There probably was no bigger fan of the late comedian and social critic George Carlin than myself, even though I once had a nightmarish personal experience with him that I was sure would sour me on him forever. 

It happened in 1974, at a time when he was one of the most popular and successful comics in the country. He 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 – on the first episode of Saturday Night Live on Oct. 11, 1975 – which unleashed a torrent of criticism from all over the country and probably caused apoplectic seizures in NBC-TV network executives.

Back then, people used to tell me how much I looked like Carlin. So when I saw in a TV promo that he would be co-hosting 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 and get someone to take a photo of us together. Then I’d write a spoof article about the two of us being brothers who had been separated at birth. I thought it would be a ton of fun, and that George would get a kick out of it also, especially when he found out what a big fan I was.

I got an editor (at a now-defunct magazine called Encore) to agree to take the story and pay me $350 for the article and photos. This was twice my weekly salary as a reporter with the Philadelphia Tribune. I was psyched!

Then I got in touch with Carlin’s agent, who seemed pleased and told me that George would be arriving at the Philadelphia Airport the following Sunday, 7:30 p.m., and would be staying at the Ben Franklin Hotel, 8th and Chestnut Streets. 

“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 you’ll be calling, so he’ll pick up the phone.”

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. 

When the fateful night came, I started calling the hotel at 9 p.m., as arranged. The operator kept telling me he hadn’t arrived yet – over and over again, every 20 minutes or so. 

Finally, at about 1:15 a.m., Carlin picked up the phone. I was thrilled. “George, it’s Len Lear!” I blurted out. “I’m the guy your agent told you about!”

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

Exasperated, I told him about my idea for the article and recounted my conversation with his agent. I asked 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 a.m. 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.”

About six hours later I called a friend of mine, an editor who I knew smoked marijuana from time to time. When I 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!”

I picked up to dope at about 11:20 a.m, and thought fate was with me because all the green lights were with me as I drove to 5th and Market. I even found a parking spot right away, which was (and is today) almost unheard of. I rushed to the front of the studio 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. Five minutes went by, then 10, then 15. Finally, it was 12:27 when a taxi pulled up 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. I had to call Encore magazine, explain what had happened and apologize for not being able to deliver the article – and not get paid. Of course, I returned the dope.

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? When Carlin died in 2008 at age 71 as a result of heart failure, I can truly say I’d forgiven him. 

In the end, he gave me a great story. Maybe even a better one.

Len Lear can be reached at 215-248-8807 or lenlear@chestnuthilllocal.com.