I’ve always thought Roger Moore was one of the coolest guys on the planet. I first saw him as Beau Maverick on the hit WB show with James Garner and Jack Kelly. I recently caught him on an old 77 Sunset Strip rerun, playing himself. He went on to be The Saint, Simon Templar, tooling around, busting bad guys in that neat Volvo. Then, of course, he became James Bond.
Sean Connery will always be the best Bond to me, no contest. But Moore brought humor, sophistication and suave physicality to the role. Bond became parody during his reign, as the plots got wackier. And it was hard to believe a nice guy like Roger could be a brutal killer.
George Yulis, my college roommate, once encountered Moore in a bespoke men’s shop on Madison Avenue and came away raving. “He has the broadest shoulders of any man I’ve ever seen.” Moore treated George like an equal, one clothes horse to another, and my roomie was impressed.
I don’t know that a handsomer man has ever walked the earth. Or anyone who wore clothes better. And his acting skills were under rated. I never met or interviewed him, but I rarely saw a harsh word about him. A humanitarian and a gentleman to the end. I’m very sad today. 5/23/17
