The Regal Grocery King

“Cut!” the director’s voice flew through the mostly empty grocery store.

“Cut!” the assistant director’s much calmer voice repeated the command. The director took off his headphones and walked toward me.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” the director said. “Only this time, really puff out your chest. You’re excited about this week’s sale. You have to be excited. You’re the grocery store mascot.”

“Got it,” I replied and cleared my throat. One of the production assistants straightened the ermine cape on my shoulders while another fixed the tilt on the crown I wore.

After they were done, Mr. Regal approached me, always dapper in his charcoal-colored suit.

“Paul,” he said. “You’re the king. The Regal Grocery King. Let’s do this.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied as the production crew helped the extras behind me and the cashier get back into position.

“Okay,” the assistant director said. “King, do you need a glass of water or anything?”

“No,” I replied in my most dulcet tones. “I’m good.”

He gave me a thumbs up and crouched behind one of the cameras while the director and Mr. Regal had a quick chat. Mr. Regal looked over to me, smiled and waved. The director gave me a quick look before he put his headphones back on and observed the monitor.

“Okay, folks, new take here,” the director said. “Shoppers, start moving around. Cashier, we’re gonna start the conveyor belt. Get ready. And King, when I point to you, start your lines.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. The extras hired as shoppers began to walk through the aisles. The conveyor belt at the checkout gave a soft whir and the cashier, who was an actual store cashier, scanned random items. I had my eye on the director, who nodded approvingly at the scene.

“Regal Grocery commercial, take three,” one of the production assistants shouted and slapped shut the clapper in front of another camera.

After a couple of seconds the director’s finger went right to me. I gave him and Mr. Regal a quick look, then went into my lines.

“This week at Regal Grocery, you will find we have Monarch Brand assorted vegetables. Three cans for 99 cents. Monarch Brand bread, white or wheat, buy two, get the third free. Buy a dozen eggs for 89 cents. And don’t forget your coupons, folks, which you can find in the Sunday circulars that come with your newspaper. And as always, at Regal Grocery, the shopper is royalty.”

I gave a beaming smile and held it before the director yelled “Cut!”

Mr. Regal smiled and pumped his fist.

“Great job, King,” the director said, even though I said beforehand my name was Paul Hinojos. “Okay, folks, we have our commercial.”

The extras cheered. The cashier tapped my shoulder and shook my hand with a smile.

“Great job,” he said.

Mr. Regal walked over to me.

“Paul, that was superb,” he said and clasped his hands together. “I believe I have my Regal Grocery King.”

I came back to Valley Heights when my father was admitted into hospice care for his cancer. I grew up here and graduated from Boone High. At Boone I was a drama geek and had a role in almost every production during my years there. My finest hour was playing Harold Hill in the junior class production of The Music Man. I got the role because I was the only actor who wasn’t tripped up on the rapid-fire lyrics of “You Got Trouble.”

I finished my first two years at Valley Heights College before I transferred to UCLA and majored in theater. When I graduated I worked as an usher at the Pantages Theater while I spent most of the days at auditions. I landed a few bit parts on television shows, usually as an extra and mostly for one day. But I came back to Valley Heights after my father was admitted into hospice care. After he died, I decided to stay in my old hometown and found work at the local credit union.

One afternoon I was shopping at a Regal Grocery when a dapper older gentleman came up to me.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said as I inspected a jar of pickles.

“Yes?”

“Are you by chance an actor?”

“I am, actually.” I replied purposefully with a lower register to my voice. “Well, I was back when I lived in California. I moved back into town to look after my father. I'm working at the Sunrise Credit Union now.”

“I see," the gentleman replied. "Would you be interested in an acting job? My name is Bert Regal. My brother Frank and I started this business.”

“I’m Paul Hinojos, Mr. Regal. It’s an honor to meet you,” I said and shook his hand.

“Oh, please, call me Bert.”

“Bert. I’m sorry, my father raised me to address people as Mister or Missus.”

“I can see that,” Bert said with a chuckle. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Of course,” I said. “I was about to start my shopping, but that can wait.”

“Grand,” Bert said. “Let’s go into my office.”

Bert told me about the commercial. He wanted an actor to play the grocery store's mascot, the Regal Grocery King. And for the role Bert suggested I grow a beard. 

“Kings must have beards,” Bert said. “The beard imbues wisdom on the monarch. That is why we use the image of a bearded king for Monarch, our in-house brand of products. Young kings are inexperienced. Kings with a beard have a gravitas, born from years on the throne making crucial decisions that will affect their subjects.”

