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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