H arry Reems is enjoying what he calls his “little unsigned Norman Rockwell” moment. Soaked in the morning sunlight reflecting off the Wasatch Mountains, the 57-year-old real-estate broker sits in the living room of his ranch house in Park City, Utah, his slipper-clad feet propped up on an ottoman and his faithful terrier, Bingo, by his side. He looks like just another bright-eyed, silver-haired local in this ski-resort community. But Reems’s name should be your first clue that he has not always led a life suitable for the Saturday Evening Post. Imagine him 30 years younger, with a thick black mane and a feral moustache, and you might catch a glimpse of who he once was: America’s first male pornographic-film star, who poked, stroked, and joked his way through more than 100 hard-core movies, including 1972’s seminal (in every sense of the word) Deep Throat. 
 
 Though that part of his life has been dead and buried for more than fifteen years, Reems doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that his lascivious old persona—not to mention his fully aroused nude body—is on display for all to see in a new documentary, Inside Deep Throat, which premiered practically in his backyard at the Sundance Film Festival. “My cover’s not blown,” says Reems. “Of course people can find me. But what are they gonna find me for?” In fact, he is eagerly anticipating the film’s release and hopes that viewers come away believing something that Reems has always believed about himself: “I’m the thread to tell the story of social change in America.” He’s exaggerating only slightly. 
 
 Before he was Harry Reems, he was Herbert Streicher, born in Manhattan and raised in a Westchester suburb. In 1965, at the age of 18, he enlisted in the Marines, but when his father became terminally ill, he was granted a hardship leave that eventually turned into an honorable discharge. He returned to Manhattan, in 1967, to become an actor. Quickly accumulating credits in experimental and Off–Off Broadway productions, he eventually earned his Actors’ Equity card. Still, he couldn’t seem to cover the $38.37 monthly rent on the apartment he kept in Alphabet City. When a fellow thespian introduced him to the adult-film trade as a way of making ends meet, Reems didn’t hesitate. It was a purely financial decision, he says, one that he couldn’t imagine would negatively affect his life. Besides, he found that he was well suited to the work. “I always thought of myself as a shy kid with a lot of pimples and a big nose,” he says. “But when I came back from the Marine Corps, suddenly I got a hard body and I had a different look to me.” 
 
 By this time, the city offered many options for cineastes who wanted to get off at the movies. Sexually explicit films such as I Am Curious (Yellow) had sneaked into Times Square art-house theaters, skirting obscenity rules by including scenes of redeeming social value. And the neighborhood’s schlock shops sold “loops”: silent black-and-white eight-millimeter films that provided ten minutes’ worth of straight-up fornication. “Guys would go to smoke rooms and watch this stuff together to make sure they were having sex correctly,” says Legs McNeil, co-author of The Other Hollywood: The Uncensored Oral History of the Porn Film Industry. “It was not an erotic exercise.” 
 
 Nor was it especially arousing for the people who appeared in them. “It wasn’t uncommon to see people sweating profusely in the sex scenes because of the lighting,” says Reems. “Plus, you have a handheld camera two inches away from your genitals. Not the easiest of conditions to have a successful sexual encounter.” Few of Reems’s onscreen partners shared his background in the dramatic arts. “They came from the corner of 49th and Eighth,” he says. “Most of these people were basically exhibitionists. I guess I have a little bit of that in me, but I always felt as though I wasn’t part of that crowd.” Yet for years he made skin flicks in his free time between theater projects, working on them for as little as an evening or as long as eight days, in sterile production studios and dingy bedrooms around the city. To avoid attracting attention from the actors’ unions, he appeared under such aliases as Dick Hurt and Peter Long, but often in the same role. “I was always the doctor,” he says, “because I was the one that had an acting background. I would say, ‘You’re having trouble with oral sex? Well, here’s how to do it.’ Cut to a twenty-minute oral-sex scene.” 
 
 In January 1972, he was approached by hard-core filmmaker Gerard Damiano to work on a feature-length project he was shooting in Miami. Its tongue-in-cheek script told the now famous story of a woman, played by freckle-faced ingénue Linda Lovelace, who makes the felicitous discovery that her clitoris is in her throat. Reems, who by now was more interested in being behind the camera, was hired as the lighting director, but when a suitable male lead could not be found in time, he was paid $100 a day to play the wisecracking physician who helps Lovelace untangle her tingle. 
 
