She was Jewish by birth and by inclination; I am gay and Catholic by the same.
How would a homo-Papist sit shiva for a Hebrew diva?
I don’t know, but I will try.
Phil The Fan
PS: If you have a problem with the jokes that Joan Rivers told, you have better things to do with your time, so please do them instead of reading any further.
Can we talk?
(Which is closer to meaning, “Sit down! Shut up! And Listen! To ME!”)
I loved Joan Rivers. Like most born in the 1970’s, I remember her from The Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson, but being little, I had her confused with another blonde woman named Joan—Joan Embery from the San Diego Zoo. My aunts would like to watch when Joan Rivers guest-hosted for Carson, but mostly to see what she wore (those glorious over-the-top gowns of the 1980’s!), and in time, I gained a separate appreciation for the wild tirades that Rivers would deliver in her opening monologues.
First, I can go no further without mentioning
Hosting The Tonight Show, Rivers would usually have the same people included on the guest lists: George Carlin, John Davidson, the Smothers Brothers, and Peter Allen. The latter annoyed me, because he would be playing the piano and sing songs like “I Honestly Love You”, you know, the song which Olivia Newton-John made a hit. Here was this beautiful piece of music that this annoying balding and flaming Australian would sing. Being young and ignorant, I did not know that this song, and the others that Allen performed, were songs that he actually he wrote. Now we know Allen’s story and his music better thanks to The Boy from Oz musical making it to Broadway, in which starred Hugh Jackman as Allen. It is touching to know that Jackman sang the song "Quiet Please, There's a Lady On Stage" which Allen wrote for his mother-in-law Judy Garland, at Rivers’ funeral: I like to think that on some level, this tribute to Joan's life and career was also a nod to Allen and for the gay men who helped to make Rivers' career.
Now why am I going on about Peter Allen, who died in 1992? I do this because Joan Rives had him regularly a guest when she hosted The Tonight Show, providing him with a large audience. That audience included a closeted young boy in the Mid-West, a boy who didn’t know anything about Peter Allen, who even found him irritating (to a certain extent, still does), but in time, came to appreciate the songwriter and his legacy. That familiarity was a gift from Joan to her friend and to her audience.
I came to love Rivers’ routine so much that in 1985, I bought her comedy record What Becomes a Semi-Legend Most?, which had on its cover Rivers glamorously posing with a sable.
At 13, I did not realize that she was parodying a similar pose by Lillian Hellman.
(But you know, the picture on the back of the album, with Joan, in a pink dress, holding a blender with a matching pink bow, at the family wedding portrait of Charles and Diana, is also a hoot!)
I’m pretty sure Mom soon regretted her lapse in judgment, as I remember when she scolded me for saying that I had a classmate who was so stupid that he spent all night “studying for his P.A.P. test!” Obviously, this was a joke that I recycled from Rivers’ album, and as a 13 year-old boy, I had no clue what the hell a P.A.P. test was. It, my mother explained through gritted teeth and in a menacing tone, was not the subject for jokes (and certainly not jokes said by her teenage son).
Clearly, Joan Rivers educated me. Thanks to Rivers, not only did I know who Peter Allen was, and what the hell a P.A.P. test is, I also felt the charge of telling jokes. By saying that, I don’t want to dismiss the humor at home: in fact, my father has an excellent sense of humor, but he was too familiar, whereas Rivers, with her thick Brooklyn voice and determined attitude, was exotic.
In her humor, Rivers targeted not just the poorly dressed and the tacky, she slammed men and women alike. While many are now hailing her as a feminist icon and pioneer (and rightly so!), she was always very much about beauty, glamour, and the importance of family (i.e., marriage or a relationship), ideas that at the time were considered evil patriarchal relics by the many mainline feminists in the 1980’s. Her continuing adventures in plastic surgery could be viewed as pathetic grasps for relevance by a desperate and insecure woman, but anyone that worked with Rivers in radio (where she did not wear makeup) or saw the beginning to her film Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work knows that it was not all about vanity.
