The day had not started well. It was raining in Los Angeles, which meant endless traffic. There was a 9:15 appointment with the actor, then a 1:00 plane back to New York. I'd organized every second of time to insure that I'd catch that plane. I knew things were going downhill when I called Cliff before leaving and asked for directions to his house. "Oh boy, I'm a New Yorker, I don't know how to tell you to get here," he sighed. Robertson was renting a home in a very suburban neighborhood, minutes from the "Falcon Crest" studio. Whenever he's worked in Los Angeles over the years, Cliff forgoes the glitz and glamour, choosing a more sensible lifestyle. To him, Hollywood is just a place for business.

Somehow I extracted flimsy directions from him. I said I'd be there in fifteen minutes. Forty-five minutes later I was driving through winding streets, convinced I was going crazy. I knew I was within blocks of his house, but he road kept eluding me. I called Robertson from a pharmacy. "Don't worry," Cliff said soothingly. "You're practically here. I'll have coffee and cake ready when you arrive." I stopped crying. For a few minutes. A while later, I was on some stranger's doorstep, calling Cliff again, prepared for him to tell me that I was a stupid idiot who was wasting his time and should go back to New York.

When he picks me up in a very dusty, used car, Robertson is wearing blue jeans, a Rugby shirt and the kindest disposition of any movie star this side of Nebraska. Cliff offers a conciliatory smile. "The roads are a little strange around here," he admits. Then we drive off to his "cottage."

Only the very rich would consider such a place a cottage. It is all soft wood, brass and beige fabric. The look is at once homey and country. At the moment, Cliff is living here alone. His wife, actress/socialite Dina Merrill, is in New York, starring in the Broadway production of "On Your toes", and though he doesn't like being torn apart from her or their fourteen year old daughter, Heather, Robertson has resigned himself to a bi-coastal life-style, at least for awhile. "I do get to see them at least every two weeks," he says weakly.

In the meantime, Cliff Robertson can be seen just about everywhere. On each episode of "Falcon Crest", in those AT&T commercials, and in three feature films that were released one after the other: "Class" with Jacqueline Bisset; "Brainstorm" with the late Natalie Wood; and as Hugh Hefner in the controversial "Star 80". After being blacklisted in the entertainment industry for three-and-a-half years, Robertson is delighted to be working again.

Cliff's unemployment stems back to an incident in 1977. A check for $10,000 was made out to him from Columbia Pictures. Robertson hadn't worked for the studio that year nor had he received the money. But he did have an IRS form stating that he'd been paid that amount. Cliff was curious. His relentless pursuit led to the discovery that the highly respected, then-president of Columbia, David Begelman, had ordered the check and forged Robertson's name on the back. The criminal act ballooned into one of Hollywood's biggest scandals ever, commonly called "Hollywoodgate". As a result of Robertson's tenaciousness, David Begelman was convicted of a federal crime, fired from Columbia, and then hired as president of MGM. As for Cliff Robertson, he was considered a dangerous risk in a business that did not want its dirty laundry aired in public.

The scandal that went on was not only chronicled in newspapers and television reports across the country, but in David McClintick's best-selling book, Indecent Exposure. The unanimous opinion was that if Cliff Robertson hadn't been so hell-bent on doing the right thing-that is, uncovering the man who forged his check-it would have been another hushed-up Hollywood incident. Still, after all that's been said about the Begelman affair, one can't help but wonder if Robertson isn't tired of talking about it.

Cliff sighs softly. "There was a point where I thought, `Gee, hasn't everyone OD'd on this?' But then it was brought to my attention that Hollywoodgate is something that has changed the whole industry; it showed that you could confront high-level corruption and still exist. For many years there was an unwritten rule in this down, `Thou shalt not confront top moguls on corruption or thou shalt not work.' Fifty hears from now it won't be my Oscar or anything else I might win that I will be remembered for, but probably this." Cliff is silent for a few minutes, sipping his coffee. Despite his midwestern friendliness, there is something almost aristocratic about his speech and mannerisms. "I think there are a few people who wish Hollywoodgate would blow away, just as there are those who wish Watergate will blow away. Neither will," he says calmly. "I think it's very important that Hollywoodgate not only not be forgotten, but occasionally be remembered so that it can be the scale used to weigh future morality in this town."

"I had the support of my friends and virtually everyone in this industry, but they were afraid to come out and say anything. There was this tiny handful of Power Boys who didn't care one way or another about Cliff Robertson. They were only concerned that I was setting a precedent that would change them. Yes, creative bookkeeping still goes on, but it happens a lot less as a result of this scandal, and that's what they were afraid of. So they did the obvious thing: they tried to make an example of me. They were signaling to other actors, writers, directors and producers not to get any ideas about confronting top corruption, or you won't get work either," Cliff grins. "Well, it backfired. Because Laurence Olivier, Michael Caine, Sean Connery, Jimmy Garner, all those people started coming out of the closet with other charges against studio executives.

Robertson's first job out of exile, ironically, was for MGM, the studio Begelman was now heading. Barbara Walters had interviewed the executive and asked him if there was a blacklist in Hollywood. No, said Begelman. Then, wondered Walters, would Begelman hire Cliff Robertson? "Certainly; he's a fine actor," Begelman retorted. Producer Douglas Trumball was happy to hear that since he'd already hired Robertson for "Brainstorm", an MGM film. Since then, Cliff's career has been on a roll, but his decision to do "Falcon Crest" was a surprise. He had never done a series before.

