In 1987, I bought a ticket, which I could
barely afford, for NYC’s “Comedy Cellar” because I heard that Robin Williams
would be at the 9:00 p.m. show. Back in
the day at NYU, those kinds of things happened.
On occasion, Williams, or Eddie Murphy, or maybe Bill Murray, would
randomly show up unannounced at the Comedy Cellar and do a show. (“Wow, that must have been all over YouTube,
Mom”) Actually, kids, there was no YouTube, Twitter, IG, or Facebook back
then. In fact, kids, there were no cell
phones, and beepers were for surgeons and people who had to make really
important “deals” -- we relied on something called word of mouth (that’s where
people actually talk to each other without electronics devices).
It was a
great show, but Robin Williams was not there and I had spent $30.00 I could not afford, and that meant I would have
to drink cafeteria coffee instead of Deli Coffee for about 2 weeks, ugh! Even worse, I forgot my student ID at the
club. What a stinker of a night. Using common sense, I knew I had to grab a
male student to walk me back over to the club at midnight to find my ID. I asked my friend “Pete,” who was on the NYU Basketball team and the
Fencing team, to come with me. When we
got to the club, it was crazy crowded. “What’s
going on?” asked Pete, ready to grab me
and run. “You’re not going to believe
this, man, Robin Williams is on stage!”
Let’s just say that, while being a pretty NYU girl got you behind the
velvet rope at most clubs, this wasn’t one of them. However, being a star basketball player on
NYU’s then-championship basketball team, did.
Of course, we had about $10.00 between us, but Williams insisted that no
one had to pay for the show. There was,
of course, the issue of the two-drink minimum.
But guess what? Williams paid for
everybody’s drinks too. So, OK,
technically he didn’t buy ME a drink, he paid so the patrons wouldn’t have to
have purchase drinks if they didn’t want to. We opted for one beer each (Varsity
athletes back then didn’t get hammered the night before practice -- at least my
friend didn’t).
The Comedy
Cellar seated, maybe, 100 people back then.
At first, it was terrifying, being so close to someone you loved and
admired so much. And, of course, live
shows at comedy clubs are always terrifying if you don’t want to get “picked on,” but of course, that’s why the comedians do
these live shows for 100 when they can pack a stadium -- for the up close and personal audience
interaction. I would love to say that
Robin Williams interacted with me and made jokes about me and based the whole
show on me. In fact, he did not. But he did hone in on my friend “Pete”. Especially when he got wind of the fact that
Pete was an African-American fencer. Williams
went into character, pretending to be an Olympic Fencing Coache who sees an
African-American fencer and keeps insisting that this must be a mixup, that this
athlete was supposed to be on the basketball or track team. Honestly, I can’t remember much else beyond that
– and the fact that I was half on the floor laughing the whole time. My friend and I laughed so hard we cried,
laughed so hard we thought we would need an oxygen tank. And then it was over. And we were stunned. Did that just happen?
We went back
to the dorms and we actually TOLD our story to people without the benefit of
social media and I WROTE about it for the School Newspaper because there was no
Blogging back then. I would love to go
back to the NYU Library and find a copy of that article almost 30 years ago.
I was
leaving Zumba Class at Gold’s Gym Monday night when I saw the news of Robin
Williams’ death on Facebook and I prayed it was one of those hoax articles. It was not.
When I got home, Little Michael asked me why I was crying; why Daddy and I were hugging each other so
hard. (We haven’t had TV news on in our
house since 9/11, so Michael never knows what’s going on, and Christian reads
the news online).
“A great man, a great actor, and a
man who made a lot of people laugh died today,” I told him.
“Was he your
friend?” said Michael. “He was not
literally my friend,” I answered carefully, “but he lived his life in a way
that Daddy and I felt like we knew him.
It feels like we lost a friend.”
“He was the
voice of Genie,” offered Christian to his brother.
“Genie
died??!!” said Michael, his lip quivering.
“The man who played his voice is
gone, yes,” I said. “But we can watch
his movies over and over. And we can try
to remember his Life and find a way to honor all the good that he did.”
“How do we
do that?” asked my sons. I thought of
all the Comic Relief shows that Williams did over the years, to benefit the
Homeless.
“By doubling
how much food we bring to church on Sunday for the Food Pantry, and by choosing
a charity for the homeless and supporting it,” I said.
Last Sunday
at Mass, there was a particularly stirring homily. Father Ed said, “when I get to the gates of
Heaven, I have to answer to God directly, when he asks what I have done to help
his people. My parishioners won’t be
there to say what a great priest I was;
my priest won’t be there to answer for me; my parents and grandparents
won’t be there to talk about me. When
God says to me, ‘What have you don’t to help my flock?”, I must stand alone and tell Him what I have
done to help his people.’ I will tell
Him I tried my best and I tried every day.
When you stand before the Lord and he asks you what you have done to
help his people, the most downtrodden of society, are you OK with that? Can you say, ‘Lord, I did my best every day
to help your flock?’ Because your car and your house and your bank account will
be irrelevant. You need to be able to
say, yes, Lord, I helped your people every day. “
I would like
to think that, yes, I can stand before the Pearly Gates and say, I did my best
to help people, including the most downtrodden.
I am OK with that. And I know in
my heart that Robin Williams, when he arrived at the Pearly Gates, after he got
done making St. Peter laugh harder than he had in a few thousand years, could
stand up straight and proud and say, “Yes, I did my best, everyday, to help the
people. I brought them laughter and joy,
I worked hard to raise money for charities and help the homeless. I was a good husband and father and I tried
just as hard as I could for just as long as I could.” And I like to picture in my mind, St. Peter
putting an arm around Robin Williams and welcoming him home, with a little “Nanoo-Nanoo.”
Rest in
Peace, Robin Williams, thanks for making this world a better place <3 Mrs. Lo
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