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Celebrity lookalike can’t avoid ‘mis-recognition’ By Sam Hefter for the Mail Tribune Nov 20, 2022 12:15 AM A A Have you ever heard the word “doppelgänger”? They say everyone has a doppelgänger. Someone who is your double exists somewhere in this world. They say you just gotta look around. I found mine in Los Angeles on the ABC TV Studio lot. Hi. My name is Sam Hefter. After working with a comedy group in Boston for three years, writing and acting in live sketch comedy shows, I decided to go out to Los Angeles and try to get a job in the television business. I signed with an agent named Herb, and he sent some of my material around town. Herb got me an audition for a TV pilot called “Fridays,” which was ABC’s clone of “Saturday Night Live.” Musical guests, news, sketches — just like SNL. The show was to be broadcast live Fridays 8:30 p.m. Pacific, 11:30 p.m. Eastern, following Ted Koppel’s “Nightline,” which had just premiered reporting exclusively on the Iran hostage crisis; it was a big hit. When I met with producers, I lobbied for a writing job as well as an acting job. They said although they liked my acting, they could only offer me a position as a writer because they had already hired an actor that looked a lot like me. I got a doppelgänger? You got to be kidding me. I was 6 feet tall, medium build, glasses, weighed about 165 and had balding, curly brown hair — picked out into my version of an Afro. I arrived early for the first meeting of the cast and crew checking to see who got my job. It didn’t take long. As soon as the door opened, and I saw him, I knew the producers were right. My doppelgänger strolled across the room toward me and stuck out his hand. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Larry David.” It was both of our first jobs in Hollywood. The pilot sold, and the network ordered a season’s worth of shows. (We even got renewed) And although I didn’t personally get on air much, I was able to write my 75-year-old mother into so many sketches that the producers said if she did one more bit, she would have to join the union. After I left the show, I thought I was done with all the Larry lookalike business. But I was wrong. Through the years, I’ve been approached by people asking for autographs and pictures. Had people yell “Hey, Larry” out of car windows. And even got followed around by a group of tourists inside the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. “That’s him. He’s on TV.” “No, it’s not.” “Yes, it is. It’s him.” “Take his picture.” “Leave him alone; he’s with his family.” But the best mis-recognition happened a few New Year’s Eves ago in Las Vegas. As my wife, Paula, and I were having dinner with agent Herb and his wife, an adjoining table with five beautiful women kept looking over at us and giggling. When Paula excused herself to go to the restroom, one of the women got up and approached our table. “Pardon me, but aren’t you Larry David?” “No. No, I’m not.” “Oh yes you are. I watch your show.” “No. Honestly. I’m really not.” Then Herb looks at me and says, “Come on ... Larry. Don’t be such an a-hole.” “I knew it. I knew it was you.” “If I were Larry David would I be hanging out with people like this?” She laughed hysterically. “Sorry to bother you, but our friend is celebrating her 22nd birthday, and she would love to come over and say hello and give you a hug.” Herb was howling when the girls got up and came to our table. I got into it and signed a cocktail napkin for the birthday girl. She thought everything I said was an absolute riot. I gave her a big hug while her friends took pictures and just as I was dipping her down in an exaggerated ’50s dance move, Paula returned from the restroom. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to me anymore since I grew a goatee. But my close friends know all the stories. A few years ago, my buddy, Davy, who was the producer of those early comedy shows, went to a movie theater in a Boston suburb. He got his ticket and dashed into the men’s room before the start of the film. While he was standing there doing his business, a guy walks in and moves to the urinal right next to him. Davy takes a look at the guy and smiles. Standing next to him is absolutely the real, honest-to-goodness Larry effin David. Now Davy can’t help himself. And as he’s finishing up, he turns to Larry and says: “Hey, did anyone ever tell you you look like Sam Hefter?” Thanks, Davy. Sam Hefter lives in Gold Hill.