"I must confess complete ignorance about soap operas. I know nothing about them," Robertson says candidly. "I had never ever seen `Falcon Crest' when I was offered the role, and I always said I'd never do a series, so I said, `thanks but no thanks'. My daughter was sitting in the living room doing her homework when I took the call. She looked up and her mouth fell open. `Dad, did you say Falcon Crest?' I said yes, that's the name of this thing, and she said, `Dad, surely you're going to do it!'" Robertson assured Heather he wasn't. But when she pointed out that it was not only a wonderful show, but that "more people will see you in three weeks of `Falcon Crest' than in all three movies together," he pondered he words. Robertson's agent confirmed what Heather said. "I'm very close with my daughter, but when she reminded me that she was going to prep school next year-in other words, I wouldn't be leaving her in New York because she'd be away-coupled with the fact that my wife said more and more people are becoming bi-coastal these days, I decided to see some cassettes of the show."

There were also a lot of adjustments. Robertson had come from film where there is much more time to get a scene shot or a line the way you want it. In television, compromise is the name of the game because there is so little time. Cliff admits he had problems with that. "I find it difficult-I watch Susan Sullivan (Maggie), who has been doing soaps forever, and I watch David Selby (Richard), who has picked this up so quickly and they have a technique I haven't mastered," he says cautiously. "I'm learning it, but I'm not sure I would want to do it all the time. I always want to remain critical of my work. I think you can slip into a kind of sloppiness by rationalizing, `Well, what the heck, I only have five minutes to do it, it's only TV.' A lot of people feel that way, but I don't. I still have this innate pride in my work. It bothers me if I'm doing something hastily and I don't think it's as good as I could do it."

Another hard task is playing a nice guy, as Robertson is in his portrayal of Dr. Michael Ranson. Ranson is a non-practicing neurosurgeon from Baltimore with a secret past. "A decent guy who's a prime target for some nice lady," as Cliff is fond of saying. But it is difficult to keep such a character interesting. "The toughest thing to do in a film (and on television) is to be a good guy and not put the audience to sleep. Any reasonably good actor can come in and do a quick hysterical scene on top of a coffee table, then run like hell to pick up his check at his agent's office, because he will be remembered for that scene."

Robertson must be succeeding at making Ranson interesting because his appeal is wide and his salary is also quite high. "Falcon Crest" was willing to give him a "favored nations clause", which comes down to meaning top billing salary and working conditions. But will he return next season?

Whether he stays or not, Cliff will go ahead with his other acting, directing, and writing projects. In 1968, Robertson won the Academy Award for his portrayal of a retarded man in the film "Charly". He is currently at work on the script for "Charly II". And though he's had an impressive film career, including his role as John Kennedy in "Pt 109"-a role the president personally chose him to play-Robertson isn't particularly pleased with his work. "I've never been satisfied with any film I've ever done in my life," he says with a frown. "And if I was told that I was going to act for the rest of my life I would slash my wrists. I like writing and directing. I like acting when the words are there."

While his career has had a chaotic period, Robertson's personal life appears serene. He has been able to maintain a successful marriage to Dina Merrill for seventeen years. You sense something warm and sensible about them - an oddity in show business.

"With Deenie I feel in love with a lot of things that people aren't aware of. Her image is kind of Eastern, social, aristocratic (Merrill's father is the late E.F Hutton, her mother's family, the Posts, were cereal magnates). But that isn't the case. She is the product of midwestern parents who were born poor. They were self-made people. I think the strongest thing I was attracted to in Deenie was that under this veneer of aristocracy was a very down-to-earth, highly structured, organized, and yes, ambitious person, but with very stable, Midwestern roots. She's also a lot different from me," Cliff laughs, playing with his wedding band. "She's a lot more structured than me. And I've often wondered what she's doing being an actress because she's a damn smart businesswoman," he adds strongly. "She's got everything planned, departmentalized."

"Marriage in these times is hazardous," Cliff continues. "Because we're in an accelerated society, there is a tendency to forget to stop and focus on some of the more important things in life. I think we're speeding down an expressway of self concern and that's a hazard," he emphasizes. Cliff is silent for a few moments. "If you've lived together as long as Deenie and I have, and if you have a certain intelligence and sensitivity, you're able to recognize that marriage is still the bedrock of the relationship. Living together is fine, but ultimately, assuming people are right for and about each other, marriage is finer."

Marriage aside, Cliff's other devotion is to his daughter. She figures prominently in his life. One of the benefits of going on location to Napa Valley last summer was the fact that Heather was going to camp not far away and Cliff could visit her regularly. According to several cast mates, Heather is one of the most stunning teenagers they've ever seen. One can't help but wonder if growing up with two parents who are in the public eye isn't difficult for her. Cliff seems to wonder the same thing.

"That's always a tough question because with fourteen and fifteen year olds, what appears to be is not always what is." He cocks his head to one side and then says slowly, "She's never indicated that she's had any difficulty with it. I've tried to teach her to be slightly amused by this whole high profile, movie star syndrome. It's really not something to be taken too seriously."

He is momentarily taken aback. "I would like to reword that," he says carefully. "I would like her to utilize the gifts that the dear Lord gave her; she's been bestowed with a lovely countenance, good health, a good sense of humor, and an excellent mind. Hopefully, my wife and I have been able to provide her with an environment that helps her utilize those characteristics in terms of a productive life." Cliff plays with some brass objects on the coffee table. "As far as gifts that I can give her, I really think in terms of how I can make her cherish the gifts she's already got."

As soon as Cliff finishes his sentence the doorbell rings. "That's my stand-in. He picks me up and takes me to the studio." Now that I can't possibly make my plane on time, Cliff calls his secretary and arranges to get me on another flight. "No smoking, right?" he asks. Robertson nods his head in approval when I say, "right". And later, when I leave, Cliff Robertson stays in the car in front of me, pointing and signaling with his directionals to lead the way. He doesn't turn off until he is sure I am safely on the freeway.