It was 1982 and I was working for one of Ted Turner’s shows called Winners, a magazine show that featured successful people, some well-known, others just regular folks with great success stories.

The actor/singer, Robert Goulet had fallen into a bit of a bad way in the early '80s, what with his drinking issues and a messy divorce, but now he was back in Las Vegas after an 18-month absence. His manager thought it would be a great idea to get him back into the public spotlight. What better way than through a positive, fluffy program like Winners? Little did he know that no one actually watched Winners. But if nothing else, it would certainly be good practice for when he encountered actual journalists on the comeback trail.

So my cameraman, Steve Shepard, and I, showed up at the home of the chagrined performer and were welcomed in a way that said I have no idea who you are, but I think my manager put you up to this so let’s get it over with because I’ve got other things to do like have meetings in the next room while you’re setting up to do whatever it is you’re here to do. Right this way.

So in through the door we went, ushered into a suburban Vegas ranch-style house decorated in what can best be described as post-divorce modern. Apparently, Carol Lawrence (Mrs. Goulet) had secured the better lawyer and had left Bob with his piano, a few wall hangings, a portrait of Robert Goulet, and his collection of ceramic frogs.

We did our interview, during which we explored his problems with the bottle and how he overcame them. His answer was, if I can paraphrase here, “I just quit.” I could tell we would not exactly be plumbing the depths of his psyche, and if we were counting on bringing the great man to tears, we could forget that. In fact, here’s how it went:

We were told ahead of time that Goulet would sing for us as part of the piece we were doing. I brought that up to him the way that Johnny Carson would “convince” his guests to get off the couch and favor the audience with a song the guest was desperate to plug. If you’ll remember, the audience would cheer them on, and the singer would hit his mark and croon.

But when I suggested, “How about we hear a song from you?” Goulet took a deep drag on his cigarette and uttered the words that are forever sealed in my memory bank as the ultimate brush-off: “I don’t feel like singing, Gentlemen.”

But he finally relented and sauntered over to the piano in the otherwise gutted living room and emoted his way through a ballad, flicking ashes as he sang. A cat made an appearance in the background, possibly to see what all the noise was about before making its way back down the hall.

That night before the show backstage, Goulet graciously spoke with us on camera about the excitement of being back in the big room.

Then he performed and the fans loved it, cheering his every move.

In the years to come, he would revive his career, make more movies, and even became a spokesman for ESPN in a series of tongue-in-cheek, self-deprecating promos for the network. They were actually pretty funny, and they won an Emmy. He died in 2007 and I was sorry to hear that. I would love to have seen him once more so I could rib him about the time he blew me off.

One sweet memory I keep with me from my encounter with Robert Goulet was that I was probably the last reporter he ever sang for in his living room.