Generally, beauty is a gift from G-d, from nature, simply an accident of genetics: Rivers always said that she wasn’t beautiful and made many jokes at her own expense as to being ugly and lacking sex appeal. In contrast, glamour is attained and is not natural (I think of Joan Collins declaring “one does not speak of glamorous babies!” something to which Rivers would have agreed). Rivers was fascinated by glamour and tried to cultivate it in herself, but that was for the dignity of her work and part of her professionalism rather than much personal vanity. I recall her targeting Queen Elizabeth II: “…but if you are the Queen of England…if you own England, and Scotland, and Ireland, and Canada, Gawddammit, shave your legs!” Clearly, Rivers believed that if you were in a high profile position, you were obligated to at least be well-groomed (she probably hated grunge more than I did!). Also, many a gig included Rivers going on about women and their rings and how big the diamonds were (“Show me the ring!—How’d you do?—You’re a Jew and you accepted that shitty ring!?”): the joke may have suggested gold-digging, but the lesson was about life and love.
Certain targets of Rivers’ ire remained for years: I have no doubt that she made millions off the dozens of pounds that Elizabeth Taylor gained in the late 1970’s. Here again, I recycled those jokes, and of course, much to the irritation of my mother, who had been heavyset as a child. Yes, they were cruel and it would be difficult for one not to say that they were mean-spirited (certain gems that I treasure include: “She puts mayonnaise on an aspirin!” as well as “I asked her what would you like on your hamburger: ‘A hot dog!’” and especially “She’s the only person I know that can stand front of a microwave and say ‘HURRY!’”). In time, good manners and a sense of empathy kept me from repeating those jokes all that often. However, one far too smug chubby queen once flaunted his relationship status in my face, trying to slight me as a single man; too bad for him I was ready to recycle a joke about Elizabeth Taylor and mosquitoes (“Mosquitoes look at her and scream ‘BUFFET!’”), which appropriately shocked him into silence.
(Now that example above, I will confess, was spiteful, but I give credit--and not blame--to Joan Rivers for the content of that comment as well as the sharpness by which it was delivered, since timing, as a college friend once explained to me, was something that I, unlike Rivers, lacked. Furthermore, also unlike myself, Rivers could handle a heckler and in fact had sympathy for his situation.)
Despite good manners and sympathy which keeps cruelty (perceived or real) in check, most if not all humor is based on pain and suffering, something which happens to us all. Rivers not only made jokes about Elizabeth Taylor, Christina Onasis, and Gloria Vanderbilt (something for which the latter's son Anderson Cooper initially hated Rivers), she also made jokes about herself. When she made fun of herself, those jokes were not limited to her lack of beauty (which alone evokes a sense of a crusty and gritty woman who, despite the obvious sorrow, is simply too busy for self pity), but also the suicide of her husband Edgar.
For years the critics hated Joan Rivers: she was crass and she was mean and she was not funny. Those critics clearly did not “get” Rivers, because while she was crass and she was mean, she was funny: in fact, the meanness and crassness colored her humor. Contrary to preaching by a certain choir that bizarrely includes some religious people as well as people of various political persuasions (people on the left and the right), humor does exist where there is cruelty: a joke does not require a conscience to instigate laughter.
However, Rivers did have a conscience. She supported several charities and was one of the first celebrities, even before Elizabeth Taylor, to publicly rally against AIDS. In the film A Piece of Work, we see Rivers doing work with God’s Love We Deliver: while that could be dismissed as a P.R. stunt, her history with the organization went back for years.
Something else with caustic humor that I think is important is how well someone can take it when it’s dished back at them. Many of us remember when Kathy Griffin broke into tears when Jay Leno's joke about Griffin’s shared photograph with Carmen Electra as being a “Before/After” shot: rather than using that pain to help herself to become a tougher person, Griffin suggested that Leno consult with his wife about his joke. Was Griffin suggesting that some people, even tough Chicago-bred comediennes like herself, must be handled with kid gloves?
My take from these situations in which humor is confronted with conscience is that while humor does not need what others consider a “conscience”, a real conscience need not have the last word, or even say a word: conscience needs action (which Joan Rivers delivered), and not just words, which is all that the preaching choir of shame-drummers and politically correct activists provide.
Her husband’s suicide occurred after she had separated from him, leaving Joan and their daughter with not only broken hearts but also sizable debts. Fox had fired her; Johnny Carson had excommunicated her: she was washed up. Against the odds, she fought back and clawed her way with a comeback, which was confirmed by a Daytime Emmy win in 1990, the year that I graduated from high school. With liberation from high school and the freedom which college (and cable and a VCR) allowed, I enjoyed watching Rivers’ syndicated show: Oprah it was not, but it didn’t have to be because it was entertaining and informative in a way that only Joan Rivers could deliver.
