This is the e-mail I sent to close friends and family this afternoon. Just thought I'd share with my SOHC family as well.
Goodbye to an Icon
As most of you have probably heard, Sunday we lost one of the most influential comedians of the last century. Monday morning caught me by surprise when Aimee came in with a look bordering between disbelief and sorrow. As my morning routine is already greatly shortened from the luxurious hour I’d prefer, I shoved this piece of information back in my brain until I could find the time to process it fully.
Through the week the thought would quickly press its way forward only to get shoved quickly backward in deference to my work duties, then to yard work, etc. It seems my mourning routine has also gotten compressed as of late.
Last night, after a stressful day at work followed by several hours of exhausting yard work cutting, hauling, digging, etc, I sat down to find some mindless drivel on the television so as to let my mind relax until Aimee got back from her Lady’s night out with the girls. Flipping through the channels I found one that was about ½ way through a Carlin marathon so I turned to enjoy the show. The humor, full of intelligence as well as appeals to a more base part of the brain, had me laughing as though I’d not seen this routine a dozen times before. The realization that the individual who had formed much of my sense of humor though his influence on my father’s would no longer be creating new material tore at me. The fact that I had allowed the price of the ticket keep us from going to the show he did in Charlottesville last year angered me. With these widely disparate thoughts in my mind at one time I simply let go. There was no smashing of household items, no sobbing into pillows, nor rolling on the floor holding my gut for fear of the laughter ripping a hole in my side. It was a very different feeling that is as I type still bouncing my thoughts around much like his comedy would do.
Aimee questioned me on what was wrong when she got home. Of course I wasn’t going to say “I’m sad about George” because to vocalize an emotion only makes it more intense and I was already at my limit for the night so I said (everyone together now) “Nothing babe.” Any guesses as to how well she bought it? Exactly. After a few minutes of prodding she got a little of it out of me and I started getting ready for bed, still in the emotional pinball machine. It may seem strange to many that the passing of a person I never met would effect me enough to send an e-mail about it, much less one this long. I agree. So why am I still fighting back the unmanly urge to cry while in my office many days after hearing about it.
From his early days after assuming his black wardrobe to compliment his dark humor Carlin was a lightning rod for controversy. He was not one that simply accepted things as they were said to be, he questioned it all. From simple semantic observations “Get on the plane? F&@k you! I’m getting IN the plane!” to his more widely applicable philosophical questions, he was always stirring up trouble. One of his most famous bits actually initiated a Supreme Court case. He’s now in the annals of American legal history (yep, he used that in a routine shortly after the hearing). Any person that can pose a question that makes you re-think a position on any subject is helping you become a better person. George helped an untold multitude of people spend a little more time thinking about their own beliefs right up until his last days and the world is worse off without him.
As a person note, I think some of the earliest jokes I ever knew were Carlin’s (slightly modified to be repeatable by a 5 year old) told to me by my dad. Not just the sense of humor but his entire approach to life as a cosmic joke was passed on from my early days and has had a much larger influence on who I have become than any other individual aside from my parents (with the possible exception of Michael J. Fox & my Granddad Joe for completely different reasons). In fact, my expressed desire to become a crotchety old man stems directly from Carlin’s F&@k You! style. My dad and I have shared more laughs than most father and son pairs have been lucky enough to and a relatively large percentage of them have been brought on by good ol’ George or our imitations of George. The thought of those laughs being gone lead down that dark path toward thoughts of one’s own mortality and that of those around you. I realized how young Carlin looked in the particular routine I was watching. I know that we had watched that one together many years ago and that it was originally filmed when my dad was old enough to watch it live (though he didn’t). George didn’t have a single grey hair then and my dad still had any hair if that gives you an indication. Growing up my dad was also my best friend. This comes as no surprise to any of you I’m sure. The thought of time having passed so quickly since the first time I was allowed to spurt off the “7 words you can’t say on television” routine makes the time I’ve left for more laughs with my dad seem like a blip. Dark, I know and I’m sorry dad but you need to stop smoking, plain and simple. That angst was compounded when I realized that I hadn’t called my dad to talk about George’s death, or anything else for that matter, yet this week. As busy as life has become, I’ve begun that slippery slide toward increasing distance between parents and child and it does bother me. All of this because a funny-man had a heart attack? I really must seek help (that’s what friends are for, right?).
Lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, Aimee asks if I’m really ok. Of course I say “yep!” “You sure? Cause there’s a wet spot on your pillow.” So much for being sneaky.
Goodbye George. You touched many people more deeply than you could possibly know and I’m sure you’d call us all some creative names for it.
George Carlin
1937 – 2008
