Jackie Mason has passed. A sad day and a great loss.
I worked with Jackie for a week in the early 80s, opening for him at The Bitter End, an iconic venue in the Village, NYC. Like many legendary NYC venues, The Bitter End was a pit back stage. The dressing room was about as big as my current clothes closet, and all the acts shared it.
Jackie was a treat. At the time I was working a duo with Thom Bishop, a brilliant song smith and singer. We were doing two shows a night, and spent a lot of time in that dressing room with Jackie. It was like a phd seminar with a grand master.
What I learned, or at least had reinforced, was what it means to be a money player. I was also lucky enough to be touring regularly with Chuck Berry - yet another grand master.
What these two had in common was an ability, night after night, to bring the audience out of their everydayness, and transform them for a little while into a better place. That magical, thrilling moment when the audience knows - this is why I came to see this show. This is what I paid for.
Both Jackie and Charles knew they had the goods. Goods they had created and developed and worked hard for. And they knew how to read an audience, and pace and time and then deliver those goods whenever they wanted to. With Charles, it might be that moment when he sidled to the side of the stage and looking over at me with a twinkle in his eye and then with perfect timing - swing into the duck walk. Or when he took an extended pause and then laid down any one of his classic guitar intros - Johnny B. Goode being his most famous - instantly bringing the audience to its feet.
Jackie could do the same. He had an extended repertoire of absolutely punishing comedic routines that he could mix and match for any audience. I watched him night after night weave these different routines together, soon realizing that whenever he felt the timing was right, he was going to hammer it home and unfailingly bring the audience to its feet. It was an absolute pleasure to watch.
I ran into him again a few years ago when I was doing my show Boogie Stomp! off-Broadway at the Elektra Theatre with partner Arthur Migliazza. After each evening performance Arthur and I would scuttle down to the West Way Diner at 43rd and 9th to hide away and grab a sandwich. Turns out it was an off-Broadway hangout for entertainers, and a regular stop for Jackie every Friday night.
He actually stopped at our table one night for no particular reason - maybe stirred by the vague memory of working together. I reminded him of our history, and he was gracious enough to act like he remembered. I told him again that he was one of my heros, and we exchanged pleasantries every Friday before he went and joined his cronies.
We've lost another giant.
