Andy Kaufman Read online

  Praise for Andy Kaufman

  “Bob Zmuda connects on so many levels with this gripping yet hilarious inside industry chronicle. A great story of unconditional friendship and love framed in a studied portrait of a fascinatingly complex, brilliant, unduplicable anti-performance artist who may well resurrect to blow our minds again.”

  —Dan Aykroyd

  “Danger. What would’ve or WILL Andy do next???? We wondered every time we saw him on TV or live on stage. I still wonder. We still laugh. The definition of an enigma, LIKE NO OTHER.”

  —Kathy Griffin

  “I never worked with Andy Kaufman and I never even watched Taxi. I do like the name Andy, if that’s any help.”

  —Paula Poundstone

  “Bob Zmuda was (is?) Andy Kaufman’s partner in all of Andy’s reality-bending adventures. Is Andy’s death yet another elaborate hoax by the ultimate performance artist? An absolutely astonishing read, Andy Kaufman: The Truth, Finally reveals all. Prepare to be amazed!”

  —John Landis

  “I was so fascinated by the melding of Andy’s and Zmuda’s mind that I spent two years of my life making a movie about it.”

  —Milos Forman

  Andy

  Kaufman

  The Truth, Finally

  Bob Zmuda

  and

  Lynne Margulies

  BenBella Books, Inc.

  Dallas, Texas

  The events, locations, and conversations in this book, while true, are recreated from the author’s memory. However, the essence of the story and the feelings and emotions evoked are intended to be accurate representations. In certain instances, names, persons, organizations, and places have been changed to protect an individual’s privacy.

  Copyright © 2014 by Bob Zmuda and Lynne Margulies

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  BenBella Books, Inc.

  10300 N. Central Expressway

  Suite #530

  Dallas, TX 75231

  www.benbellabooks.com

  Send feedback to [email protected]

  First e-book edition: October 2014

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Zmuda, Bob, 1949-

  Andy Kaufman: the Truth, Finally / Bob Zmuda, Lynne Margulies.

  pages cm

  Includes bibliographical references and index.

  ISBN 978-1-940363-05-9 (hardback)—ISBN 978-1-940363-06-6 (electronic) 1. Kaufman, Andy, 1949-1984. 2. Comedians—United States—Biography. 3. Television actors and actresses—United States—Biography. I. Margulies, Lynne Elaine, 1957- II. Title.

  PN2287.K28Z74 2014

  792.702’8092—dc23

  2014014709

  Editing by Glenn Yeffeth and Katie Kennedy

  Copyediting by Brian Buchanan

  Text design by Publishers’ Design and Production Services, Inc.

  Proofreading by James Fraleigh and Jenny Bridges

  Cover design by Sarah Dombrowsky

  Text composition by Integra Software Services Pvt. Ltd

  Printed by Lake Book Manufacturing

  Distributed by Perseus Distribution

  www.perseusdistribution.com

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  Significant discounts for bulk sales are available. Please contact Glenn Yeffeth at [email protected] or (214) 750-3628.

  Dedicated to

  Stanley Kaufman

  and

  Chester Zmuda

  Two fathers who created two troublemakers

  Contents

  Foreword

  Introduction

  “I Am Not a Comedian”

  How Jim Carrey Got the Job

  Sneaking into the Playboy Mansion

  Don’t Ever Leave Me Alone with People

  Andy’s Secret

  Andy at SNL

  Faking Death

  The Bombing Routine

  Andy Will Be Back

  Other Kaufman Books

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Foreword

  It is an honor to write the foreword to this book for my good friend Bob Zmuda. Not many people know this, probably because they don’t care, but I got my first job in show business from Bob Zmuda. In 1986, I was a freshman at the University of Southern California where I was studying screenwriting. One day I was watching a show like Entertainment Tonight and saw Bob Zmuda holding a press conference where he was announcing the formation of Comic Relief, an organization which was about to put on a Live Aid–type event starring the world’s greatest comedians to benefit homeless health care centers across America.

  At the time I had no interest in charity but I was obsessed with comedy, so I called the offices of Comic Relief immediately and told them I would love to volunteer and be a part of their new organization. I think they just recently got phones and didn’t really have an infrastructure, so they kind of blew me off. I was bummed because I could feel that this was going to be special. I had just watched Live Aid the year before while bussing tables at El Torito on Long Island, and the idea that all of my idols would be performing on one show was almost more than I could handle.

  A few months later, I got a call from a man named Jacques Fiorentino who had come up with this idea with Bob, who said they needed help, and would I be willing to help them produce a series of smaller Comic Relief events at comedy clubs around the country. I was in! And for the next half decade I worked at Comic Relief for no pay and then for a little pay, producing benefits that raised over a million dollars for the homeless.

  Those years working with Jacques Fiorentino, Bob Zmuda, Mario Bernheim, Paul Bennett, Caroline Thompson, and so many others were magical. I remember when I was told I could attend rehearsals for the show and then got to sit in the Universal Amphitheatre watching Robin Williams, Billy Crystal, and Whoopi Goldberg run through the show for the crew. I do not think I have had a more exciting comedy nerd moment since. On the nights of the big shows, I gave myself the job of being the one who had to walk up to every comedian on the lineup and have them sign fifty posters, which we sold for the charity. That gave me an excuse to have five minutes to talk with every comedian I had ever dreamed of speaking to—everyone from Pee Wee Herman and Sam Kinison, to George Carlin and Harold Ramis. I still have some of those posters!

