Let's take a moment to remember George

Kirk Ericson | Jun 30, 20220

“Pro-life conservatives are obsessed with the fetus from conception to 9 months. After that, they don’t wanna know about you. They don’t wanna hear from you. No nothing! No neonatal care, no day care, no Head Start, no school lunch, no food stamps, no welfare, no nothing. If you’re pre-born, you’re fine, if you’re preschool, you’re f-----.” — George Carlin, “Back in Town” HBO special, 1996.

The day after George Carlin died in this month in 2008, the flag at the post office was at half-staff, and I spent the day pretending the flag was lowered to honor Mr. Carlin and his contributions to America.

It was a good feeling to live in that kind of America, at least for a day.

Wouldn’t it be grand to have a government that recognized the contributions of a citizen like Carlin? Wouldn’t it be swell to have a government that respected a human who couldn’t ignore hypocrisy, and who encouraged people to be suspicious of war, patriotism, nationalism, and silly words and phrases?

Nah.

Humor thrives in opposition, and few did that humor better than George. If the government of the United States followed Carlin’s thought, George would have figured a way to remain in opposition.

I saw George perform five times, starting in the early 1990s. He had been on the periphery of my interest, but what put me in his orbit was a list an Olympian reporter, who had just seen him perform, showed me at work one day long ago.

My buddy was careful about openly displaying the list — “An Incomplete list of Impolite Words: 2,442 Filthy Words and Phrases” — because it contained euphemisms that George had collected for body parts and functions. Many of the words and phrases were vile, if your sensitivities were sensitive.

The imagination, persistence and self-confidence required to compile such a list were inspiring, so I told my reporter friend I needed a copy. While I stood guard, he printed the multiple-page list on an office copier. We moved quickly and stealthily, like 12-years-old sneaking a smoke, because this was not work-related material. I ended up making more copies and giving them as Christmas stocking stuffers.

He performed in Tacoma soon after that. I’ve forgotten the lines of that night, but I remember the mental and emotional persistence it required to say what he was saying. He performed with his chin out. And he was funny. Screamingly funny.

He did 90 minutes, without notes, and didn’t miss a beat. He didn’t flub a line. He was a craftsman at work. He cut off laughs at their peak and let laughs build as what had just been said became apparent. His act was as finely crafted and timed as a commando’s wristwatch.

I saw him last in Seattle in fall 2007. He had turned 70. He missed a couple of lines, his physical antics were less fluid, but he did 90 minutes of new material. And he remained screamingly funny and combative. He opened with a bit taking down Tiger Woods and Lance Armstrong, and that was long before we knew what we now know about those two fellas.

Next to us sat a woman and man in their 30s. The man was laughing. The woman was not. Her nose was turned up like the odor of curdled milk was in the air and she shook her head like a scold while others around her laughed. The man became aware. “C’mon. It’s funny,” he told her.

It wasn’t funny to her, and about 20 minutes in, she walked, leaving the man to contemplate leaving George or finding his guest. After a few minutes, he left. I imagine it wasn’t a sweet reunion.

That was the thing about George. He’d attract you or repel you. You couldn’t be indifferent. He could make you laugh or fume while he joked about genocide, war and incest, and you’d wonder, if you were of the laughing variety, how you could laugh about such sad matters. How could you? Is it a lack of feeling? Is it a lack of understanding?

Or is it, more likely, that we need relief? The comedian Garry Shandling, his co-tenant in the afterworld, wrote a note to himself that read, “Maybe your comedy is a natural gift to be given to others with joy to help them through this impossible life.”

Thank you, George. We could use another of you now.