"The minute I saw the script, I knew I had a live one," he recalled in 2001. "Every role was written against type, especially Benson, who wasn't subservient to anyone. To me, Benson was the revenge for all those stereotyped guys who looked like Benson in the '40s and '50s (movies) and had to keep their mouths shut."
The character became so popular that ABC was persuaded to launch a spinoff, simply called Benson, which lasted from 1979 to 1986. In the series, the main character went from running the kitchen for a governor to becoming a political aide to eventually becoming lieutenant governor. Benson made Guillaume wealthy and famous, but he regretted that his character's wit had to be toned down to make him more appealing as the lead star.
The career of Robert Guillaume (pronounced with a hard "g'': gee-yome) almost ended in January 1999 at Walt Disney Studio. He was appearing in the Aaron Sorkin-written TV series Sports Night as Isaac Jaffee, executive producer of a sports highlight show. Returning to his dressing room after a meal away from the studio, he suddenly collapsed.
"I fell on the floor, and I couldn't get up," he told an interviewer in 2001. "I kept floundering about on the floor and I didn't know why I couldn't do it. I didn't know it was it was caused by my left side being weaker than the other."
Fortunately, St. Joseph Hospital was directly across from the studio. The 71-year-old actor was taken there and treated for a stroke— the result of a blood clot that blocked circulation of blood to the brain. They are fatal in 15 percent of the cases.
Guillaume's stroke was minor, causing relatively slight damage and little effect on his speech. After six weeks in the hospital, he underwent a therapy of walks and sessions in the gym. He returned to the second season of Sports Night, and it was written into the script that Isaac Jaffee was recovering from a stroke. Because of slim ratings, the second season proved to be the last for the much-praised show.
Guillaume resumed his career and traveled as a new spokesman for the American Stroke Association. He also made appearance for the American Heart Association.
"I'm a bastard, a Catholic, the son of a prostitute, and a product of the poorest slums of St. Louis."
This was the opening of Guillaume: A Life, his 2002 autobiography in which he laid bare his troubled life. He was born fatherless on Nov. 30, 1927, in St. Louis, one of four children. His mother named him Robert Peter Williams; when he became a performer he adopted Guillaume, a French version of William, believing the change would give him distinction.
His early years were spent in a back-alley apartment without plumbing or electricity; an outhouse was shared with two dozen people. His alcoholic mother hated him because of his dark skin, and his grandmother rescued him, taught him to read and enrolled him in a Catholic school.
Seeking but denied his mother's love and scorned by nuns and students because of his dark skin, the boy became a rebel, and that carried into his adult life. He was expelled from school and then the Army, though he was granted an honorable discharge. He fathered a daughter and abandoned the child and her mother. He did the same to his first wife and two sons and to another woman and a daughter.
He worked in a department store, the post office and as St. Louis's first black streetcar motorman. Seeking something better, he enrolled at St. Louis University, excelling in philosophy and Shakespeare, and then at Washington University (St. Louis) where a music professor trained the young man's superb tenor singing voice.
After serving as an apprentice at theaters in Aspen, Colorado, and Cleveland, the newly named Guillaume toured with Broadway shows Finian's Rainbow, Golden Boy, Porgy and Bess and Purlie, and began appearing on sitcoms such as The Jeffersons and Sanford and Son. Then came Soap and Benson. His period of greatest success was marred by tragedy when his 33-year-old son Jacques died of complications from AIDS in 1990.
Guillaume's first stable relationship came when he married TV producer Donna Brown in the mid-1980s and had a daughter, Rachel. At last he was able to shrug off the bitterness he had felt throughout his life.
"To assuage bitterness requires more than human effort," he wrote at the end of his autobiography. "Relief comes from a source we cannot see but can only feel. I am content to call that source love."
AP television writer Lynn Elber in Los Angeles and the late AP Entertainment Writer Bob Thomas contributed to this report.