Chatting With Bill Cosby
An Evening With Bill Cosby, Benaroya Hall, 200 University St., 206-215-4747, www.seattlesymphonyorg. TWO PERFORMANCES, ONE NIGHT: 4 p.m., 8 p.m. Sat., Nov. 1.
When I called Bill Cosby last week, his assistant told me “Mr. Cosby is resting. Who are you with again?” I told her I was a writer with Seattle Weekly, but also pleaded “No, no, don’t wake him up just for me. We can talk later.”
I am not ashamed to admit I was scared to death to be calling Bill Cosby. The man is a giant in popular culture and, at 71 years old, embodies the textbook definition of “living legend.” Needless to say, when his assistant told me Mr. Cosby was resting, the last thing I wanted her to do was wake him up. If anyone deserves to rest, it’s Bill Cosby. He is, for lack of a better comparison, the Bob Dylan of comedy; A man whose influence on American culture and humor is incalculable. I mean, whose father hasn’t threatened: “I brought you into this, I’ll take you out!”
But after some rummaging around, I heard him put the phone to his ear, and with a clearing of the throat, announced: “Yes, sir!”
“Mr. Cosby!” I said (he prefers to be called Mr. Cosby and I as all too happy to oblige). “Did I wake you?”
“Well, no son,” he said. “It’s after noon.” Prior to this, I was trembling. I don’t get starstruck very often, but the idea of chatting with Mr. Cosby—even via phone—made me feel like Wayne and Garth in their “We’re not worthy” moments. However, the way he reminded me that it was “after noon” when I called, reminded me of a grandpa informing his grandson, “It’s daytime, kid, why would I be asleep?”
Immediately, the warmth and familiarity of Mr. Cosby’s voice put me at ease.
Speaking with Mr. Cosby is less a back-and-forth conversation and more of a monologue. The man has truly experienced life and loves nothing more than telling you about it. When I asked him about his relationship to Seattle over the years, he launched into a series of stories dating back to the early 60s, the first time he performed here.
“I recorded one routine about Seattle,” he said, reminding me of the closing track from his 1964 album I Started Out As A Child. “And…you all had a…gorilla…in your zoo, by the name of Bobo, and I made some jokes about Bobo and that was a very popular piece, I remember. And the weather… that was always a good topic. See, it rains…365 days a year there. But you people…when you have visitors…always act like this rain is some new thing, you say ‘Well, what is this? I didn’t know anything about this rain till you came to visit.’ And I had a wonderful time, I remember, playing your fair”—the Puyallup Fair—“I must’ve played that about 10 times. And I teased the people there, I said ‘You people…you’re only claim to fame is waiting for visitors to say ‘Puyallup’ so you can tell them that they mispronounced it.”
Mr. Cosby is keenly aware of the kind of performer he is and how, in periods of economic woe like this current one, making people laugh is good for the nation’s health.
“My audience,” he said. “Is in their 50s, 60s, 70s, even some in their 80s, and some in their 20s and 30s. But it’s the older people that…when the economy turns like this, don’t go out and spend as much money. Cause, if they have any leftover and they’ve got children, see…they give it to the children. Because children have that money instinct. They always know when mom and dad have a little extra that they can ask for. I’m lucky in that what I do…is comedy. I always say that…aside from comedy, the only thing that doesn’t go out of style is Johnny Mathis. Because what Johnny Mathis does is romance…and romance is always in demand, no matter what. No matter what is going on in a person’s life or in the world…you go see Johnny Mathis and you will literally see…a room of people emotionally transform.”
Unlike most comedians his age, Mr. Cosby does not rely on his old material. He explained that he never goes out on stage unless he has at least 80-percent new material. Aside from George Carlin and Jonathan Winters, comedians rarely remain both original and funny in their later years. A friend of mine had seen Cosby live three years ago and said she had never witnessed a comedian with a pace so tireless and consistently funy. Even Chris Rock, talking in the Jerry Seinfeld documentary Comedian, mentioned how he was blown away by Cosby’s ability to knock out an audience non-stop, over the course of two three-hours show each night.
“I’m a storyteller, see,” he said. “So even if you’re not laughing at punchlines the entire time, you’re at least smiling. And then the smile gets bigger and bigger and pretty soon you’re laughing so hard it hurts. And laughing still feels the same when you’re older as it did when you were a child.”
I was 5 years old when The Cosby Show first aired in 1984. Mr. Cosby was already middle aged by that point in his career. He was funny to me then, and he’s funny to me now as a 30-year old married man. It’s likely an inarguable fact that Mr. Cosby is the only comedian that has transcended generational gaps so effortlessly. George Carlin and Richard Pryor are not funny to 5 year olds and their vulgarity often offends senior citizens.
“What I talk about…I’ve found…is something everyone can share,” he said. “You’ll notice that when I joke about my marriage, it’s about the things I’ve done wrong and my wife, Camille, telling me what I’ve done wrong. No matter who you are or how long you’ve been together—even gay couples—the problems are the same.”
I only had thirty minutes with Mr. Cosby, which was a shame, because we could have gone on for hours it seemed. But, given SW managing editor Mike Seely’s cover story on the phenomenon of “the Cosby sweater”, I had to ask him about them. I had seen Cosby on Jimmy Kimmel last summer talking about the sweaters. (Kimmel had just purchased three of them at an auction hosted by Cosby’s wife in honor of their late son, Ennis.) Cosby ribbed Kimmel about paying thousands of dollars for such ugly things. The more I thought about them, though, the more I realized what cultural treasures they had become.
“I mean, the Smithsonian has Archie Bunker’s chair on display and even the Seinfeld ‘Puffy Shirt’” I said to Cosby. “Why don’t they have a Cosby sweater? Have they ever asked?”
Mr. Cosby laughed.
“Bob Hope,” he said with emphasis, as if launching into a bit. “They had an auction shortly after he died…of some of his…stuff. His daughter’s ran the auction, for a charity. They called this ‘stuff’ ‘memorabilia’, but I call it ‘stuff’. Now…all husbands have…their ‘stuff’. The ‘stuff’ is kept in a special place chosen by…the wife. That place is called ‘Where It Belongs”. The husband does not have access to this ‘stuff’ because the controller of the house, in my case Mrs. Cosby, prefers to keep the stuff hidden from the rest of the world. I don’t know where those sweaters are, but Mrs. Cosby does. And I would assume that they will remain ‘Where they belong’ until my death for my wife and children to great pride in auctioning them off.”
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Cover Story: Critical Mass
