Labor Day weekend is a great time every year. It feels more festive than any of the other three-day weekends throughout the calendar. Maybe it’s because it’s the unofficial end of summer (not a sad thing, just a thing; remember the old saying, “There are no vacations without work.”)
Also, Labor Day weekend still feels to me like the end of one year and the beginning of the next, because it still feels like the start of school. I’ve been out of school a long time (and I wasn’t even really in it that much when I was in it), but coming around this corner of the year always feel like the end of one lap and the beginning of another. (This is not because of the Jewish New Year, which starts next Wednesday night, as meaningful as that is in many other ways.)
It’s all about the echo of school. Of new pants and shoes, and loose-leaf binders, and pencil sharpeners in clear plastic colors (always looking for green), and making book covers out of grocery bags, and printing the names of the books in Magic Marker in big letters that get more and more crowded in as they get closer to the edge.
I had the best public schools at the best time in our history, safe places that had slow kids in with sharpies (and everyone learned just fine) and let boys run out their energy without medications, and even allowed fistfights to proceed (just so far) until the nearest teacher (man or woman, almost all women) would step in, separate the combatants and say something you’ll never hear again: “Okay, now shake hands and be friends.”
No expulsions, no law suits, no “Speed-dial the grief counselor!” No robotic administrators parroting regulations about zero-tolerance (which, of course, means zero help, zero comfort, zero justice and zero common sense).
I walked to school from Kindergarten through 12th and graduation. We had music and art and sports and an attendance officer who struck serious fear in the hearts of everyone just by walking down the hall and glowering, and male teachers in high school who took “disruptive” boys into the hall and, well, punched them (hard) in the arm — which, unless you’re stupid, is exactly what young boys want in the first place: to be rough-housed. (I was in that hall quite a bit, and always thought a wallop meant the teacher liked me.)
There was one day a year called “Dress Down Day” where everyone could wear jeans or shorts, but the rest of the time even the poorest kids had slacks and button-down shirts, and white shirts every Thursday, assembly day.
Ah, well: The Glory that was Rome.
So at least some of you must be wondering by now why I’m talking about Labor Day and arm-punching when today’s title is “Robert Schimmel,” a comedian who just died.
Robert was a friend; and I mean the real definition of friend, not some show-bizzy version where “my dearest, closest friend” means, “Although we haven’t actually met, the two of us could do business together if someone held guns to our heads.”
We like each other and respected each other, but the first is more important: We liked each other. And I suppose I intentionally started on something else, because there is so much loss in life to balance the gain. I guess we never really look at it each time it shows its face. But there is so much happiness available in life.
And Robert had so much loss in his, but he still had such a gleam of happiness in his eye; and I never knew how he did.
The guy gets Hepatitus C in the Air Force from a transfusion, has a heart attack, has his eleven-year-old son get cancer and die from it; gets a sitcom, films the pilot, gets it picked up (on the air), gets a whole network behind him, gets anointed as the next big thing… and then gets cancer himself. (That was the end of that TV show. He survived the cancer, but you know people: No one was going to want to anoint him with anything after chemo and radiation.)
Gets divorced (a messy one), gets remarried, works hard and reinvents himself — and then has a relapse.
Another divorce (even messier), goes to Arizona to help his sick father take care of his dying mother, who dies, stays to take care of his father (while his father took care of him), goes on the waiting list for a new liver…
And then this. A car accident. After all that, a car accident. His daughter was driving, and she’s stable, as they say, and he had another son in the car, too. Also eleven.
This one survived and seems a hundred percent.
Samuel Becket once wrote, “The tears of the world are a constant quantity. Where somewhere, someone starts crying, somewhere else someone stops.”
Here’s something you won’t read in any of the papers, and it’s really the whole point of this clog.
Robert’s parent were both Holocaust survivors. His father was marched out of their concentration camp with thousands of others as the Americans were advancing in the winter of ‘45, in order to… Oh, who knows what those horrible folks were even thinking at that point. They marched the prisoners, in no coats, until they died or dropped. And when they dropped, trying to catch a breath, they walked over and shot them — as calm as a glass of tea. Robert’s father dropped, along with his best friend, and a guard walked over and killed him. Otto, the father, was next to him, and he was the one shot, weakly holding up a hand and whispering, “No. Please.”
Then the guard turned to Otto and… Shot him? No. He screamed, “If you want to live, get up and keep going.” And somehow Otto did.
And a few years later, Robert was making people laugh in Las Vegas.
Here’s the thing, though. One night, Otto told Robery after a show, “You were good. You know, I always wanted to be a comic, but, well…” Can you imagine? Is life weird enough?
