When I was a child I had a few simple pleasures. The greatest of these was getting away with something I knew I should not be doing. There was always something daring, risky, and so very rewarding about trodding where you were not supposed to. What is forbidden always seems more exciting and worthwhile than what is accepted. Maybe it's the danger, the consequence, or maybe it's our own personal treasure from the tree of knowledge that we are so often denied that makes the frowned upon so tantalizing. For me, nothing could compare to comedy. Comedy that was either too bold, too raunchy, or too sophisticated for young ears to comprehend. I ate, drank, breathed, and most importantly, repeated it. If I believed in saints, George Carlin was my patron.
George died on Sunday. And like other heroes of mine, I never got a chance to meet him. I'm not sure what I would have said, if I would have said anything. I would have liked to thank him. Maybe the narcissist in me wishes I could have had a chance to make him laugh. Just once. Just one chance to show the old pro what the young guy can do. But that is indeed narcissism. That's fantasy in a world where reality is the rule. In reality we lost one of the truly great ones.
"I think people should be allowed to do anything they want. We haven't tried that for a while. Maybe this time it'll work."
One of the most endearing things about him was his unending fight against conformity. He was who he was. Without hesitation, regret or permission he did things his way. For better or worse he made his own decisions. Sometimes subtly, sometimes brazenly, but always his own. Without fail, he would speak his mind, always pointing a finger at those who most deserved to be pointed at.
I will never forget hearing the now famous "seven dirty words" routine for the first time. It is at the tail end of his "Class Clown" album. His whole act up to that point is good natured, sweet, almost quaint. He comes off as the lovable goofball, the kid in the back of the class always looking for a quick laugh. Suddenly he asks the audience if they know what the seven words you can't say on television are. Certainly he wouldn't say them on stage. After being arrested with Lenny Bruce on obscenity charges and knowing the standards of the time, he would have to play it safe. But he didn't play it safe.
"Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, mother-fucker, and tits."
Those seven words led him to a jail cell. For those of us who give free speech more than a passing thought, those words are maybe seven of the most important of modern history. They touched off a firestorm of legal battles, public debate and reconsideration of what we are allowed to say, and not say. Eventually he won, and all of us won as well. Maybe on of my other favorite George's, George Bernard Shaw, said it better than I ever could.
"The censorship method ... is that of handing the job over to some frail and erring mortal man, and making him omnipotent on the assumption that his official status will make him infallible and omniscient."
In the punishment for his words, he proves his point. The insanity of a society which imprison over the words someone chooses to speak. The sheer irony of a country that lauds freedom but so often fails to grant it.
He didn't stop there. He never stopped. He took every opportunity to challenge the powerful for their treatment of the powerless. Corporations, religions, bureaucrats, governments. All were fair game. He pulled no punches and asked for no apologies. If a door was closed he couldn't wait to kick it in. Like one of his contemporaries, Richard Pryor, he lived on the very edge of what he could get away with. Always sensing where the line was, and always pushing it an inch or two further.
During his early days he balanced himself and his act with large doses of commentary, near slapstick and one of his hallmarks, the language. He was equal parts jester and satirist. Freely criticizing what he saw as madness, wrapped in a suspended adolescence that seemed to bring him childlike joy. By the later years this joy was gone. Every year brought new subjects to be outraged about. As things got worse, so did he. After his wife died every bit of anger and outrage poured out to his audience. He never hid anything. His comedy became a bludgeon. Each word a strike against an increasingly unfair and dysfunctional society.
"I have as much authority as the Pope, I just don't have as many people who believe it."
Never lost to his audience was his disdain for anything that served to keep the little guy down. His cynicism and mistrust so fortified with examples, even his greatest detractors were forced to entertain his notions. He was able to achieve what every great comedian strives to do. He delivered his message in a way people had no choice but to accept. He once described the job of being a comedian as "hey, dig me." He found an outlet for all of the things he wanted to say, and a way to make sure people listened. In that way he elevated himself above the soapbox. Or rather, he raised his soapbox to a height where it couldn't be lost in the shuffle.
For everything he was, or indeed in many cases wasn't, we know some things about him as fact. He never shied away from a fight, he never accepted anything without question, and he was most certainly one of us. He was the voice inside our heads screaming for justice. Or at least the voice that should be there. He was a pioneer, a rebel, a legend and a true genius. For every performer who speaks their mind on a stage or screen he was the benchmark.
A true American original. We will never see one like him again. For that, we are poorer. For a short time, he was ours. Now, it's up to us to pick our own fights. To say we will miss him does not do the man justice. I was glad to know him, even though I would have liked the chance to make him laugh. If only once.
George Carlin 1937-2008
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