July 3, 2008 Issue                                       

©2007 The Chestnut Hill Local

‘My nightmarish personal experience with George Carlin’
by LEN LEAR

This is the cover of Brain Droppings (Hyperion Publishing, 1997), one of three books authored by the late George Carlin. The others are Napalm & Silly Putty (2001) and When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops? (2004)

There probably was no bigger fan of the late comedian and social critic George Carlin than myself, even though I had a nightmarish personal experience with him 35 years ago that I was sure at the time would sour me on Carlin for the rest of my life. It didn’t. (Carlin died on June 22 at the age of 71 as a result of heart failure.)

My run-in with Carlin happened in 1973. (I have never written about this before in any publication.) At the time he was one of the most popular and successful comics in the country, partly because of his take-no-prisoners style. George was one of the most iconoclastic and political comics in the U.S., which endeared him to anti-Vietnam, anti-Nixon, pro-civil rights young people like myself. He was almost certainly the first ever to slam Christianity on national TV — Saturday Night Live in October, 1975 — which unleashed a torrent of criticism from all over the country and probably caused apoplectic seizures in NBC-TV network executives.

In addition, several people told me in the early ‘70s that there was a strong facial resemblance between myself and George Carlin. Therefore, when I saw in a TV promo that Carlin would be co-hosting for an entire week of the Mike Douglas Show, a highly-rated national talk/entertainment show that originated at the NBC-TV 3 studio, 5th and Market Streets, I cooked up a plan.

I figured I’d interview George in person since I knew he’d be in Philly all week, and I’d get someone to take a photo of us together. Then I’d write a spoof article about the two of us being brothers separated at birth. I thought it would be a ton of fun, and I thought George would get a kick out of it also, especially when he found out what a big admirer I was of his work.

So I proceeded to call several national entertainment magazines with my idea, and I finally got one editor (at a now-defunct magazine called Encore) to agree to take the story and pay me $300 for the article and photos. This was a lot more than my weekly salary as a reporter with the Philadelphia Tribune. I was psyched! (I had been doing freelance writing in whatever spare time I had.)

I proceeded to make some calls and come up with the name and phone number of George Carlin’s agent. I called him and told him of my plan. He seemed pleased and told me George would be arriving at the Philadelphia Airport the following Sunday, 7:30 p.m., and then would be staying at the Ben Franklin Hotel, 8th and Chestnut Streets. (Today the former hotel is home to many offices, a restaurant and condos.)

“He will probably get to his hotel room at around 9 o’clock,” said the agent. “Start calling the hotel then. I’ll tell George that you’ll be calling him, and I’ll call the hotel manager and tell him to make sure your call is put through to the room where George is staying.”

Cloud 9! You might as well have given me the key to a new Mercedes convertible. I don’t think I could even concentrate on my day job for the rest of the week. Then came the fateful Sunday night. I started calling the hotel at 9 p.m., asking for Carlin’s room. The operator told me he had not arrived yet. I proceeded to call every 20 or 25 minutes. Over and over again I was told he had not yet arrived.

Finally, at about 1:15 a.m., Carlin picked up the phone in his room. I was thrilled. “George, it’s Len Lear,” I blurted out. “It’s Len Lear. I’m the guy your agent told you about. He told you I’d be calling tonight to set up an interview; right?”

“What are you talking about?” he replied. “I never heard of you.”

Exasperated beyond belief, I told him all about my idea for the magazine article and recounted my conversation with his agent. I asked him if I could get together with him later that morning — before he had to start the Mike Douglas Show at 12:30 p.m. — for an interview and picture taking. He hesitated and then said, “I’ll do it if you can get me some dope.”

I said, “Excuse me. Did you say what I think I heard.”

“Yes,” he replied. “You get me some dope and bring it to me in front of the Channel 3 studio at about 11:45, and we can talk for at least a half-hour. OK?”

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard, but I said, “OK, George. I’ll be there with some dope at 11:45.”

I woke up about six hours later and immediately called a friend of mine, an editor at a local newspaper who lived in center city and who I knew smoked marijuana from time to time. (Who didn’t? This was the early ‘70s.) When I told her my story and mentioned whom the pot was for, she said, “Wow. He’s the greatest! I’ll tell you what. Since I know it’s for George Carlin, you don’t even have to pay me. I’ll give you the stuff and consider it payment enough knowing George Carlin is going to smoke it. I’m thrilled to do it!”

At about 11:20 a.m. I stopped at her center city residence and picked up the one-ounce bag. (Today it would cost a fortune, but back then the price would have been between $15 and $30.)

I thought fate was with me because I drove quickly to 5th and Market, and all the green lights were with me. I even found a nearby parking meter right away, which was (and is today) almost unheard of at midday. I rushed to the front of the NBC-TV studio and was right on time, 11:45 a.m. I went inside and asked if Carlin had shown up yet. “No,” was the reply.

I waited and waited and waited and waited. Five minutes went by, then 10, then 15... Before you know it, it was 12:27 when a taxi pulled up on the corner, and George Carlin got out. I rushed over and said, “George, it’s Len Lear. I realize you have to go on air right away. How about if I meet you right here when the show’s over at 2 p.m.? We’ll do the interview then. I’ll come back. I have your ‘stuff’ for you.”

“Get out of my way,” he shot back. “I have a show to do.”

Two station hands rushed out and grabbed George. “We have to hurry,” one said. “The show begins in a minute. Where were you?”

I never heard the reply, if there was one. I realized I was not going to get the interview, regardless of the “stuff” he insisted on. “This guy’s a piece of celebrity garbage,” I fumed to myself.

I was angry enough to strangle George Carlin, whether I liked and admired him as a comic or not. This was not very funny at all. Needless to say, I had to call Encore magazine, explain what had happened and apologize for not being able to deliver the article — and not get paid. (In magazine publishing, you’d better deliver an article by deadline unless you are in a coma, or someone might put you in one.) Of course, I returned the dope, unopened, to my friend, the editor.

(Many years later I heard Carlin say in an interview with Jay Leno that “I took so much dope — marijuana and cocaine — in the ‘70s that I can’t remember anything that happened in the entire decade.”) Unfortunately, I do.

For years I was not exactly enamored of George Carlin anymore, to put it mildly. (Not that anyone cared, least of all George Carlin.) But how can you stay mad at a guy who makes you laugh (and think) so much? For example, the following is typical of his brilliant way of mining the English language for gold nuggets (despite the fact that he dropped out of high school in 1953 and never had any additional formal education):

“If lawyers can be disbarred and clergymen defrocked, doesn’t it follow that electricians can be de-lighted, musicians de-noted, cowboys de-ranged, models de-posed, tree surgeons de-barked and dry cleaners de-pressed?”

Ans here’s an example of the type of wise-guy anti-authoritarian observation that Seinfeld and so many other comics have copied: “I have a suggestion that I think would help fight serious crime. Signs. There are lots of signs for minor infractions: ‘No Smoking,’ ‘Stay Off the Grass,’ ‘Keep Out,’ etc. They seem to work fairly well. I think we should also have signs for major crimes: ‘Murder Strictly Prohibited,’ ‘No Raping People,’ ‘Thank You for Not Kidnapping Anyone.’ It’s certainly worth a try. I’m convinced Watergate would never have happened if there had just been a sign in the Oval Office that said, ‘Malfeasance of Office is Strictly Against the Law,’ or ‘Thank You for Not Undermining the Constitution.’”