[breathes] Well, long story short, I found the complete text of Mr. Waverly's original bio! And like Napoleon's and Illya's, it hints at a whole bunch of stuff that never made it to the screen. As per previous discussions, it's debatable how much of these bios still count as 'canon' at this point, but are generally still a fascinating read. Transcript under the cut. Just to have them all in one place, I've copied Napoleon's and Illya's over as well.
There are a number of other interesting pages in the pressbook, which hint at episodes which were pitched but never filmed, or ultimately filmed under different names. Also, it seems that not only Heather McNabb but also Grace Lee as Wanda Mae Kim, an East-Asian receptionist, were supposed to be recurring characters on the show, though neither character actually appeared more than a handful of times in early episodes.
Mr. Waverly, one of the men at the peak of U.N.C.L.E.’s organizational structure, has a poor memory when it comes to names and other trivia. So he talks around them and other unimportant details-pausing, hesitating and “harrumphing” his way through certain sentences, when conversation of some sort seems necessary. Though he may forget the names of the operatives facing him, Waverly is nonetheless fully aware of the dangers involved in the situations into which he is placing them. One might get the impression that he understates the missions at hand (and perhaps he does), but those who know him well realize that he has analyzed the facts thoroughly before assigning each and every agent to his particular job.
A seedy man, standing out in stark contrast to the sleek, twentieth-centurishness of the organization of which he is a guiding force, Mr. Waverly handles a pipe incessantly but never smokes one. He also is quite good in a fight, although a casual observer wouldn’t know this to look at him. And when the fight is over, Waverly quickly returns to his work and the vital matters at hand, leaving others to argue about who did what in battle. The issue of his life or death leaves him unmoved; a duel, once ended, is done with, and nothing to sit around and talk about.
Mr. Waverly tolerates Solo’s girl friends. But not with the best of grace. He would prefer his favorite agent spend more time improving his mind (although Solo’s mind seems to be agile enough for whatever the occasion demands). Mr. Waverly also has a habit of turning up in odd, out-of-the-way places, if only to spot-check his agents while they are on assignments. So it is not inconceivable that Solo, dangling from a pipe in a sewer pending the return of a homicide-minded enemy, might look down to discover tweedy-jacketed, baggy-trousered Mr. Waverly, standing ankle-deep in water, “tsk-tsking” up at him.
Napoleon Solo, one of U.N.C.L.E.’s top agents, is dashing, sophisticated – with an easygoing manner and a quick smile. He maintains a small apartment in a new luxury building overlooking the East River. It is definitely bachelory in appearance, with a somewhat coppery kitchen (he cooks) and a constant semi-rumpled air. The decor has a nautical flavor, reflecting Solo’s love for the sea and possibly a hangover from his service days as commander of a corvette in the Royal Canadian Navy.
Solo owns a 30-foot sloop, harbored in a marina out on Long Island, and has all the snobbish prejudices which men of “sail” hold for the “powerboat dilettante.” Other than this mild form of bigotry, he rather tends to view all men as equals, unless their behavior (as opposed to backgrounds) proves them otherwise.
Solo is equally democratic in his attitude toward women, except when he adopts the Orwellian theorem in relation to the more attractive ones: “some are more equal than others…” He has been in love…a number of times (Or did he really know these romantic involvements were merely brief encounters?)
In college Solo was a philosophy major, a language minor. He made the swimming and lacrosse teams: never joined a fraternity.
Those who know Solo nonprofessionally believe that he is working for “…one of those nonprofit organizations, like a foundation or something.” They are aware that his job frequently takes him out of town and, judging from the appearance he sometimes presents on his return, believe that “poor Solo must be accident prone.”
“Poor Solo” is, of course, quite the reverse of “accident prone.” He is more than capable of taking care of himself: calm, quick-thinking, well-trained, ingenious, coldly calculating when the cards are stacked challengingly against him. His mind is as great an ally to him as the specially designed U.N.C.L.E. weapon he always carries. Automatic, pistol-like in appearance and encased in a holster, it has an ingenious stock and a long barrel, and gives devastating and compact fire to a single man.
Although Solo makes no high-blown moral statements about his work, nor his reasons for engaging in it, viewers will sense that he only can give himself with total dedication to a “cause” that he believes to be right. It also will be readily apparent to them that he derives extreme satisfaction from the destruction of evil.
An agent in Solo’s section, Illya is something of an enigma. He is clever, physically adept, a good man to have at one’s side in a tight spot. But he is a lone wolf, introverted, not at all gregarious. Like a machine that has been fashioned for a specific purpose, nothing seems to exist for him but the task to be performed. He does his job. Like Solo, he doesn’t discuss it with others.
Of Russian origin, Illya has worked behind the Iron Curtain (as have many of U.N.C.L.E.’s agents) and in other areas that are closed to most Westerners-sometimes with, and sometimes without, the knowledge and consent of the authorities. He knows the rule that applies in extremely sensitive and secretive cases of the latter type. It’s easy to remember: the devil take the man who is caught.
Illya maintains an austere apartment in the same building as Solo, the only man who has been able to get close enough to him to discover his secret love of jazz and the carefully guarded collection of records hidden away in a secret compartment under his bed. Strange? But the world, of course, is full of strange and curious things.