Rookie Seat Filler Finds Himself at a Front-Row Table

William Devane leaned across the table and asked: “Who are you?”

We were at the 18th annual People’s Choice Awards, at a front-row table. As a veteran of “Knots Landing” and scores of television movies, his reason for being there was obvious. Mine wasn’t.

I was working as a seat filler that night, temporarily taking the place of another actor, Craig T. Nelson of ABC-TV’s “Coach,” who was onstage to present the first award of the evening. I explained this to Devane.

“Oh,” he said, turning to the woman beside him. “He’s a seat filler.”

They chuckled knowingly, as if I were a small pet.

As it turned out, Nelson handed over the award for “Favorite Television Series Among Young People” and left. In a stroke of beginner’s luck, I had secured a seat for the duration of the program.

The People’s Choice Awards take place inside a Universal Studios sound stage made to look like a banquet hall, with a glittering podium and rows of tables and food served at the back. Before the show, I imagined sitting down to Alan Alda’s half-nibbled pork chop, or inspecting the lipstick stains on Jaclyn Smith’s water glass. I daydreamed of chatting with the guy who makes those “Ernest” movies.

“The talent, they’ll talk to you,” Dave Yaeck, a fellow filler, informed me before the show. “The best thing to do is act normal.”

More hints followed, by way of a pregame speech from a woman named Victoria, who was our supervisor. She told us that sometimes when a celebrity gets up to accept an award or simply to have a cigarette, other people at the table don’t want you to take the empty seat.

“They’ll say, ‘Our friend is coming right back,’ ” she explained. “Tell them you’re a seat filler and that you’re only temporary. But if they have a big attitude, don’t argue. You don’t want to sit next to them anyway.”

Always be ready to move, she said, and if you step on someone’s toes “just say you’re sorry.” She reassured us: “It’s simple.”

And a bit anticlimactic, as it turned out. Eight of the dozen seats at my table went vacant, so I was surrounded by seat fillers. Devane was four chairs away; we didn’t have much chance to talk. The “Ernest” wasn’t even there.

Still, a table mate of mine insisted, we were the fortunate ones. In other parts of the room, fillers were bouncing in and out of seats.

“It doesn’t get any better than this,” said Ted Absher, an office supervisor who sat two chairs over, as miniseries actress Jane Seymour brushed past him.

The show itself passed smoothly. My seat faced away from the stage, so I developed a bit of a kink from turning to watch, but it wasn’t a grand dilemma. I also had to remind myself to clap at the appropriate moments. During commercial breaks, a voice on the loudspeakers helped out, urging us to “keep that energy going.”

“Applause, everyone, applause!” it would cheer just before we returned to the air.

After each presenter announced the nominees, the lights would dim and clips from the selected programs or movies would appear on large screens. I preferred to keep my eyes on the person at the podium.

Lily Tomlin smiled and waved to acquaintances during her short break. Other presenters simply allowed their shoulders to slump in relaxation. The second the camera turned away from him, Mel Gibson twisted his face, almost involuntarily, in a grimace as if he’d swallowed something bitter.

That was my favorite moment.

The show ended promptly after two hours. Many of the celebrities stuck around, mingling or eating at their tables. Seat fillers were asked to leave.

On my way out, two people stopped me to ask for an autograph. They thought I was Tim Allen, the star of ABC-TV’s “Home Improvement,” who grunts like an ape and uses power tools in many of his gags. I told them I was a newspaper reporter and they quickly lost interest.

Near the stage door, a burly gentleman in a tuxedo approached me.

“Are you a golfer?” he asked.

He explained that he was a police officer and invited me to play in a Los Angeles Police Department celebrity tournament.

“I’m not who you think I am,” I told him.

“Sure you are,” he said. “You’re that guy from ‘Home Improvement.’ ”

I should have grunted twice and asked for a tee time.