September 15, 2010

“I was in the oncologist’s office with my parents and my wife, and he said, ‘There’s Hodgkin’s disease and non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and you have non-Hodgkin’s.’ And I said, ‘You know, that’s just my luck. I got the one that’s not named after the guy.’ And he laughed, and he said, ‘You’re going to be OK.’ And I said, ‘How do you know?’ And he said, ‘Because of your attitude … you’re who you are and you’re finding humor.’ And he said that’s a healthy thing. … And that’s the way I choose to look at it. You know, I can be miserable. I mean, I have the ultimate trump card: I lost a child. I can fail at anything and use him for an excuse. And instead, it forces me to do the opposite.”
— Robert Schimmel

As a comedy writer and former stand-up comic, I was privileged to have known comedian Robert Schimmel personally. I knew him long before he became widely known as a successful and controversial, taboo-breaking comedian. So, it was especially shocking and painful to me to have learned of his Sept. 3 death at a Phoenix hospital, where he was being treated for injuries sustained in a recent car accident. He was just 60.

It was the early 1980s and one of the ways for us beginning comedians to supplement our meager (if any) nightclub earnings was to sell jokes to other comedians — other comedians who could afford to pay. One such comedian was Jimmie Walker, best known for portraying James “J.J.” Evans Jr. — “Kid Dyn-o-mite!” on the hit sitcom, “Good Times,” which had ended a few years earlier. Jimmie employed a staff of writers for his stand-up act. His first group, hired while he was doing his sitcom in 1975, included Jay Leno, David Letterman, Mel Sherer, Elayne Boosler and Marty Nadler. The second wave of Walker writers, about five or so years later, included Louie Anderson, Robert Schimmel and myself.

Once a week, we would gather around a conference table at Walker’s Burton Way condo. Each of us submitted 50 jokes on assigned topics. Walker would read each joke aloud and either react enthusiastically, not at all or give us a “What were you thinking?” look. Robert’s material was invariably dark, edgy and hilarious — much like Robert himself. He was genuinely funny, sincere, brutally honest and appreciative of others’ talent and comedy. Though he appeared on the surface to be downbeat and pessimistic, his insights were so hilarious and on target, that he was consistently fun and entertaining to be around.

Sadly, though, Robert’s life was far from a comedy; it was closer to the Book of Job. Born to Jewish survivors of the Holocaust, he served in the U.S. Air Force for one year during the Vietnam War. He faced two divorces, a heart attack, cancer and the death of his son Derek from cancer. Robert had also contracted cirrhosis as a result of a hepatitis C infection from a blood transfusion and was working to be added to the waiting list for a donated liver.

With his raw, sexually explicit, self-deprecating material, Robert invariably elicited tears of laughter from his audiences, was a favorite of his fellow comedians and produced several acclaimed albums and cable TV specials, such as this one from HBO, featuring an opening segment with his parents: (youtube.com/watch?v=0oK__EzTXPw). In his 2008 memoir, “Cancer on $5 a Day: How Humor Got Me Through the Toughest Journey of My Life,” he proved that although his body was failing, his humor and mind were as sharp as ever. He appeared regularly on Conan O’Brien’s and Howard Stern’s shows and was named one of Comedy Central’s 100 Greatest Comics.

A genuinely funny comedian is something special. But someone who sets an example by navigating life’s most daunting challenges with great humor, heart and grace — well, that’s priceless. Rest in peace, Robert.

Mark C. Miller has written on numerous sitcom staffs, performed stand-up comedy in nightclubs and on TV, been a humor columnist for the Los Angeles Times Syndicate and is a current humor columnist for The Huffington Post. He can be reached at {encode=”markmiller2000@ca.rr.com” title=”markmiller2000@ca.rr.com”}.