When her syndicated show ended,
Of course, recent comments by the comic have been subject to speculation. A few months ago, after being asked about the possibility of a first gay president, Rivers quipped, “We already have it,” with the current president and said that his wife was a “tranny”. When asked to clarify, Rivers paused and said the politically correct term (seemingly out of boredom and just a little spite): “transgendered”.
There were also her tirades against the Palestinians (or, rather, against sympathy for the Palestinians), related to the recent battles between the Israelis and the Palestinians in Gaza. At those moments, Rivers spoke with the fierce tone that we have come to expect from her, but with words that could leave even an ardent Zionist's blood run cold. Those words remained on the minds of many, as one reads comments left online by people who found her words to be more than harsh, but outright wicked, and such people are not mourning the star's death.
Both sets of rants reveal parts of the personal character of Joan Rivers, one of which she hardly ever showed in her work and the other she could not help but to share. While making funny and contemptuous remarks about the American first family is not unique (the Bushes, the Clintons, the Carters, the Fords, even the Reagans have all provided hours of material for comedians), outside of the most partisan of pundits and D-List jokers, there has not been many jokes said about the current first family (at least in contrast to previous families). Some point out that Rivers was a Republican: so what--she made plenty of comments about Republicans! Granted, Republicans are rare in show business, but for the most part, Rivers was discrete in her most of her substantial political statements. The audience gets an explicit statement from her during her interview of Shahs of Sunset’s Reza Farahan, where she admitted that she was a Republican (and her daughter Melissa clarified that they were “California” or “country club Republicans”: fiscally conservative and socially liberal). Peggy Noonan said as much in her piece on Rivers, although she was more savvy and insightful by saying that
(Rivers) believed in a strong defense because she was a grown-up and understood the world to be a tough house…She was socially liberal in the sense she wanted everyone to find as many available paths to happiness as possible.
While the political affiliation of Joan Rivers was not well known, her identification as Jewish (although perhaps not scrupulously observant) was explicit and it was proud. She would mention that important changes in society, such as the fights against racism and against homophobia, happened because of Jewish efforts; she spoke with such contempt of WASP’s, dismissing them as feeble and cowardly, you’d think she was channeling Margaret Thatcher talking about Europeans. Her recent comments about the conflict between Hamas and the Israelis show an unbridled, unapologetic and unsurprising Zionism. Still, Rivers’ Jewish identity did not keep her from setting up a Christmas tree, and I remember sitting with my grandmother on a December evening in the late 1990’s, watching a television program in which Joan Rivers sat with children and read from that delightful Christmas book Auntie Claus. My grandmother, a Presbyterian and admirer of the works of Norman Vincent Peale, was a lady of Edwardian dignity and a gallant combination of Angela Lansbury and Eva Gabor, and as such, had little tolerance for anything crass, vulgar, or uncouth, but she nodded approvingly at the television and said with a chuckle, “Now there’s a woman who hasn’t changed a bit!”
The last time that I saw Joan Rivers on stage was just 18 months ago, when I went with my best friend the hairstylist (“most butch gay man this side of the Village People,” I always say) and his roommate to see the star perform in Omaha. We all laughed throughout the show, through all the shocking insults and brutal appraisals of society and the world.
However, there was a moment when the three of us were silent. During her tirade about a vacation down in Mexico, Rivers shrieked: “Mexicans were the ugliest people in the world!”
Oh, I neglected to mention that my best friend the hairstylist is a body building Latino, whose parents came from Mexico. I take satisfaction in knowing that I have no ugly friends and my best friend especially is not under any circumstance to be understood as ugly: in fact, he just might be one of the sexiest men alive (trust me, going with him to gay bars since the 1990’s, I’m very much aware of how he turns heads).
Later that night, my friend and I were at a 24-hour supermarket (something that I’m sure Rivers wouldn’t do but which I think is a pinnacle of civilization). As we made our selections among the soft drinks (I recall we each opted for a glass bottle of Coca-Cola from Mexico), I said, “You know, she was wrong.”
“About what?” my friend asked.
“Mexicans are not the ugliest people in the world.”
