During rehearsal, Tim Conway calmly announced he’d forgotten all his lines. Harvey Korman froze. “What are you planning to do out there?” he asked, already bracing for disaster. Tim thought for a moment, then shrugged. “You just do the scene like normal. I’ll… walk across.” That night, Tim crossed the stage three separate times. He didn’t speak. He didn’t act. He barely acknowledged the audience. Each silent walk earned bigger laughs than the last. By the third pass, Harvey was laughing so hard he lost his lines completely. Of course, Tim hadn’t forgotten the script at all. He’d simply replaced it with silence—and somehow, it became comedy perfection.