When Doris met Doris

WATCHING the series prototype for “Everybody Loves Raymond” in 1996, long before it blossomed into television’s second-most-watched comedy, I was instantly struck by this thought: “Hey, that’s my mother.”

The reaction, I am pretty sure, was not unique, and one can argue that a significant aspect of the CBS show’s appeal stems from people’s ability to identify with its situations and personalities -- perhaps none more so than the title character’s overbearing mother, Marie, as played by Doris Roberts.

My own mother, it so happens, is also named Doris. And though she doesn’t resemble Marie in all ways, they overlap in several key ones -- not the least being that I can’t remember ever reaching the living room of my mother’s house (one appropriately enters through the kitchen) without being asked if I want something to eat.

In addition, a plot point in the first episode involved Raymond trying to buy his mother a gift by signing her up for a “fruit of the month” club. Watching it, I recognized the blank look of horror that greeted some of our more misguided attempts at buying my mother gifts.

Roberts, I realize, is not Marie, but a gifted character actress who bounced around Broadway, film and television roles -- including a stint on the 1980s series “Remington Steele” -- before becoming an overnight sensation, as it were, in what are now her early 70s. Outspoken and fearlessly willing to criticize CBS for programs such as “Survivor” and “Big Brother,” she addressed a U.S. Senate committee in September about ageism in the media, which has become a personal crusade.

When Roberts’ publicist called pitching a story about her, a sort-of “My Dinner With Andre” concept seized me -- only this meal would be shared by Roberts and my mother, who lives in the San Fernando Valley and has become a huge fan of “Everybody Loves Raymond.”

Forget “When Harry Met Sally.” This would be “When Doris Met Doris.” If nothing else, I reasoned, putting them together for an hour would, for me, be cheaper than therapy.

Madison Avenue, it should be noted, doesn’t care about my mother’s viewing habits, since she graduated out of the 18-to-49 age demographic that advertisers covet 30 years ago. Still, Roberts agreed to come to lunch -- a spread of corned beef, turkey salad, potato salad and cole slaw from Art’s Delicatessen in Studio City.

Although my mother was never part of the entertainment industry (she worked in the U.S. marshal’s office in the 1940s, before she began having kids), she has always been a huge film buff and someone who can rattle off the names of Elizabeth Taylor’s various husbands in sequence.

The two hugged when Roberts entered, as if they’d known each other for years. As the discussion progressed, I was surprised by my mother’s detailed memory of “Raymond” episodes, until I realized she’s been watching the reruns every night in syndication.

Having visited Washington not long before, Roberts began by recounting her experience there, and how she had told the senators, “ ‘If you were in my business, you’d be out of a job.’ Their eyes popped out.”

“Look, they’ve got Strom Thurmond in there, propped up. What is he, 97?” my mother said, while squirting some mustard on corned beef. Thurmond, the senator from South Carolina, is actually 99.

“The thing that really upsets me is the way in which the media treats older people,” Roberts continued. “Why are we talked about as old coots, old codgers, old hags, over the hill? That’s wrong. They not only dismiss us, but they denigrate us. There’s no need for that.”

“Really,” my mother said.

“I’m working, I’m not looking for a job,” Roberts said. “I have a great passion for this subject.”

“And you’re a good spokesman,” my mother said.

“In the last 100 years, the average age of a Nobel Prize winner is 65,” Roberts said. “So many people do their best work in their 60s and 70s; why are we being dismissed?”

“I don’t know,” my mother said. “There’s such an accent on youth in Hollywood.”

Down to the nitty gritty

My mother had a few specific questions. She wanted to know if Roberts was as good a cook in real life as her character on the show. “They all sit and drool at everything she makes,” my mother noted.

Roberts, in fact, is working on a book titled “Are You Hungry, Dear?,” a sort-of autobiography interspersed with recipes that she describes as being about “life, laughs and lasagna.”

“I was a very good cook,” she said. “When my husband died, I stopped cooking. I thought, ‘Why am I cooking for myself?’ ”

At that point, The Times’ photographer arrived.

“Would you like something to eat?” my mother asked him, almost before saying hello. I had told her about our plans to photograph the session, but she still wasn’t thrilled about the idea.

“I photograph like Grandma Bert,” she said, referring to her mother.

Roberts was just warming up about ageism, even after I pointed out that broaching the subject generally makes the executives who run the media business squirm.

