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THE DISCIPLE
In high school I cut quite a swath among the girls. As luck would have it, they stepped back and let me through the swath, which, in some places, was ten to twelve feet wide. To compensate, I read the humorous essays of Robert Benchley and James Thurber aloud with my brother Bob, tumbling over the couch laughing, heartened to learn that life was, as I suspected, preposterous, and that confusion and inadequacy were an excellent foundation for the adult world. I was an impressionable youth, and while my brother set out on a serious, constructive career in science, I took bumbling, distracted, good-hearted Robert Benchley as my role model.
As a drama critic, Benchley was famous for explosive bursts of laughter in the theatre.
My picture in the school yearbook bore the legend, "Most Likely to Laugh in Class."
When teachers tried to be funny, they could count on me. One day I guessed, wrongly as it turned out, that Miss Barrett was attempting a joke in Latin, so I broke up, clutching my sides in hopeless merriment. She invited me to the front of the class to "tell us what's funny." By a lucky chance, that was exactly the question that consumed my every waking moment. It was an opportunity no Benchley disciple could turn down.
"Once there were two Irishmen . . . . well, actually, it was one Frenchman, on a bicycle." At that, the students stopped hurling spit balls and gave me rapt attention.
Since then, I always include the word "Frenchman", even if it is about two Irishman.
"As we shall see, the bicycle, except as transportation, has no bearing on our story, but it does remind us how sportif the French really are, even when drunk. Well, Pierre, or Henri, was going down this road, whistling the Marseillaise, or, "Mimi, you funny little, good-for-nothing Mimi." Anyway, it began with M, you can be sure of that. What's often forgotten about the French, and about many other cultures as well, is the effect of climate on their wine-growing. Of course, those of you who have tried to grow wine in a little box on the fire-escape know, as, indeed, does every German child, it's really vine-growing. Through one of nature's little miracles, from the vines come the grapes and several side-products used in the manufacture of other… side products. The most popular of these is, of course, grape jelly, and we all know how the kitchen looks after you kids get through making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Whenever you say "oo la la" about French cuisine, remember they're no match for the Americans when it comes to
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and night baseball. Those of you who are wondering what all this has to do with Latin didn't notice the road sign at the beginning - our hero is on one of those roads that lead to Rome! We next find Henri, or Pierre, who really wanted to go to Roquefort to get some cheese, in the Coliseum, where he is expected to fight the gladiator, Maximus Nonsequiturius……."
Some years ago, Miss Barret dropped me a note thanking me, saying that class helped her to retire and open the little shop she'd always wanted. The next day, the Principal had a nice chat with my parents and it was decided I needed a change in climate. After a series of adventures, later published under the title, "Tom Jones," I went to New York to become a famous artist.
I didn't expect overnight success - I was prepared to stick it out as long as three months. In a few years I became aware of the inattention the city was showering upon me, and stopped worrying about peaking too early. My days were spent painting and researching my book, "Dissipation: It's Not for Everyone." Now that Benchley was no longer with us, I devoted a lot of time looking for a new role model, someone who could help me cope with the city the way he had helped me survive suburbia. A friend let me borrow some tapes of Jackie Mason. A few weeks later, brother Bob came to town.
"How's everything?" he said, getting right to the point.
"It could be worse, it could be better, you take it as it comes, what's the use?"
"How's the painting going?"
"How's the painting going? Some days it's going, some days it's dreck, I put on some red, I scrape it off, I put in a figure, I take it out, what's the point, people say, why don't you get a gallery, I say forget it, if I sold a painting I'd have to give them half, if I sell it from here, I can keep it all. They say, how much? I say I don't know, I never sold a painting."
Then he said, let's go to lunch, so I took him to a place around the corner. The hostess showed us to a table next to the kitchen door. No way, I said, we'll take something near the front.
"What was wrong with that table? he asked, after we were seated by the window.
"What was wrong with that table? Number one, you don't take the first table they offer you, and two, you could get run over in the traffic in and out of the kitchen, or a tray of hot food spilled on you, even cold food I guarantee you wouldn't enjoy, three, you're on the way to the toilet, there could be a line going by the table, four, it was under the air conditioner, if you want to freeze we could go to Alaska. On top of that, everyone would think we're Gentiles if we sat at that table."
"But we are Gentiles."
The waitress asked if we wanted a cocktail.
"I'll have a vodka martini with a twist," said my brother.
"I'd like seltzer on the rocks, not too many cubes, a local one is all right, you don't need to import it, nothing with a French or Italian name, I want also a piece of lime not too big, not too small, -- and put it in the glass, don't balance it on the rim - I hate to have to drink around it."
"Russ, I want to be frank with you - I've always thought of you as a sweet-tempered, fun-loving kind of guy. O.K., maybe sometimes a little muddled, irrational, irresponsible and incompetent, but always sunny, tolerant and optimistic. Now you seem sort of…..I don't know….laid forward.
"Maybe you're right. I've been following this comedian, Jackie Mason. He seems to have all the answers. I used to float through life, missing a lot - now I try to see life as Jackie sees it. He's playing tonight at Radio City. Let's go. And you'll see what I mean."
Jackie was in good form. My brother laughed at least three times.
"So, what did you think?"
"What did I think? You grew up reading Robert Benchley, a man who enriched the familiar essay with learning, wit, sophistication, whimsy and irony, and now you fall out of the balcony when this man says, "Schmuck"?
"But what did you think of his humor?"
"What did I think of his humor? It wasn't the worst, it wasn't the best, sometimes it was too Jewish, sometimes it wasn't Jewish enough, it could have been shorter, they could take out a half hour, no one would miss it. I wonder how much he gets paid for that."
We said goodbye, promising to meet again soon, and I walked home encouraged, thinking, he's beginning to understand.
© Russell Connor
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