In high school, I was a huge George Carlin fan. I never missed him on the Smothers Brothers show
and any other time I could catch him on TV. I loved his transition from
suit and skinny tie to the pony-tailed "hippie" comedian, as it seemed
all of my friends and I were undergoing the same transition. He became
a role model, even a hero, speaking truth to power.
So, the
summer after high school graduation, I worked extra hours at a car wash
for $1.60/hour, the then minimum wage, to save $30 to take a date to
see George at the Meriwether Post Pavilion -- a pretty long drive from
suburban VA outside DC. We were so psyched -- and so was the rest of
the worshipful audience.
The cheers were deafening when George
finally took the stage. That didn't last long. He was a wreck, so
stoned or drunk or both that he forgot punchlines and whole chunks of
his act. The hard, welcoming laughter at his intro became increasingly
nervous titters, then groaning, then silence as he fumbled and
stumbled. Without question, it was the worst live performance by a
professional entertainer that I've ever attended. At the time, I didn't
know that George had substance abuse problems that he eventually
overcame. All I knew was, to use one of the "seven words you can't say
on TV," I was pissed. REALLY pissed. He'd ripped me off, I felt, and
for years I shunned him.
But time heals all wounds, and wounds
all heels, and eventually his genius won this unforgiving heel over
again -- although I never did buy another ticket to see him. Fool me
once, and all that...
Then, I got involved in fighting against
overzealous indecency regulation myself. I revisited the Seven Words,
and all the court cases that resulted when Pacifica radio played the
routine during the day when, shudder, kids might hear it. I realized
and appreciated that the Seven Words were no mere comedy routine;
rather, they were brilliantly imaginative political commentary and
speech, a devastating indictment of not just indecency regulation, but
the hypocritical society that promoted it, and worthy of the highest
First Amendment protection. Today, whenever I read an FCC decision
solemnly parsing from high atop Mount Olympus why some word or image is
or is not indecent, I can't help but think: What Would George Say? I
especially wish I could hear his take on the FCC fining NYPD Blue for,
shudder, showing a woman's bare butt, a verboten "sexual or excretory
organ" -- a decision the networks were appealing to the courts on the
day his death was announced. What fun he could have with that! But that
would be too easy; he was on to skewering other sacred cows and
hypocrites. Good for him.
George, never mind the $30. I miss you. All is forgiven. Come back soon. A YouTube of the Seven Words is here.
Ray Richmond wrote a wonderful and more professional tribute in the Hollywood Reporter:
The sheer courage with which Carlin fought -- often alone -- to attack
censorship and embrace free speech and expression leaves him in death
as the most influential comedian of all time, surpassing even the
venerated Lenny Bruce if for no other reason than Carlin stood the test
of time in a remarkable 50-year career. He also never once modulated
his voice to better fit in, driving himself to deliver a dissonant
message often at the expense of his image. Carlin's so-called "7 Words
You Can't Say on Television" routine that grew into a Supreme Court
test case should be a footnote on his bio and nothing more, as
overemphasizing it serves to imply that Carlin was a mere rabble-rouser
and provocateur when in fact he single-handedly exposed the hypocrisy
of language suppression. In challenging an antiquated status quo, he
succeeded in changing our airwaves forever. You're allowed to swear
today on HBO in part because Carlin helped pave that winding road. I
came to idolize Carlin for his boldness, his fearlessness, his
brilliance, his willingness to embrace an unpopular view (such as, say,
being an uncloseted agnostic). And oh yeah, he also was breathtakingly
clever and funny. George Carlin: an appreciation.
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