Warren! Keith! Sean! What NOT to do around celebrities — Ervolino

KEITH!

I’m referring, of course, to Keith Hernandez, the erstwhile New York Met whose No. 17 was retired this month with mucho fanfare.

The five-time All-Star told the press he was “proud and humbled” by the ceremony at Citi Field.

Almost every news story covering the event referred to him as “Hernandez,” but I call him “Keith” because we have history.

Yes, in 1995, Keith and I shared an elevator at 30 Rock.

I’m sure he’s still talking about it.

I should note that this wasn’t one of those really crowded elevators, where everybody is twisting and turning so more people can squeeze in.

This was just us: The first-base king. And I.

He stood over here and I stood over there, doing my best not to embarrass him (or myself) by gushing and plotzing and reliving the entire summer of 1986.

Instead, I stared at my shoes, trying to pretend I was one of those sophisticated types who don’t gush and plotz over every celebrity who walks by.

But, you know what? Trying not to acknowledge him was even more uncomfortable than howling, “KEITH! YOU DA MAN!”

I should note that neither of us was on our way to the third floor. Or, the fifth. Or, even the 10th.

No, we were heading to different events on the 65th floor. So it was practically like spending the weekend together.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I confessed to being a fan. He thanked me. We shook hands. But, by then I was a wreck. If there had been a window on this elevator, I probably would have jumped, just to break the tension.

Mind you, by the time I crossed paths with Keith, I had interviewed literally hundreds of celebrities. Al Pacino. Liza Minnelli. Seinfeld. DeVito. Steve Allen. Tim Allen. Leno and Cavett. Stiller and Meara. Jack Klugman and Tony Randall. Whoopi, Robin and Billy. One Beach Boy. Every Kid in the Hall. George Carlin. Both Smothers brothers. One Andrews sister. Regis. Kathie Lee. And Nancy Sinatra, one of those Hoboken/Hasbrouck Heights Sinatras.

But that was work. Scheduled interviews. Not a random encounter, which just sort of sneaks up on you, especially if you live in or around Manhattan.

Once, in the Russian Tea Room, Warren Beatty started a conversation with me, asking how I’d been. I said, “Uh… fine… you know…” and we chatted a bit.

I didn’t realize until later that he thought I was someone else.

Johnny Carson once shared that male fans often approached him in men’s rooms — while he was relieving himself — and asked for his autograph. I’ve stood alongside Mark Hamill and John Corbett, but never asked for autographs. (I didn’t take selfies, either.)

A year or two after my elevator ride up with Keith, I took the same elevator (going down) with actor Harvey Keitel and my friend Rolf — who was visiting me from the Netherlands.

I knew Rolf had seen “Pulp Fiction,” but he clearly didn’t recognize “The Wolf.” So, facing my oblivious friend, I nonchalantly tilted my neck toward Harv, cleared my throat 12 times and frantically raised my eyebrows as if to say, “Look over there…”

I did this for 65 floors.

Rolf thought I was having a seizure.

No encounter was more embarrassing, though, than the one I had in 1989 on Madison Avenue. I had an appointment to interview Donna Summer at 4 p.m. and had an hour to kill.

Window shopping, I noticed a sale on boots in a cool western shop and ambled in. Unfortunately, there was no place for me to sit down and try them on. Every seat was taken.

After finding the boots in my size, I did my best to get into them without losing my balance. (It was a frigid day and I was wearing a bulky sweater and coat.)

As I struggled, a tall, bearded man walked in wearing a cowboy hat and a fur coat. And, just as he approached, I fell over backward.

This stranger caught me and asked if I was OK. Once I heard his voice, I knew I’d been rescued by Sean Connery — the spy who spied for Her Majesty before “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”

I was thoroughly embarrassed. But, I apologized, bought the boots, and thanked him again as I left.

Of course, things like this don’t happen just to me. A few years back, I was doing a telephone interview with CBS meteorologist John Elliott, who was driving in Los Angeles at the time and suddenly realized he was lost.

He signaled to a nearby car for help and waited as the driver rolled down her tinted windows.

He said he needed some assistance. Then, he recognized her.

“Oh! Sorry to bother you,” he said. “John Elliott from CBS…”

I heard her helping him out.

As she did, he whispered into the phone, “I can’t believe Sandra Bullock is giving me directions.”

This article originally appeared on NorthJersey.com: Bill Ervolino's encounter with NY Mets legend Keith Hernandez