And here’s the deepest part: Otto never forgot that moment in the snow on that march. And one day Robert said to him something I still find extraordinary. Did you catch it? It was what the guard said.
If you put it in different hands, at a different moment, with a different feeling, Robert said, it’s actually the greatest, deepest, simplest advice in history:
“If you want to live, get up and keep going.”
Robert Schimmel certainly learned that lesson. Get up and keep going. He never gave up. He was a terrific comic, but maybe that was his greatest gift: Get up and keep going.
Not a bad lesson for all of us to learn. With all the things in his life, I told him once, even Job turned to God and said, “Gee, now I don’t feel so bad anymore.”
Have a great Labor Day weekend. And then, get up and keep going.
(P.S. If you feel like it, that new show of mine is available for free by subscribing to iTunes: “This Week With Larry Miller.)
REMEMBER: IF YOU WALKED OUT OF BED TODAY, AND NO ONE YOU LOVE GOT SICK AND DIED, AND NO ONE SHOT YOU WHEN YOU GOT TIRED… FOLKS, TURN ON A GAME AND CRACK A BEER, BECAUSE YOU ARE WALKING IN TALL COTTON.
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Condolences about your friend. Schimmel was a great comic and, apparently, a great man. That’s a terrific legacy.
I remember seeing him on a talk show telling the story of him lying in the hospital bed asking his father how to get through everything, and his father then telling him the “if you want to live you have to keep marching story” and it stuck with me also. He was a very intelligent comic and my prayers are with you and his friends and family.
Larry, that was a very heartfelt and inspiring entry. Comedy has been a BIG part of my life since High school. What comedy has done is amazing and the feeling I got when i heard schimmel passed was indescribable. I have been listening to his records and his carolla appearances while in my head saying, “I can’t believe it happened to him.” just knowing what he went through AND STILL being able to “get up and keep going” is nothing less than amazing.
Thank you for sharing about Robert. He was as others say, a very intelligent comedian with great insights and relentlessly funny. As I did not know him personally, it is great to hear from someone who did.
What a great story you wrote about Bob. I met Bob in 1981. His brother introduced me to my ex husband; whom I was with for 18 years. So I know the whole family. The true meaning of all the Schimmel’s IS SURVIVORS with a capital S. The best part about Bob was his true and humble way he went about his business. He never made others the butt of his joke; he found a way to turn it around to himself. That is a class act. So yes, when you are having a “bad” day; think of all this family has had to endure in just the last few months. Life ain’t so bad. Bob will be missed. Heartfelt prayers and sympathies to all the Schimmels. The family is strong, talented, and very lucky to have the ability to cherish each day.. Thanks for writing about Bob, and he will be missed.
What a great story you wrote about Bob. I met Bob in 1981. His brother introduced me to my ex husband; whom I was with for 18 years. So I know the whole family. The true meaning of all the Schimmel’s IS SURVIVORS with a capital S. The best part about Bob was his true and humble way he went about his business. He never made others the butt of his joke; he found a way to turn it around to himself. That is a class act. So yes, when you are having a “bad” day; think of all this family has had to endure in just the last few months. Life ain’t so bad. Bob will be missed. Heartfelt prayers and sympathies to all the Schimmels. The family is strong, talented, and very lucky to have the ability to cherish each day.. Thanks for writing about Bob, and he will be missed.
Not long after Robert moved in with his dad and waiting for The Mayo Clinic to approve a liver donor, we had a “what if” conversation.
He said if a match is not found in the window of time needed, he didn’t fear death. He lost any fear after his mom passed away in his arms, surrounded by family love. The pain in her face simply melted away, she looked peaceful and decades younger.
He went on to say, Cindy it doesn’t matter how life begins or ends. in only matters how you live it inbetween.
It was a blessing having him as a friend even if it was for a short time.
Hold tight to the memories … my condolences to his family, friends and fans.
I almost met Robert. I was working at the hospital his son was being treated at in Phoenix. I had seen him on HBO several times and thought he was a comic genius. But when I saw him that day it was like seeing a shell of a man. Nothing resembling a joke was coming out of his mouth he was just sitting in the lobby with a few family members doing his best not to break down and failing miserably. Later one of the nurses I worked with told me what he was going through. I couldn’t imagine recovering from what he was going through with his son.
Funny thing though. 10 years later I almost met him again at an In N Out Burger at about 1am. He was with his wife and they were enjoying each others company. I was tempeted to go and introduce myself and tell him how much I enjoyed his comedy but I didn’t. Not because I thought he would be a jerk or stand offish, but because I was enjoying seeing that he was happy. He had gone through so much and yet here he was in a burger joint late night smiling from ear to ear. I didn’t see the need to interupt that.
