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UCLA Class of 1942 alumnus Ben Starr has been a comedy writer for over 40 years. He finally saw h

Dressed conservatively in a navy polo shirt, light-blue slacks and brown leather loafers, 81-year-old veteran comedic writer Ben Starr is seated comfortably cross-legged in his warm-hued modest condo in West Los Angeles when he says the last thing I would have expected him to say during our interview: “I happen to be a freak.” But Starr is simply referring to his lifelong passion of writing comedy, a passion he considers abnormal, as he says most writers in the business do not truly enjoy writing. He would know. Jerry Lewis paid for his wedding in Chicago. He wrote radio comedy for Al Jolson (“The Jazz Singer”), and has lunch every two weeks at the Beverly Hills Friars Club with a close-knit group of comedy buddies, which includes Sid Caesar and Carl Reiner. The Manhattan native and member of the UCLA Class of 1942 finally saw his play, “The Button,” premiere in Los Angeles on Aug. 27 at the Actors Group Theatre in Universal City, 35 years after he wrote it.

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dB Magazine: What was your major at UCLA?

Ben Starr: I majored in accounting and was saved by the war. I volunteered for the Air Corps and was accepted. While I was waiting for them to call me, I temporarily got a job at a CPA’s office that scared the hell out of me. The first time I went out to do somebody’s books, the first thing he said to me was, “What’s my inventory?” I was petrified. How would I know what his inventory was? So much for accounting.

dB: Is that why you started to write comedy?

BS: I started writing after I completed my 35 missions. (Starr was a World War II B-17 navigator. He recently received the Distinguished Flying Cross 60 years after saving a fellow officer.) I happen to be a freak, I know I’m a freak in the business because I love writing.

dB: Normal people don’t?

BS: Most writers I know don’t like writing. I can’t wait to get to it. The idea that I can sit down with an empty page and create something -– it’s a tremendous sense of accomplishment.

dB: How would you describe the difference between theater, film and television?

BS: I always loved theater. To me there’s nothing more exciting than to be in rehearsal with a play and watch it grow – you watch the actors get into it – and then to hear a live audience. Theater is larger than life. Film is voyeuristic. And television is the bastardized version of both.

dB: What do you think of reality television?

BS: Reality TV is an embarrassment. It’s so insensitive. I have no compassion for the people who go on it or the people who produce it. I’m not talking about “The Apprentice” – that’s on a slightly different level. It deals with killers. They all know they’re killers. And they’re doing it on that level. But nobody’s eating worms for God sakes. And bragging about sex – and I got nothing against sex, kiddo. I think the trend may last a while. But it’s a matter of taste, and it’s bad for writers. It’s a fad. It’ll disappear.

dB: Have you ever felt a large rift between you and writers who have actually received an education specifically in screen writing?

BS: Not at all. Look. The only rule about writing is that there are no rules. You may go to a writing class where it’s all perfunctory, you know: “By page nine you must have this happen.” Forget it. Don’t do it. Walk away. But if you get a teacher who’s really talking to you about delineation of character … that’s great. Stuff like “beware of writing black and white.” By that I mean the villain and the saint. They don’t exist. Write real people. There are people who are kinder, nicer, more intelligent than others, but they still may have certain faults. Hitler’s mother probably loved him.

dB: You’ve written for a lot of television sitcoms (“The Andy Griffith Show,” “Mister Ed,” “The Brady Bunch,” “All in the Family,” “Mork and Mindy,” “Diff’rent Strokes,” “Small Wonder”). Did you have any favorites?

BS: I wrote 42 “Mister Ed” shows. They were such fun. The man who co-owned the show was George Burns. And Lou (Derman) and I used to clear the story with George, and I loved it because as soon as I would open the door to his office he would sing. He always had a cigar and he’d say, “A fellow went to town,” and I’d start laughing.

dB: So it was more about who you were working with than what you were working on.

BS: A lot of it has to do with who you are working with. I don’t like collaboration. You know, people say collaboration is like a marriage. Well, not really. In a marriage, you get laid. In collaboration, you get screwed. You write, “Two guys are in a room, and the man comes upstairs, and he knocks on room 608.” And the guy who’s typing goes, “Let’s make it 408.” And you say, “Why?” He says, “I don’t know. It’s just a better number.” You could go crazy from this kind of crap.

dB: What inspired “The Button” inspired by?

BS: I was aware that so many people I knew were divorced. And I’d hear the attitudes: anger, hatred, disappointment. And one day I said to myself, “Gee. There’s a play in divorce for sure – a comedy.” But, also, when I write theater it’s important to me that the subject be important. I’ve had friends of mine – one guy in particular – a major success, big time in our business. He wrote a play and had me read it. He said, “Why don’t they wanna do this?” I said, “Because it’s not about anything. It’s funny. On TV it would work.” But all plays are about something. You examine Neil Simon’s plays and you will find that, as terribly funny as they all are, every play is about something underneath.