“I don’t care,” she said. “It’s something that has to be talked about. There’s no reason in the world for us to be airbrushed out of existence.””

My mother turned to me. “She’s an interesting person, because she has values, and she has causes she’s interested in. This is good.”

Roberts, taking a slice of kosher pickle and offering me one, also alluded to a double standard in terms of women and men. Older actors still play leading roles and are frequently paired with much younger actresses, such as Sean Connery co-starring opposite Catherine Zeta-Jones in “Entrapment.” “There’s ageism against women, not men,” my mother said, although she quickly added in regard to Connery, “He’s still got it. He really has.” Roberts agreed.

For all her talk about ageism, Roberts had been equally critical of programs such as “Survivor.”

“These shows are awful,” my mother said. “I watched about 10 minutes of ‘Survivor’ one night, with the tom-toms and everything, and I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t see any point in it.”

“What is the purpose of ‘Fear Factor?’ ” Roberts said. “You can’t even talk about it over lunch.”

Roberts then brought up what she called “an incredible experience,” having visited ground zero in New York City with her son and three grandchildren. The rescue workers presented her a flag that had flown over the site along with a piece of the first tower.

Roberts, who grew up in New York, was overwhelmed by the gesture and choked up a bit discussing it. She recalls the workers telling her, “ ‘We’ve been here since 9/11 looking for pieces of our friends. And we go home and watch television and you make us laugh so much, you bring us back into life.’ There’s no paycheck that’s better than that.”

“That is really touching,” my mother said. “Your son and grandchildren must have been so proud of you.”

Roberts’ son, Michael Cannata, is actually her manager. He has three children, ages 9 to 13. Not long ago, she renegotiated her contract. Asked if she trusted her son to secure a good deal, she quipped, “The money’s all going to be his anyway.”

Stardom is not without its disadvantages. One woman, she said, asked for an autograph as she exited a plane. When Roberts said she needed to visit the ladies’ room first, the woman followed her inside and waited.

For the most part, however, she welcomes the attention. “People say, ‘Do you get annoyed when people come up to you?’ And I say, ‘No, because they’re smiling.’ They say, ‘Thank you for making me laugh.’ ” Roberts recalled meeting a woman with cancer who told her that watching the show temporarily helps her forget her illness.

“Doesn’t that make you feel good?” my mother said.

Plenty of good has come Roberts’ way since “Raymond” came into her life -- an audition she attended reluctantly. She was busy directing a play at the time and didn’t want to go.

“Over 100 women had read for this part already, and I thought, ‘They don’t know what the hell they want,’ because you can’t read over 100 people and not know that somewhere in there was a wonderful actress,” she said. “I just did it off the top of my head, with whatever instincts I had, and I was right on. It was exactly what they wanted.”

“It’s the part of a lifetime,” my mother said.

“My name was on that one,” Roberts agreed. “All my friends had read for it. In New York, all of them. They hate me for it.”

Roberts has received two Emmys for the show, including one in September. She also won an Emmy earlier in her career for a dramatic role as a bag lady on “St. Elsewhere” and said she misses the chance to flex those muscles, with few dramatic parts coming her way.

Roberts said she still watches the program every week. “I go to class on Saturday morning, and I learn something every time. That’s what I think keeps me young. Sure, I have bones that ache. Don’t we all? But when people ask why I work so hard, I tell them, ‘I’ll rest when I’m dead.’ ”

“Because you love it,” my mother said.

Given the headline dancing in my brain, I felt compelled to ask how both of them felt about the name Doris, which, I noted, wasn’t among the cool choices bandied about when Rachel had her baby on “Friends.”

“It’s true,” my mother said. “Doris Day is almost my age: 79. Everybody else that I know named Doris, there are two or three of them, are in their 70s.”

“Because comedians have made fun of the name,” Roberts added. “If you watch commercials, you hear some old guy say, ‘Dor-riss!’ ”

Clearly, Roberts was comfortable, sharing tales about past co-stars. By the end, the afternoon became a lunch between two women born before Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s presidency as opposed to a manicured celebrity interview. My mother has a way of doing that with people, and I suspect the other Doris does too.

When it was time for Roberts to leave, the two hugged again. My mother, the one who does not fall into any of the most desirable demographics, sent Roberts on her way with this wish: “Stay on the show. I couldn’t live without you on Monday nights.”