 To contemporary eyes, Deep Throat is almost charming in its lack of technique, with its grainy film stock, crude editing, and extreme close-ups of pasty bodies. But when it opened at 49th Street’s New Mature World Theater on June 12, 1972, it was an instant hit, as memorable for Lovelace’s aptitude for oral sex as for Reems’s Borscht Belt–style one-liners. (She: “How would you feel if your balls were in your ear?” He: “Then I could hear myself coming!”) In his four-year-old porn journal, Screw, Al Goldstein gave Deep Throat a perfect score on his “peter meter,” declaring that he was “never so moved by any theatrical performance since stuttering through my own bar mitzvah.” 
 
 But it wasn’t until New York law enforcement took notice that Deep Throat became a blockbuster. The World Theater was raided three times in a single month that summer. And by the time a New York judge ruled the movie obscene the following spring, the publicity surrounding its legal troubles had helped earn Deep Throat nearly $2 million in the city and made pornography a national obsession. Jackie O. saw it. Johnny Carson referenced it in his monologues. Ralph Blumenthal wrote in the New York Times that Deep Throat had become the “premier topic of cocktail-party and dinner-table conversation”; members of the newsroom staff had viewed it en masse. 
 
 Reems, who had begun supplementing his hard-core résumé with roles in European B-movies, presumed that the attention could only help his career. “Then I could move on to making real, legitimate pictures,” he says. But on the morning of July 7, 1974, one month before the resignation of President Nixon, the actor was awoken by a knock at the door of his Chelsea apartment. “I looked through the peephole,” says Reems, “and there were three guys holding guns and FBI badges.” 
 
 It had been rumored that Deep Throat was funded by Joseph and Louis “Butchie” Peraino, associates of the Colombo crime family, and now Reems and eight reputed mobsters were being indicted in a Memphis federal court for conspiracy to transport obscene material across state lines. Though Reems had no Mafia ties, he was “the person that the public in Memphis would be least sympathetic towards,” says Fenton Bailey, co-director of Inside Deep Throat. “He was a very convenient target to demonize.” It worked. “People lined up outside the courthouse,” Reems says. “They didn’t throw eggs at the mafiosos—they threw eggs at Harry Reems.” ||||| A haggard Philip Seymour Hoffman knew he was trapped in a downward spiral, readily admitting, “I’m a heroin addict,’’ to a stranger two weeks ago. 
 
 The Oscar-winning actor made the bizarre admission to magazine publisher John Arundel at the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah, after the businessman didn’t immediately recognize him and asked what he did for a living. 
 
 “He said, ‘I’m a heroin addict,’ ” the Washington Life Magazine associate publisher recalled for The Post on Monday. 
 
 Arundel said Hoffman then took off his “sloppy hat” and the publisher realized his mistake and said, “Oh, you’re Philip Seymour Hoffman.” 
 
 “Bingo!” the actor replied, according to Arundel. 
 
 Before Hoffman walked away, Arundel recalled, the “Capote’’ actor added, “I just got out of rehab.” 
 
 “Obviously, he wanted people to know he was in recovery mode,’’ Arundel said. 
 
 Or at least think he was. In reality, Hoffman — who had struggled with drug and alcohol addiction since his early 20s — was in the middle of a relapse that claimed his life at age 46 on Sunday. 
 
 His addiction had gotten so bad that Hoffman’s girlfriend of 14 years, costume designer Mimi O’Donnell, had kicked him out of the Jane Street pad in Greenwich Village where they lived with their three young kids, pals said. 
 
 “It was known that he was struggling to stay sober, and his wife had given him some tough love and told him he needed some time away from the kids and to get straight again,’’ a Hollywood source told The Post. 
 
 The screen and stage star began renting a $9,800-a-month pad on Bethune Street, less than three blocks away, around three months ago, neighbors said. 
 
 Hoffman was found dead of an apparent heroin overdose in a bathroom of that apartment, with a hypodermic needle still sticking out of his left forearm. 
 
 Cops recovered more than 20 empty heroin envelopes from the apartment, a plastic cup with 20 used syringes in it, at least 50 more envelopes of heroin and bags of fresh needles, sources said. A charred spoon was found in the sink. 
 
 “He was apparently in the throes of a major heroin addiction,’’ a law-enforcement source said. 
 
 The actor — known for his vivid portrayals of troubled souls — had said he had been clean for more than 20 years before suffering a relapse in 2012 and entering rehab for 10 days last year. 
 
 A source who was on the same 5:30 a.m. flight as Hoffman out of Los Angeles International Airport last month said the dad of three was in first class knocking back bloody marys. 
 
