I described the above photo to ChatGPT-4 and asked it to fabricate a funny story about it. Here’s the result. . .

So, my dad and I walked into Columbia Pictures’ Sunset Gower Studios, all coolness and swagger. “Hazel,” the TV show, was gonna be a big deal in 1961 — and somehow, a friend of a friend where Dad worked at First National Bank of Denver knew someone in the casting business.

Me? Dad figured he could exploit my stutter. “You’ve got more of a speech impediment than Marlon Brando, and look how well he’s doing,” he explained.

Shirley Booth sized me up. She smiled. This might all work out.

Lights on. Camera rolling. We started the scene. And man, I was nailing it.

Then, I began stuttering like a motorboat, and instead of saying, “I think you’d better look up the flue,” out came the F-bomb.

Shirley’s eyes widened, but she kept her cool — and started laughing.

“Let’s keep that one in the pilot!” she said.

The director? His face turned a shade I’d call “furious tomato.”

“The hell with this kid, we’re going with Bobby,” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

The other freckled, blond little darling, Bobby Buntrock, stood in the wings — and then sashayed on set like he owned the place.

And just like that, I became a trivia question: What would-be child actor F-bombed his way out of a TV gig?