“Damn right!” he said with a brilliant smile.
I do not dispute that words inflict harm, but I believe that humor and grit are also essential. Casual flippant remarks can be devastating, but living in bubble wrap is not a realistic plan for living a life. We will suffer and life is unfair, but why should we cry when we can laugh?
It would be difficult if not impossible to defend caustic humor like what Joan Rivers had if it were not for her charity work. Again, she was one of the earliest fighters in the cause against AIDS. In fact, that is how I got to see her the first time. In 2007, a coworker told me that Joan Rivers was would be performing in Lincoln that September, but here it was July and I figured she was sold out, so I did not even bother to look into getting a ticket: she was Joan Rivers—of course her show would be sold out!
A few weeks later I got a letter from the local AIDS charity, saying that for the price of a ticket and an extra $40, I could not only watch Joan Rivers perform, I could actually meet her for the meet-and-greet following the show! Well, boy did I quickly seize upon that opportunity! I remember after I got my tickets, I went to several office and art supply stores to get a silver felt tip pen so that I could get my CD to What Becomes a Semi-Legend Most? signed by her (yes, I had the vinyl in 1985, but of course I had to have the compact disc too!).
Those final days before the show went by slowly. I wondered, what would I say to Joan Rivers? I went to the library and the bookstores, looking for anything that might interest her. I recall reading passages from a book that compiled stories as to what it meant for various stars to be Jewish (perhaps it was Stars of David?). Of course, there was a chapter about Rivers, where she described being at this formal dinner in which Queen Noor of Jordan was also in attendance. While Joan was on record for supporting not only the British Royal Family but also the idea of monarchy (see, I knew I loved her!), she was no admirer of Queen Noor and viewed the latter as an enemy to the State of Israel. The protocol for this particular dinner was that upon the changing of courses, the diners would change to whom they would share the conversation, i.e., you talk to a person from one side and then to the other. Some poor gentleman had the curious prospect of sitting between Joan Rivers and Queen Noor. Well, Rivers viewed it as her duty to Israel to see to it that during the dinner, the American-born queen dowager of the Hashemite Kingdom would be snubbed, so contrary to the established protocol of the dinner, Joan kept talking to the gentleman and occupying his attention while he was supposed to be talking with Queen Noor. Seemingly petty, devious in delivery, and hilarious in production: just what one would expect from Joan Rivers.
So there I was at the meet-and-greet. It was not an especially easygoing event: she was running late after the show and there were rumors that the local stylist (not my friend!) had burnt Rivers’ hair and that she was fuming that, contrary to my initial fears, the show was not sold out. It was embarrassing (as far as I am concerned, not for Rivers: the shame is on the facility!): not even a third of the seats were taken from a venue that seats 2,210. The facility where she performed did not advertise that Joan Rivers would be performing and had it not been for the meet-and-greet supporting the local AIDS charity, it is possible that she would’ve canceled). Also, the building next to where she performed was the Carson Theater: that’s right, named after Johnny Carson, who had graduated from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln in 1949.
And, she had a 6 A.M. flight the following morning.
Ouch.
Also, consider the date: it was Tuesday, September 11—can you imagine that a proud New Yorker like Joan Rivers would want to be in Lincoln, Nebraska (hell, years before she had dismissed the larger town of Omaha with the quip “Omaha is a little like Newark—without Newark's glamour!”), next to a building named after Johnny Carson, on this day of days?
I had my doubts.
Part of the meet-and-greet had local drag queens, all dolled up, go down a red carpet and have Rivers interview them and give a prize to the best dressed. Sounds harmless enough, but Rivers, for whatever reason (spite, humor, compassion: all of the above?), took a liking not to any of the queens but to an 88-year old woman sitting near the red carpet. Defying protocol yet again, the star managed to rally enough of the people at the gathering to support the old woman with more applause than for any of the drag queens, thereby snubbing the haughtily clad (and no doubt mightily irritated) queens.
(So much for the supposed misogyny that some critics accused Rivers of having.)
Finally, it was time for people to line up and have their photographs taken with the star. Since I had my tickets and my CD to be signed, I made sure that I was the last person in line: I didn’t want anyone behind me to mess up my moment with this star.