 And three days ago, Hoffman was spotted looking “drunk and disheveled” in a bar in downtown Atlanta, sources told TMZ. 
 
 The star was making “multiple trips’’ to the bathroom, a source said. On the flight home from Atlanta, he was spotted passed out in his seat. 
 
 Hoffman was supposed to be at the Jane Street pad at 9 a.m. Sunday to pick up son Cooper, 10, and daughters Tallulah, 7, and Willa, 5, sources said. 
 
 O’Donnell told cops she last saw the actor on the street Saturday afternoon, then talked to him by phone at 10 p.m. — and he seemed high, sources said. 
 
 When he failed to show the next morning, she got worried and started calling around. 
 
 Hoffman’s playwright pal, David Bar Katz, and the actor’s personal assistant, Isabella Wing-Davey, discovered his body in the bathroom, sources said. 
 
 Hoffman, a native of upstate Fairport, was discovered in his underwear lying on his right side on the bathroom floor. 
 
 “He was cold” and had been there “for hours,” sources said. 
 
 Katz and Wing-Davey told cops they didn’t know how often Hoffman used drugs or where he got them, sources said. 
 
 Neither responded to requests for comment. 
 
 Wing-Davey was spotted Monday afternoon coming out of the Jane Street home. 
 
 Actress and family friend Cate Blanchett, who appeared with Hoffman in 1999’s “The Talented Mr. Ripley,” also showed up there laden with toys for the three children. 
 
 Blanchett exited a black Cadillac XTS carrying two huge bags from FAO Schwarz and a telescope under her arm. Her driver carried in a third bag of toys. She declined comment. 
 
 A pastor named Dan Martin showed up minutes later to counsel the family. 
 
 Hoffman’s body remained at the morgue Monday, an autopsy still incomplete, officials said. 
 
 Broadway will dim its lights in his memory Wednesday night. 
 
 Additional reporting by Kevin Sheehan, Lorena Mongelli and Kate Sheehy ||||| Corey Feldman revealed the name of one his sexual predators to Dr. Oz on Thursday. 
 
 The 80's star said the man who attacked him when he was 14 years old is named John Grissom, an actor who had bit parts in some of Feldman's films including "License to Drive" (1988) and "Dream a Little Dream" (1989). 
 
 Prior to the singer's revelation on the talk show, Feldman wrote about the alleged pedophile in his 2014 autobiography, "Coreyography: A Memoir," identifying Grissom by a false name, Ron Crimson, as advised by his lawyers at the time. 
 
 However, Grissom, who has been suspected by some on social media for several weeks, addressed speculation that he was Feldman's predator. 
 
 On Grissom's comment section on YouTube he denied Feldman's accusations and wrote to one site user, "I said its not me I'm sick and tired of saying that when no one listens. So goddamnit I'm not repeating it anymore.﻿" 
 
 Feldman warned Hollywood pedophiles issuing a message, "Now is your time. Be a man for the first time and come forward yourself. Turn yourself in. Let it be known...If you do not we’re coming for you." 
 
 The 46 year old told Dr. Oz he informed the Santa Barbara Police Department in 1993 the names of attackers in Hollywood. 
 
 Kelly Hoover, Public Information Officer for Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s Office told Fox News, "We are aware of the statements that Mr. Feldman is making regarding an investigation in 1993. Our records do not indicate that he named any suspects. If he has any information regarding a crime or crimes that occurred, we encourage him to contact our office or his local law enforcement agency." 
 
 Feldman instead called the Los Angeles Police Department while on Dr. Oz with the intention of naming alleged pedophiles in Hollywood. The call was not allowed to be recorded for confidentiality reasons, however, the actor claimed he would cooperate with any investigations going foward. 
 
 Feldman did not respond to Fox News' request for comment.
– A Utah realtor born with the unassuming name of Herbert Streicher died this week of pancreatic cancer at age 65, but it's what he did before real estate that makes the obit notable. Streicher took the acting name of Harry Reems and starred in more than 100 adult films, none more memorable than 1972's Deep Throat, reports the New York Daily News. In fact, it was that film that led to Reems' other claim to fame: The feds went after him on obscenity charges—along with the mobsters reputed to have financed the film—and won a conviction. That made Reems the only actor to be convicted of obscenity charges, though famed attorney Alan Dershowitz later got it overturned, notes the Huffington Post. After his porn career, Reems turned into an alcoholic but eventually found sobriety, and his wife, in Park City, Utah, where he became a successful realtor. New York magazine did a profile in 2005 that many of the obituaries on the wires are pulling information from.