Robert was the Lenny Bruce of my generation and he will be sorely missed.
Dear Larry,
I just heard you interviewed a little while ago on the Rosie O’Donnell radio show, however, it’s certainly not the first time I heard of you. For years, I’ve enjoyed you as a comic and actor (and will now be following your blog). Whenever I hear your name, I think of the look on your face in your “bit” about how a man watches a woman like a lion watches his prey… hysterical!
ANYWAY, just wanted to say that since hearing you on Rosie and knowing what a nice man you are, makes me want to “follow” your career as opposed to simply enjoying it.
I’m sure you were a great friend to Robert Schimmel, who I so enjoyed seeing and hearing (especially on Howard Stern). Bob was one of those people who could make real tragedy funny and even though it sometimes seemed as though he could be his own worst enemy at times, his love and devotion to his parents and children was certainly evident. I felt so badly for his family when I heard of his passing and my condolensces to you as well for losing a friend.
Larry,
Thanks for the loving tribute to Bob. You are indeed a class act that I can honestly say has kept me laughing for many, many years.
Let us ll tip our glasses to Bob, and celebrate his life. He would not want mourners (unless they had really big tits)
Thanks Larry, I found your blog through Robert\\\’s sister Sandy. I met Robert 30 years ago when he was crashing in Sandy\\\’s dorm. I became friends with him and am still close to his sister. I was in LA the week that Robert became a comedian at the improv. Who knew how successful he would be and how much pain he would have to overcome. He amazed me that he could take a tragedy like the death of his son and find the humor and pathos in it. I just saw the family at his mom funeral last month. I like to think that his mom has embraced him because I think he couldn\\\’t take much more. Bobby gave hisall but itwasn\\\’t enough. RIP Bobby, you will be missed but know that the family will be ok. Love and miss you. \\"the tuna fish Lady!\\"
the loss of robert schimmel will rank up there with me
on the level of Sam Kinison both are greatly missed
Thank you, for the great tribute to Robert’s life. I just found out about him like a month ago, but he was so damn funny. I’m glad I was introduced to him via Facebook. Finally, thanks, for touching our lives, Robert….may you RIP….♥
Thanks for the heartfelt comment on Robert Schimmel. One more tragedy for his list…after all his years in showbiz, his mother got a book deal before he did.
Larry, loved the podcast, especially the theme music. Left more compliments on the site, looking forward to your next one.
Larry, thank you so much for posting this blog about Robert Schimmel. He was one of my family’s favorite comedians (and so are you, beginning with the “5 Stages of Drinking”).
This is now another of my favorite simple words of wisdom and truth. I think Robert Schimmel’s father’s advice goes hand-in-hand with M. Scott Peck’s opening paragraph in his “The Road Less Traveled” book. The words are very simple, but profound.
“Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we truly know that life is difficult–once we truly understand and accept it–then life is no longer difficult. Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.”
So … “If you want to live, get up and keep going.”
By the way, my grandson and I were staying at the Newport Beach Marriott Hotel and Spa in late July and were sitting a few tables away from you at breakfast. My 13-year-old grandson has now been introduced to your humor!
Thanks for sharing about Bob. He was an incredible man; a legend and an inspiration, and he will be dearly missed. The world is a much sadder place without him in it.
I was fortunate enough to interview Robert several times during my stint as a DJ in Las Vegas (a 20 year stint)… He was always great! I remember him as a friend, a very funny guy and someone who, even with all the adversity he faced, felt truly blessed with his children and his ability to get through things like cancer and liver disease. I bet he’s laughing right now at the irony. We miss you Robert, and let’s all send a special prayer to his kids. I can’t imagine the sadness that must fill his daughter’s heart right now.
Bob helped me get through so many of life challenges with his humor. I will be forever grateful. I just hope wherever he is, he finally has some peace. It is well deserved and about time.
What a lovely tribute! I was lucky enough to work with Bob and his wife Vickie (and Laura, who’s upthread) on a charity commemorating their son Derek and his struggle with cancer and got to know the family very well. I was also one of the “walking wounded,” having lost my spouse to suicide a very young age. I understood grief all too well. Bob asked me one day how I had gotten through it. I said I simply got up each day and breathed in and out because that’s all I could do. Giving up was not an option.
Bob told me Otto’s story, and then in the next breath made me laugh so hard I nearly peed my pants. One night, right before he went onstage, I was able to return the favor. It was such a gift that I was able to make this comic genius laugh until tears rolled down his face.
My heartfelt prayers and love go out to the entire Schimmel family, especially his beautiful children. Godspeed, Bob!