“THERE’S something I want to show you,” Eli Wallach says, ushering me into his apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. On this occasion what he has in mind is a drawing by Al Hirschfeld, one of two that hang prominently in the front hall: “That’s Annie and me, on our 50th anniversary.” Anyone with a memory of New York theater  or, for that matter, of the Sunday Arts & Leisure section of this newspaper  extending back a few decades would surely recognize Hirschfeld’s affectionate likeness of Mr. Wallach and Anne Jackson, his frequent co-star and also his wife of 62 years. Never one to miss a cue, the real-life Ms. Jackson steps forward to accept a modest bouquet of purple irises, rewarding the bearer with kisses and a version of the incandescent smile so brilliantly captured and caricatured by Hirschfeld’s pen.

The Hirschfeld portrait is the evening’s featured artifact, but the walls and surfaces of the apartment are thick with mementos of one long marriage, two entwined careers, three children and countless enduring friendships. There are production stills and candid photographs from various movies and plays, in which one can spot Marilyn Monroe, Elia Kazan, Clint Eastwood, Truman Capote and others; pictures of and by the couples’ son, Peter, and their two daughters, Roberta and Katherine; a small painting by Clifford Odets; framed letters, awards and tributes; books by and about illustrious colleagues and old friends; snapshots of unusual trees near their East Hampton summer place. (Photography is one of Mr. Wallach’s longstanding hobbies; collecting clocks is another.) Somewhere in the midst of it all, space will have to be cleared for the honorary Academy Award that Eli Wallach will receive at a banquet in Los Angeles next Saturday, a few weeks before his 95th birthday.