So I grew out my beard. And I actually felt a little more distinguished, more respected. Dare I say, regal. Amazing what a change like that brought. When you think of Yul Brynner you don’t picture him with hair. No, you see him as the pharaoh Rameses in The Ten Commandments, as the cowboy in black in The Magnificent Seven, and as King Mongkut in The King and I. His clean-shaven head and distinct voice made the statement. So, too, did this beard for my role as the Regal Grocery King.

I was directed to the Regal Grocery location over at the corner of Dearborne Street and Rushmore Boulevard. The store was closed that morning to film the commercial. Bert was there, along with the director and his assistant who both wore trucker hats and aviator sunglasses. We filmed the first commercial in three takes. And I saw the commercial a couple of days later during coverage of a golf tournament on Channel 6.

Since I had a velvety voice, Bert hired me not just for the television commercials but radio commercials too. I had to go to a recording studio downtown to read the weekly specials and to punctuate them with the store’s tagline: “At Regal Grocery, the shopper is royalty!”

And thus I had a steady acting job. And in my hometown to boot. Things were grand.

One afternoon I went into a bar near the studio after I finished a recording session. It was named Opie’s on Fifth in downtown Valley Heights. I walked in. A group of four men and three women in business attire were in the first booth by the door. The jukebox played a Steely Dan tune and I barely heard the group’s chatter. I did hear one of them mutter something about me as I headed to the bar.

“I see him a lot at the Benson Towers,” one of the women said. Which was true, as that’s where the recording studio was located. “I’ve seen him around at lunch.”

“What can I get you, buddy?” the bartender asked in a voice both gravelly and nasal.

“I’ll have a pint of Lone Star,” I said. The bartender went back to pour the beer, then kept his eye on me.

“Hey, I know I’ve seen you somewhere,” he muttered as he brought the glass to me. I pulled out a five dollar bill when he stopped me.

“That’s right! You’re the Regal Grocery King, aren’t you?”

The group turned to us as the Steely Dan song finished on the jukebox.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said to the bartender.

“First round’s on the house, my liege,” the bartender replied with a bow and a throaty cackle. “Hey, that’s awesome.”

“I appreciate it,” I replied and took a sip. I placed the five dollar bill under a coaster near the front of the bar. “Here’s a tip.”

“Mighty kindly of you, Your Majesty,” the bartender said. “Say, tell ol’ Opie here what’s for sale next week.”

Opie was lucky I remembered the script from the commercial voiceover I recorded an hour earlier. I decided to ham it up for him and the group in the booth, who were all now my audience.

“Well, Opie,” I started in my most velvety tone, “at Regal Grocery this week, we have prime Grade A chuck meat, 60 cents a pound. Monarch Brand canned vegetables, buy two get one free. Monarch Brand bread, white and wheat, 50 cents a loaf. And a six pack of Lone Star beer in 12-ounce cans, this week only $4.99. And remember, at Regal Grocery, the shopper is royalty!”

The group of business people burst into applause and cheers. Opie whistled and rang the bell behind the bar.

“All that’s true,” I said. “Well, except for the Lone Star. I threw that in as a joke.”

Opie’s eyes widened. “Ha! You could’ve fooled me! And here’s another one, on the house, my liege.”

Bert Regal passed away in 1992. He and his brother Frank started Regal Grocery back in 1954. I starred in my first TV commercial as the Regal Grocery King in 1988. In that time I filmed new commercials every week or two, and I recorded the radio ads every week. I was paid a decent sum and had enough to buy a small townhouse on the outskirts of the Corona Hills neighborhood.

Bert’s son Harold took over as the president of Regal Grocery, and the first thing he did in that capacity was to call me into his office.

“Now, Paul, my father loved having you as his mascot,” Harold began. “And I want to continue that relationship, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” I said. “It was an honor working with your father. I hope it’s the same with you.”

“That’s a given,” Harold said, then took a sip of bottled water. “Now, the reason I called you in was to let you know we plan to take the commercials in a new direction.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll still be part of them,” Harold said and got more animated, “but we’re going to aim these commercials to a younger demographic. We’ll have dancers, hip music, and you as the centerpiece for the first new commercial.”

“Dancers?”

“Yes,” Harold replied. “No, we won’t have you dance. I mean, you probably know how to dance, but what I have in mind is you standing in the middle of one of our aisles, wearing sunglasses, bobbing your head to the beat of the music.”

“Do I use the tagline?”

“Oh, um, no,” Harold replied. “Like I said, we’re going in a new direction. You’ll see when we start shooting it at the Dearborne location. Please show up by 8:00 a.m. This is going to be awesome!”

“8:00 a.m., you said?”

