going, and you know that.

Small talk.

Memorizing my lines. But I guess I’m in a big club. Learning lines is on my mind until I do know them. I’ll read the paper or paint the house to keep from starting to memorize. I’ve never found an easy way.

Wire hangers. A closet full of wire hangers can be the most dangerous place in the world.

Frank people, especially in my dressing room after the show. I know when I’ve been awful, and I don’t need people coming in and saying, “I know  you well enough to say…” I tell them, “No you don’t—just get out!”

Hypocrisy, more than anything.

Raw clams and oysters.

Reading scripts. Because they always let me down. I’ll find every excuse not to begin reading because I don’t want to be let down.

Sentiment for sentiment’s sake in anything theatrical. I laughed all the way through Love Story.

Swamps.

Politicians. They talk in generalities and lies, and I think they’ve caused all our grief—and hope Nader never lets up on them. They’re so awful, they’re really funny. I hate thinking this because my dad loved politics.

Missing reading the morning paper. It makes me feel uninformed all day and I hate that.

Anyone not doing his best.

Back on VWs again, the way they get in front of you just before you start up a hill and then they turn into a Maytag.

Gym.

The desert. On the way to Las Vegas, I keep a vial of poison in the car in case there’s a breakdown. I’d rather drink the poison than just sit there in all that nothing for a couple of hours. There are spiders on that road out there that can wreck your car.