Remembering Robin Williams

1979 I was tipped off by Dana Carey that his friend, Robin Williams was going to be "dropping in" to the tiny comedy club in San Francisco - the Holy City Zoo. I was at sitting at the bar when Robin walked in. He got behind the bar and took my order for a beer. Once the room was full, he jumped up on the stage a few feet away and did his thing. Most of his set was improvised and the riff that has stayed with me was when he asked the audience to give him something and was handed a wooden chair. Talking to the seat he said "I bet you've seen a lot of assholes."

At the time, Robin was playing Mork in the hit show "Mork and Mindy," but he made it clear that night that if anyone asked him to be Mork - he would walk out. Mork was not Robin, and dropping into the Holy City Zoo was his way of exorcising that demon. In the club, he was free to be himself. That night he was a whirlwind of hysterical characters, many of which he would slip in and out of through his entire career.

Behind the bar, he was just Robin, a furry, teddy bear of a man with eyes that met yours and sparkled with merriment. On the stage he was a comic tornado.

Yes, there's more to my story about that time in my life. The 1970's bought a comedy renaissance to San Francisco. Some of the most recognized comics of our time started there or came through there to hone their acts. To say I was obsessed with comedians, and in particular Dana, is perhaps an understatement. I wanted to be a comedian, but I had no idea where to start. So I met as many comedians as I could and got to know them onstage and off. Three years later began performing improvisational comedy, I brought what I'd learned into my own characters and found my own comic style. I did improv for over 20 years and would do it again in a heartbeat.

1989 I tried my hand at stand-up. Five minute sets, at open mikes, in clubs in and out of San Francisco. I never bombed, but I never really took to it either. There was just something unsatisfying about being the same character saying the same words night after night. I did it for only four months.

The last time I did my five minutes, I took a book with me, "How to Make Love to a Single Woman" I asked the audience for page numbers and literally read what I found on those pages and made off-hand comments from a woman's perspective. For five minutes I had the attention and laughter of everyone in the room. I walked away happy and never looked back.

I can't say I learned sarcasm from Robin, but he certainly influenced me and hundreds of other comics and would-be comics. There was no one like Robin in 1979 and there is still no one like Robin in 2014. Robin's off-hand comments had the attention and laughter of everyone in the world for decades.


If only he could have walked away happy.

times like this

If I could move my house, like dorothy's in a tornado, I would have it spin into the air and land somewhere in California, near Halfmoon bay. Once the dust had cleared I would look out from my sun room to a sweeping view of the hills to the beach to the pounding surf where I've spent so many hours picking up sea glass.

I would cruise down the coast to walk the pier in Santa Cruz where we were married and ride the Cyclone over and over until I was so dizzy I would stumble down the boardwalk laughing. A sea gull would hover, it's wings spread wide to catch the wind in a balancing act. Not moving forward or backward - still - time passing without change, until a tasty morsel brings it streaking down with a shriek. I would treat myself to a tart carmel apple with nuts on the bottom. I would remember. I was 17 and my little sister and I ran into the surf there with our Dad. He did his best to teach us to body surf in the cold water. He told us of beaches in New York and Virgina. He bought us unlimited rides and we rode the ups and downs and ins and outs till we could not bear another revolution. I would remember. The smells of the steaming pots of crab and shrimp - mixed with the scent of the sea - and the barks of the huge sea lions resting on the boards under the pier. I would remember the walks in the sand and the fried squid I slipped into your hand as we walked away from the patio of the cafe. You screamed, just a bit, and pretended to be mad, but really you were thinking of a way to get me back.

I would hike though the hills and redwoods and ride my bike along familiar roads, drifting with the sense of home and permanence. I would stop at Alice's or Goat Rock or Skyline or the water temple off the road closed off for only bikes. I would insist we visit Flioli and tell the story I've told so many times that "Heaven can Wait" was shot there.

I would cruise into Niles Canyon on my way to visit my son in Davis - stopping first in Niles to look for collectibles in the stores that claim Charlie Chaplin as their own. Coffee. Yellow hills. A sense of place and time. The bigger picture of "home."

I would shop at Whole Foods and Trader Joes and eat sushi and burritos and drink wine and laugh with friends. So many friends - all so different - all loving and open. I could call anyone and get the same welcome. Their homes, their lives open to me - whenever - where ever. Stanford - walking the dish - riding through the quad - remembering. My kids on skates, weaving in and out of pillars. Chalk on my hands - buildering the arch in the same way we went bouldering. The smells of eucalyptus near the mausoleums. The burrs that caught in my bike tires and caused a flat near the shopping center. The paths. The pasts.

I would walk through the Zoo and buy plastic animals in the gift shop. I would spend hours lost on the trails through Golden Gate park. I would remember. The concerts we stumbled upon. Skating through the trails. Skates on Haight. Tea in the Japanese tea garden. The koi. I would remember playing disc golf and the desire to stop each time I drove through the park from one end of the city to the other. Twin peaks. Castro. Mission. I would remember the Musee du Mechanique. The bread, the bay, the sellers lined up with cheap beads and leather. The chowder.

I would remember. Everything. Everyone. I would remember why I called it home. Why I said I never wanted to leave. I would remember why I did.

It is logical, why we moved. I would not give up this house, this perfect home. I would not give up your family or the millions of new memories we've yet to make here. But my heart's home will forever be 2400 miles away.

I can smell the sea.



4/22/17

Update:
http://fiveminutememories.blogspot.com/2017/04/into-garden-of-earthly-delights.html