“Yeah. In fact, I’ll have the assistant director swing by your place and pick you up.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

The assistant director, Chet, showed up on time, and we drove to the Regal Grocery on Dearborne. As soon as we walked in I heard the throbbing bass of a dance music track. A group of dancers stood by the canned foods aisle and mimed some of the steps to their routine.

Harold Regal saw me walk in and gave me a high five.

“Awesome! You’re here,” he said. “And you’re in the suit. Perfect. Okay, after talking with the director, we’re going to change your look slightly.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So instead of the beard, we’re gonna have you with a goatee.”

“But the beard was your dad’s idea,” I replied. “People know me as the Regal Grocery King with this beard. I don’t think a goatee will work.”

“Trust us, it’ll work,” the director chimed in as he walked past Harold and I, then stopped to address us. “We’re going for a brand refresh. Trust us, this will look awesome.”

I reflexively stroked my beard. I couldn’t imagine myself with a goatee. But if they want to try something new, I thought, then I suppose I’ll buy into it.

“Okay,” I said and gave Harold an uncertain glance. “Where do I go for the shave?”

One of the production assistants came over and walked me to the makeup table, where another assistant had the electric razor at the ready.

The new commercial was shot in four takes. In each take I stood in front of the bread aisle, my arms crossed, wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses with my crown and ermine cape, and bobbing my head to the beat of the dance music in the background. On the first two takes, a couple of the dancers messed up on the choreography. On the third take, one of the extras hired to be a shopper dropped a jar of pudding and that meant we had to pause while that got cleaned up. The fourth and final take was flawless, as the director said after yelling “Cut!”

Harold pumped his fists and ran to me. He gave me a high five and patted my back.

“Thanks again, Paul,” he said. I nodded, still unsure of what just happened.

As the production crew broke down the camera and lighting setups, I looked for Chet the assistant director for a ride home. I saw him over by the deli section flirting with a blonde intern. I didn’t bother him, so I walked out of the store and caught the bus.

There was a small write-up about the new commercial in the Valley Heights Herald that panned the commercial as “a silly and unnecessary update of a beloved ad campaign.

“The Regal Grocery King as a hipster figure?” asked the paper’s television critic. “With a goatee, no less. What made the original ad campaign so successful was the king had a full beard. No self-respecting grocery store monarch has a goatee. He’s a king, not a lower rung of the aristocracy. Kings with beards are imbued with wisdom and trust. This is a swing and a miss for the local grocery store chain. Hopefully they return to form with the next ad.”

Harold called me in the afternoon.

“I guess we’ll go back to the way things were,” he said, a slight specter of resignation in his tone. “I’m not surprised that this town wants to keep things the same forever. They’re scared of change, man. How long will it take you to grow out the beard again?”

“Give me a couple of weeks,” I said.

“Great. We’ll keep doing the radio ads as we’ve always done. And we’ll recut some of the old commercials, editing in the weekly specials with your voiceovers, and then show you saying the tagline. Then by the time you have your beard back we’ll shoot a new set of commercials.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “And don’t beat yourself up, Mr. Regal.”

“Please, call me Harold.”

“Harold, don’t beat yourself up about this. When I was your age I felt the same way about this town. You’re just ahead of the curve. Your vision for the new Regal Grocery will come to fruition eventually. Give this town some time to develop that hunger for something new.”

“Thanks, Paul. Appreciate it. So we’ll be in touch once your beard is fully grown out, right?’

“Yes, sir.”

A month later, we shot new commercials with more or less the same format as before. Harold used some mellower dance music in the background as the weekly specials were read, and we recorded a new version of me saying the tagline. Only this time my beard had some touches of grey. I felt it gave me even more gravitas, made me seem even more regal.

After a day of shooting, I caught the bus home on Dearborne.

“Look,” I heard a man whisper to his wife as I boarded. “It’s him.”

I dropped the coins into the fare box, asked for and received a transfer slip from the bus driver, and found a spot near the rear doors of the bus to stand.

I heard more whispers. I saw glances and quick peeks in my direction. They wanted to see if indeed I was who they thought I was.

“Hey, man, say the line,” someone barked from the back of the bus.

I pretended not to hear him. Didn’t work.

“Come on, man,” the same voice from the back continued. “I know you can hear me.”

A couple of riders chuckled. I said the line six times today during filming of the new commercials.

“Come on,” the voice said again.

“Yeah,” a woman closer to me said. “Let’s hear you.”

I looked out the window and saw a man walking his dog along the sidewalk as the bus chugged along up Dearborne Street.

“Say it,” a young boy said directly in front of me.

Oh, what the heck, I thought.

“At Regal Grocery, the shopper is royalty!” I bellowed.

The bus burst into whistles and applause. The bus driver looked at me from the rearview mirror. He smiled.

It’s good to be the Regal Grocery King.