It’s the ‘Old Spy Props in the Museum’ Trick, Chief

Danny Biederman watched nervously as the museum curator slipped Maxwell Smart’s shoe phone carefully into place, only a few feet away from Emma Peel’s famed leather pants.

Off in the corner was the tarantula that almost did in James Bond in “Dr. No.” Austin Powers’ dorky black-framed glasses were already under plexiglass on the other side of the room.

This is Biederman’s fleeting moment of fame, as all those years of collecting Hollywood spy memorabilia has landed him in the august halls of the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum, near Simi Valley. He’s there in the company of the CIA, the National Archives and Florida’s H. Keith Melton, perhaps the world’s foremost collector of spook devices. All have contributed to a five-month exhibition about spies, which opens today.

To look at Biederman’s collection at the Gipper’s library is to return to a different time, when Bill Cosby and Robert Culp thwarted evil in between tennis matches (“I Spy”), and Robert Vaughn got his marching orders after slipping into Del Floria’s Tailor Shop (“The Man From U.N.C.L.E.”).

This isn’t the first time Biederman’s show-biz artifacts have been on display, but it’s the first time someone without security clearance can look at them. Two years ago, the CIA brought the best of Biederman’s collection to its Langley, Va., headquarters for the entertainment of its operatives, but the general public was not on the guest list.

And though the timing is purely coincidental, Reagan library director Duke Blackwood said the display couldn’t be more appropriate, given the spotlight these days on the intelligence-gathering community. “The reality is that we’re paying a lot more attention to it now,” he said. “We feel it’s very important.”

And from Biederman’s point of view, the collection is a return to the ‘60s, when the Commies were the enemy, when each television evening offered a spy thriller or spoof, and Sean Connery was James Bond.

“It’s taking people back,” said Biederman, a screenwriter who also acts as a consultant for movie and television spy fiction. “It’s like therapy.”

In all, Biederman has more than 4,000 pieces in his collection, ranging from the famous shoe phone (“Get Smart”), to Emma Peel’s pants in “The Avengers” to an original script from “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” (original working title: “Solo,” as in the character Napoleon Solo).

Biederman said it was that show, with its gadgetry, fancy weapons and utter coolness that hooked him on the celluloid spy scene when he was 10 years old. He started making his own spy gadgets, including “smokescreen spy shoes” for quick getaways. These had heels filled with magic-shop smoke powder connected to a fuse. (“I think if I’d ever used them once, I wouldn’t be here today,” said Biederman.)

Then, in high school, he began making his own 8-millimeter movies. In 1969, while still in his teens, he talked his way onto the set of “Diamonds Are Forever,” Connery’s sixth and final Bond flick, after convincing gatekeepers he was working on a documentary film.

“I pulled it off,” said Biederman. “That was a high point for me as a teenager.”

Even as he was making films, Biederman was collecting most anything associated with the spy craze. James Bond cologne was a must-have. So were the teen magazines that might have had the Beatles on the cover but also contained features about “U.N.C.L.E.”’s Vaughn and his mop-headed sidekick, David McCallum as Illya Kuryakin.

Another defining moment for Biederman came in 1971, when he attended an auction in which a cash-strapped MGM was selling off studio props. Among the items were T.H.R.U.S.H. (arch nemesis of U.N.C.L.E.) uniforms. With the $25 he had in his pocket, Biederman managed to buy a few small T.H.R.U.S.H. artifacts, thereby beginning the first serious chapter in his collecting life.

“I couldn’t believe it,” he said. “I realized I could get the stuff I saw on the television shows.”

The years rolled on, and the collection grew. Among other items he located was the sleeve gun from “The Wild Wild West,” as well as Napoleon Solo’s cigarette-case transmitter and radio pen. Most of it was found through his film connections, who often knew of spy props stuck away in attics or garages.

While Biederman keeps some of his collection at home, the majority of it is warehoused in several locations around Los Angeles.

“I just started picking up stuff,” he said, seated in the living room of his Calabasas hills home with the soundtracks from spy shows playing in the background. “Then people saw that I was serious and so passionate about the shows; they tended to donate these things to me because they knew I would give it a good home.”

At some point in the process, Biederman located The Shoe, then tried for years to obtain it. Remember Maxwell Smart pulling off the sole of his shoe to reveal a telephone? Remember “Sorry about that, Chief”?

Biederman remains somewhat vague about how he obtained it, except to say, “It wasn’t for free.”

His collection, though extensive, is far from complete. The top three items on his wish list are Derek Flint’s gadget-laden lighter and watch from “Our Man Flint,” the Del Floria’s “Tailor Shop” sign and, of course, the Cone of Silence from “Get Smart.”

As he collected, Biederman also was raising a family after marrying his wife, Bea, a dental hygienist. In keeping with his passion, he even named his children after spy characters. Elder daughter Illya, 15, is named after “U.N.C.L.E.’s” Kuryakin. Middle child Moriah Flint is named for James Coburn’s Derek Flint. And his son, 9-year-old Bond, is named after Mr. Shaken, Not Stirred himself.

With Biederman’s collection came a reputation for being an expert on the genre, which led to his consulting work (in one court case he helped determine who owned the rights to the Bond character), which led to his coming to the attention of the CIA.

He recounted the oft-told story of coming home one evening and punching the button of his answering machine. The messages included a woman’s voice instructing him to call the Central Intelligence Agency. The tape did not self-destruct.

“It was like, what did I do?” recalled Biederman. “What the heck is this?” The voice at the other end of the phone turned out to be Toni Hiley, curator of the CIA Museum, who had heard about Biederman from the editor of the agency’s internal newspaper.

“When I read that he had the shoe phone, I said this is too good to pass up,” said Hiley, who chuckled at the memory of the initial call. “He wasn’t sure if one of his friends was playing a joke on him or whether it was really the CIA.”

Biederman next found himself picking up Carlos Davis, the chairman of the CIA Fine Arts Commission (yes, there is one), and another agent, who had flown to Los Angeles to see if the collection was legitimate. In preparation, Biederman had assembled his entire collection in the living room of his home. The CIA representatives went through the items piece by piece.

“It was like a crime scene,” said Biederman.

In all, the CIA selected about 400 pieces, just one-tenth of the collection, for display at CIA headquarters. Much of it was sent by regular mail, but there were a few key pieces Biederman wanted to bring with him personally when he flew to Washington.

As they were going through airport security, Biederman was suddenly struck by the fact that his carry-on bag contained items that might look suspicious when they went though the X-ray scanner. Sure enough, a security guard pulled him aside and asked him to open his bag.

“Sir, what is this?” she asked, unwrapping one of the items in his bag.

“It’s a shoe phone,” he replied, deadpan.

“OK, you can go,” said the guard, without a trace of humor.

According to Hiley, the show was a huge success among the real spies. Biederman’s memory is of being in a kind of twilight zone, where the collector of spy memorabilia gets to meet the spies. At one point, he was introduced to CIA Director George Tenet, whereupon Biederman pulled out his “Man From U.N.C.L.E.” radio pen and handed it to him.

“Open Channel D,” said Tenet.