It’s not often you can play a practical joke on somebody you’ve never met.

But that’s what I did in 1990 when I knew I’d be having dinner with Richard Simmons, the wacky fitness guru.

At the time, Simmons was riding the crest of a popularity wave that shot him into the limelight.

His “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” exercise regimen was a big hit and he was appearing as a guest on all of the TV talk shows.

I worked as corporate communications director for a segment of what was then the world’s largest health insurance company.

We sponsored an annual health care symposium.

My job was to contract with national figures in entertainment and public health.

Once they arrived in the city, I’d welcome them and treat them to dinner.

It wasn’t always easy. There were too many variables. And I sometimes failed from the get-go.

For instance, I phoned legendary medical researcher Dr. Jonas Salk. Baby Boomers will recognize that name.

I tried to convince him to come to the East Coast and tell us of his success with the polio vaccine.

But he was retired, in failing health, and couldn’t make the trip.

Other times, I fared better.

I welcomed strongman Jack LaLanne and spent a day with him. He was an exercise advocate long before it was cool.

But, by far, the most colorful personality was Simmons, who was trying to convince everyone to be more active and eat better.

He was a household name. Everybody was entertained by his crazy, off-the-wall sense of humor.

So I decided to play a trick on him during a planned welcome reception and dinner.

I told the hotel to prepare a high-fat, high-calorie meal just for the guest of honor.

“And make sure there’s lots of butter on the table,” I said.

I wanted to see how Simmons would react to the predicament.

After all, imagine being the guest dinner speaker to promote healthy eating habits at a dinner serving just the opposite.

The irony was as rich as the unhealthy meal. But it was all fake. A joke.

According to the plot, the high-fat food would be whisked away at the last minute, replaced by more healthful fare.

But Simmons was his classy self. A guest should never insult the host. And he knew it. He never said a word.

I later came clean and told him what I’d done. The look on his face was priceless.

Somebody nearby with a camera caught his reaction. I still have the photo nearly 35 years later.

Simmons was a special man.

He encouraged everyday folks to exercise. He made it clear that physical activity is for everyone, not just for Mr. America bodybuilders.

We shouldn’t be intimidated by muscle-bound gym bodies and skillfully carved professionals.

What matters is you. Your own goals. Your own situation.

With that in mind, Simmons brought workouts into our living rooms. He made it fun. He made it about us.

And everybody loved him for it.

Then, for reasons known only to him, he dropped from public view in 2014.

He gave up his manager and no longer had a publicist.

He remained reclusive inside his home in Hollywood Hills for the next ten years.

He died unexpectedly last Saturday, one day after turning 76.

Authorities believe his death was the result of natural causes.

The loss hits hard.

Few personalities have positively impacted more people than Richard Simmons.

He leaves a lasting legacy of encouragement and self-improvement.

And his famous words will live on: “Don’t eat too much butter.”