r72, this was interesting--from wikipedia'e Bill Cullen entry:
[quote]Cullen contracted polio in August 1921, when he was 18 months old. The long-term sequelae of that illness, combined with injuries sustained in a serious motor vehicle accident in 1937 requiring a nine-month hospitalization, made it difficult for him to walk or stand for an extended period of time.
[quote]Directors on his game shows took great care to limit the extent that Cullen was shown walking on camera. Each show's set was designed to accommodate Cullen's limited range of motion; the podiums, game boards, props, and any physical movements by contestants were arranged so that Cullen could, for the most part, remain stationary. Rather than the grand entrance common for most game show hosts, Cullen began each show either already seated, or hidden on set behind a nearby prop so he would only have to take a minimum number of steps to his podium. Similar accommodations were made when he appeared as a guest on other game shows.
[quote]As a consequence of these arrangements, many of Cullen's peers were likewise unaware of his disability, which occasionally led to awkward situations. In the August 2010 issue of GQ under the heading "Epic Tales of Embarrassment", Mel Brooks related the following story to writer Steve Heisler:
[quote] "The week of October 17–21 in 1966—that would make me about 40—was a special celebrity week on Eye Guess. Bill Cullen was the host. The game was very similar to Concentration. I was teamed up with Julia Meade. Remember her? Actress, very pretty young lady, blonde... Okay, never mind. I don't think I won, but I did get the take-home game. Anyway, the show is over, and I start walking toward the podium to say good night to Bill, to thank him for having me on. He starts coming toward me cross-stage, and I don't know what he's doing. His feet are flopping. His hands are flying everywhere. He's doing this kind of wacky walk-of-the-unfortunates that Jerry Lewis used to do. So I figured, what the hell, I'll join him. I start doing, I dunno, this multiple-sclerosis walk, flapping my arms and doing the Milton Berle cross legs—my own Jerry Lewis impression... And Julia is whispering, "No! He's crippled, Mel!" I don't even hear her. Finally we meet in the middle, we hug, and he says to me, "You know, you're the only comic who's ever had the nerve to make fun of my crippled walk. Everyone's so careful, it makes me feel even worse." And I realize, Oh, my God, this guy is really crippled! It was my worst moment — and if you weren't me, probably the funniest thing that ever happened."