The taking of photographs took time. A local professional photographer was taking the pictures and people would give a few dollars to Rivers’ assistant (who seemed to channel Michael Urie’s character Marc from Ugly Betty): the money would be given to the AIDS charity. True to my goal, I kept letting other people ahead of me (again, I wasn’t being altruistic—I was going to have my moment!), showing that I had things for her to sign and that others shouldn’t have to wait for me.
When it was finally my turn to meet the assistant, I gave him the money. Now, I want to say that I gave a $100 bill, but it’s more likely that I gave a $20 bill; regardless, the response from her assistant was, “Do you want change?” I countered with aplomb “No, it’s Joan fucking Rivers!" I then leaned in, lowered my voice, tried to smile conspiratorially and exude some charm with my hazel-blue eyes as I then showed the silver pen, tickets, and CD, and added “I have some things for her to sign, please.” When it was my turn to have the picture taken, the assistant told Joan what I had given and that I had some things for her to sign. She graciously smiled and proceeded to sign the tickets and the CD.
As you can see you at the conclusion below, Joan Rivers also took the photograph with me. What you can’t see but what I can tell you is that in those final few moments that I had with Joan Rivers, this mighty diva of the caustic barb, this attendee of royal weddings, this friend to Nancy Reagan and Kathy Griffin, this champion for Israel, this warrior against AIDS and icon to gay men, I was still struggling with “What the hell am I going to say to her?”
Remembering the book I that I had perused a few days earlier, I said, “Thank you for sticking it to Queen Noor.”
At that moment, this tiny little grandmother stood straight and still, the energy swarming around her like some storm cloud ready to hurl a thunderbolt. Radiating the wrath of G-d Almighty, she looked at me and her gaze left me immobile, like Lot’s wife turned into a pillar of salt, and then hurling her voice like Moses casting stone tablets against the golden calf, she declared, “OH I HATE HER!!”
“I-I-I do too!” I responded meekly. Now, to be honest, I’m not sure how much of an anti-Semite Queen Noor really is, especially compared to other royalty in that part of the world, but at that moment, I was flooded by the force of Rivers’ character, the sheer strength of will by which she had excelled in life. Yes, she had talent. Yes, she had some lucky breaks, but oh wow, was she just tough.
I look at the calendar. It has been seven years since I had that moment with Joan Rivers. I was one of thousands who met her at such events over the course of her career and it is unlikely that she would have remembered that event fondly, with all those unsold tickets, burnt hair, and miserly Midwesterners.
It doesn’t matter. I remember it.
I look again at the calendar: it has been just about seven days since Joan Rivers died.
So, this is how one of the goyim would sit shiva for his favorite comedy diva.
With memories.
I’m not Jewish (I’m just cut that way) but I am grateful for more than these few fleeting moments seven years ago.
I am grateful for her attitude and refusal to apologize.
I am grateful for her fight against AIDS and for her support of the gay community.
I’m grateful for her jokes at the expense of Elizabeth Taylor; Prince Charles; Princess Diana; the Duchess of Cornwall; Queen Elizabeth II; Sarah Palin; Bristol Palin; Adele; Bo Derek; Marie Osmond; Oprah Winfrey; Gayle King; Gloria Vanderbilt; Angelina Jolie; Tom Cruise; Truman Capote; Chaz Bono; Gloria Steinem; Frank Sinatra; Liberace; Stevie Wonder; Cher; Barry Manilow; Mick Jagger; Aretha Franklin; Madonna; Yoko Ono; Rod Stewart; Michael Jackson; Whitney Houston; Betty White; Mel Gibson; Goldie Hawn; Julie Andrews; Heather McCartney; Justin Bieber; the Kardashians; the Olsen twins; nurses; stewardesses; her own parents; her gynecologist; her dead husband; her daughter; among many others, including (and most especially) herself.
I am grateful that she made me familiar with Peter Allen.
I am grateful for her expressed contempt for Glee.
(However, I am not grateful to her for finding out what a P.A.P. test is--boy, Mom was not happy!)
I am grateful for her jokes that were not only cutting, but also mind-sharpening: why should we care about things like relationships, or a how big a ring is?
Because in life, laughter and grit matter, and especially, love and people matter.
(And sometimes, tokens and trinkets matter too: “I enjoy my creature comforts,” she said in A Piece of Work: I love that line!)
So, thank you, Joan Rivers.
I wish you knew how much you are missed and loved.
