In addition to everything else, he wrote beautiful eulogies. With his flair for words and wit and warmth he constructed eloquent touching tributes. I used to kid him that he had to live forever because no one else could write them as well. And now I find myself in the agonizing position of trying to write his. First off, let me say, it won't be as good.
So rather than tell you what you probably already know -- that he was the Mozart of comedy writing and recipient of every honor but the Heisman Trophy -- I'll try to share some things you might not know; some personal stories.
In many ways the hardest part of writing scripts is turning them in. Because then you have to wait. And wait. And wait. It's a stomach churning exercise filled with angst and insecurity and flashbacks of high school. After a day you're an utter basket case. After a week you're confessing to crimes you didn't even commit.
When you turned in a script to Larry at 5:30 he called you at home to say he loved it... at 6:30. The first Rolaid hadn't even dissolved in your stomach yet. Trust me, this is unheard of. But that was Larry. Empathetic, considerate, a mensch. He was the kindest man in an industry that seriously frowns on that sort of thing. Fortunately, he had the talent to overcome it.
And despite his enormous success, he was just as human as the rest of us mere boulevard farcitiers. He arranged for house seats for my wife and I to see the original production of Sly Fox. Jacqueline Kennedy was sitting next to me. When I called the next day to thank him and tell him who was sitting on my left, he got very nervous. "Did she like it? Did she laugh? Which jokes?" He was thrilled to learn she did laugh, and I'd like to think thrilled that my wife and I laughed too but probably more Jackie. After all, she paid for her seat.
I mentioned one day in a rewrite that my favorite MASH episode was "The More I See You" with Blythe Danner guesting as Hawkeye's former flame. A few days later I received a gift. In those days Larry used to write his scripts longhand on legal pads. He gave me a Xeroxed copy of his original first draft. And the Mozart comparison continues. There were no cross-outs. Every line was perfectly constructed. Emotion and humor flowed from speech to speech with absolute ease. How does one do that? It's impossible! That draft (now bound) remains one of my most cherished possessions.
And by the way, he could write an entire MASH script in one night. He was incredibly fast. Stanley Donan was going to direct a movie called Blame It On Rio. He was not happy with the draft his writer had ,turned in and asked Larry if as a favor, he'd read it and offer his suggestions. Larry said sure (Larry always said sure). The script was delivered to him Friday at 5:30. No, he didn't call back with his reaction at 6:30. He waited until Monday morning. But he said he had so many problems with it that instead of just scribbling down some notes he took the liberty of rewriting the whole screenplay himself. Unbelievable. Even Mozart didn't compose an opera over the weekend. Larry said use what you like. Donan used every word.
A similar story: For rewrites we would dictate to our assistant, Ruth, who was lightening quick. There was a big Radar speech. Larry started pitching and was just on fire. We were in stitches. Ruth broke in, telling him to slow down. Even she couldn't write that fast. Larry said, "Just get half" and kept going. The half she didn't get was better than anything else on television.
Larry always sent thank you notes. Larry always dropped you a line wishing you well on your upcoming project. Larry always returned phone calls. Larry always emailed you right back. Larry even left comments on my blog. I half expect a thank you note for this essay.
His legacy will last forever. His work was timeless, universal, steeped in humanity, and brilliant. MASH will always air eight times a night, Tootsie and Oh God! will forever be on your screens (be they 64" plasmas or 2" iPods), Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum, and City Of Angels will be revived as long as there are stages.
Like any screenwriter, Larry had drawers and drawers of unproduced or unsold or unfinished projects. In June he just had a reading of a pilot he conceived. Last year he mounted a play in Chicago he was shepherding to Broadway. At the time of his death he was adapting one of his films into a musical and one of his musicals into a film. So yes, he left behind an amazing body of work but still we "just got half."
Many people who knew him felt that Hawkeye Pierce was an idealized version of Larry. I'd like to think one of his other character creations was a more accurate representation of just who he was. God.
Enjoy the work of Larry Gelbart. You will laugh until you hurt. And for those of us who were blessed to have known him, we will hurt until we laugh.
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You certainly can argue that the depths to which our so-called democratic dialogue has sunk are nothing new. Politicians and advocates have been slinging mud...
i was particularly interested in his comments about how cbs trashed his concept of m.a.s.h.
(e.g., the insertion of a laugh-track). i thought the movie (1970) was terrific, but i couldn't understand how people could stomach the tv series.
the film had lots of laughs but, also, lots of blood (esp. in the operating room) to remind viewers that war is, indeed, "hell," not a fraternity party. but, the made-for-television version, most of the time, just kept the "fun" part. as someone who served in an army field hospital, the post-korea successor to a "m.a.s.h.," i found the tv series cloying (that's you, alan alda) and offensive.
Among my most cherished theater-going experiences came as a kid, howling along with the rest of the audience at the original B'way production of "Sly Fox." They don't make them like that anymore: script by Gelbart, directed by Arthur Penn, starring George C. Scott, supported by an ensemble of master farceurs including Jack Gilford, Hector Elizondo, and Bob Dishy.
About 30 years later came the revival starring Richard Dreyfus and an equally expert supporting cast. The play was still funny as hell, but what struck me was that it was funny in a peculiarly Gelbartian way. The jokes were perfectly in character, yet only Gelbart could have written them, lines like "Look at those pathetic fools. They'll do anything for gold. Panhandler, miner, thief--they'll beg, burrow, and steal for it." and "At last, a man whose sincerity is apparent. it's written on both his faces."
Rarely has a man taken such mischievous joy in being literate, and how lucky we were that he was able to spread that joy for so many years.
Gelbart replied that "I was being nice to him on spec."
God Bless you Larry Gelbart. Someone whose obvious warmth, kindness, and gentility made him nice "on spec".