In North By Northwest during the scene on Mount Rushmore, I wanted Cary Grant to hide in Lincoln’s nostril and then have a fit of sneezing.

The Parks Commission of the Department of Interior was rather upset at this thought.

I argued until one of their number asked me how I would like it if they had Lincoln play the scene in Cary Grant’s nose.

I saw their point at once.

In my years in the film business I have survived the silent films, talkies, the narrow screen, the widescreen, 3-D, the drive-in movie, the in-flight movie, television and so on.

I began as a writer, then became, successively, art director, director, producer and now, the climax of my career: after-luncheon speaker.

I think I shall avail myself of the remainder of the time given me to acquaint you with the person to whom you have given this honor.

Who is this man? Who is the real Alfred Hitchcock?

I shall begin by correcting several misconceptions about myself which have grown up over the years. It is high time I set the record straight.

First of all, there seems to be a widespread impression that I am stout.

I can see you share my amusement at this obvious distortion of the truth.

This story began over 40 years ago.

Alfred Hitchcock, top row, third from right, in a scene from The Lodger, 1927

As you may know, I make a brief appearance in each of my pictures.

One of the earliest of these was The Lodger, the story of Jack The Ripper.

My appearance called for me to walk up the stairs of a rooming house.

Since my walk-ons in subsequent pictures would be equally strenuous — boarding buses, playing chess, etc. — I asked for a stunt man.

The casting department, with an unusual lack of perception, hired this fat man!

The rest is history.

He became the public image of Hitchcock.

Changing the image was impossible. Therefore I had to conform to the image.

It has not been easy.

As you know, I still remain a prisoner of the old image.

They say that inside every fat man is a thin one trying desperately to get out.

Now you know that the thin man is the real Alfred Hitchcock.

Then there is the dreadful story that I hate actors. Imagine anyone hating Jimmy Stewart.

I can’t think how such a rumor began.

Of course it may possibly be because I was once quoted as saying that actors are cattle.

My actor friends know I would never be capable of such a thoughtless, rude, and unfeeling remark; that I would never call them cattle.

What I probably said was that actors should be treated like cattle.

Alfred Hitchcock, center, recipient, Irving G. Thalberg Memorial Award, interviewed by Sig Sakowicz, left, and others backstage at the 40th Academy Awards ceremony in 1968.

It has also been whispered about that I hate television commercials. Once again, I plead “not guilty.” I love them.

Oh, I readily admit that they are noisy, nauseating, ridiculous, dull, boring, and tasteless… but so are many other things — including after-luncheon speakers.

The difference — and herein lies the reason I love commercials — the difference is that one can turn them off.

This is an epoch-making breakthrough.

In the entire history of sadism, the television commercial is the only instance where Man has invented a torture and then provided the victim with a means of escape.

What is interesting is that so few people avail themselves of the opportunity.

The public thinks I have been getting away with murder for 40 years. But am I really unscathed?

I hope you never forget that it can be a very sordid business — especially if you don’t have a good lawyer.

I think it is now obvious that the real Hitchcock is almost totally different from the public image.

I only hope that, having learned this, you do not feel you have given this honor to the wrong man.

Thank you very much.