  As the years went by, I became more involved in the charity side of Comic Relief and was inspired by the tireless work that people around the country do to help the homeless receive much needed health care and other vital services. Dennis Albaugh ran the charity side of Comic Relief and was a real angel who taught me the importance trying to lift up those who are in need. He died way too soon of cancer and I think about his wisdom and his big heart constantly.

  When dealing with Bob, there was always the specter of Andy Kaufman. I was a fan of Andy’s since I was a little kid and had watched almost all of his TV appearances religiously since I was in elementary school. I remember knowing that this comedian who I loved was about to be on a new show called Taxi. My aunt Sam was friends with one of the stars of Friday’s (an ABC sketch show), and I recall sitting up one night watching the wheels come off the cart when Andy hosted and let a sketch collapse on live television, resulting in a fist fight. I am still confused about who was and who wasn’t in on it.

  Over the years I have forced Bob to tell me so many of the epic Andy Kaufman stories. I was able to spend a lot of time with Bob when he was working with Milos Forman and Jim Carrey on t
he biopic of Andy, Man on the Moon. Jim Carrey dreamed of getting this role, and I was with him running the camera when he made a video-taped audition at his home in character as Andy. When it was time to research the role, I traveled with Jim and visited Andy’s childhood home on Long Island, his grave, and met with his brother Michael and his father to talk about Andy and the film.

  I remember Andy’s dad, Stanley, telling us he never understood what Andy was going through as a high school student in the nineteen sixties. They just didn’t understand each other and fought a lot. Andy was experimenting with drugs and was opening his mind to arts of all kinds. He told us that one day Andy gave him a copy of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and asked him to read it.

  He said one afternoon he was reading it in his bedroom and was crying because he finally understood his son and what he was going through and inspired by, when suddenly Andy entered the room. He said they talked and cried and connected, and then sat there reading passages of the book to each other.

  I felt privileged to watch Bob and these brilliant people talk about how they would approach making this important film. On several occasions, I went to visit the set and Jim would only speak to me as Andy or Tony Clifton. It was really uncomfortable because Jim and I are good friends, but it was also truly hilarious. I was there to see Jerry Lawler recreate the terrifying pile driver moment on Jim in front of a huge stadium of fans.

  I was so glad to see the film come out so well and be such a monument to Andy’s work and the world’s love of him. He continues to inspire people to this day, but there will never be anyone quite like him. Not even close.

  I am thrilled that Bob has chosen to write books about his time with Andy and the years since his death. As a comedy student, there is no end to my interest in all of the old stories and I think it is important that we keep his memory alive so people will continue to go on YouTube or where ever else people go these days and hunt down all of the wonderful, insane comedy moments that Andy and Bob created.

  I also want to thank Bob for giving me my first job in comedy. He allowed me to enter a world I had dreamed of being a part of since I was ten and was always warm and kind to me, even when I was little runt who he should have mistreated and abused.

  So enjoy this book and, if it makes you happy, send some money to homeless health care organizations in your town. I am sure Andy wouldn’t mind.

  —Judd Apatow

  National Health Care for the Homeless Council: www.nhchc.org

  Health Care for the Homeless Inc.: www.hchmd.org

  National Association of Community Health Centers: www.nachc.com

  Alameda County Health Care for the Homeless: www.acphd.org

  Introduction

  Probably no performer in the last four decades has been shrouded in more mystery than the enigma known as Andy Kaufman. Andy wanted it that way, and I, as his writer and best friend, along with Lynne Margulies, the love of his life, have dutifully supported those wishes over all these years. But now that his artistic legacy is forever finally secure and our own mortal coil may be unraveling sooner than we ever expected, it’s time for the truth to be finally told. And in Andy Kaufman’s case, that truth is even stranger than fiction.

  Between Lynne and myself, we have over seventy years of firsthand knowledge of Andy. We have read just about every article ever written about him and spoken often to all those closest to him.

  As you will see, we hold nothing back. Lynne reveals for the first time that Andy was bisexual and possibly died of AIDS. I know for a fact that he faked his death and will be returning. Either of these opinions is both shocking and explosive.

  So sit back, pour yourself a glass of milk, open a bag of chocolate chip cookies, and read the true account of Andrew Geoffrey Kaufman. And may his life (or supposed death) be a testament to all avant-garde artists everywhere never to give up their vision, no matter how unusual that vision may be.

  —Bob Zmuda

  I’ll never forget it. I was on a T.M. course in Switzerland. There were about forty of us all sitting in the lotus position outside on a beautiful day, gathered around the Maharishi. He was lecturing. Occasionally, someone would ask him a question. I was still pretty shy back then. It took me a while to muster enough courage to raise my hand.

  “Yes, Andy!”

  “Maharishi, what is the secret of comedy?”

  “The secret of comedy is …”

  He lowered his head, which he would do when he was giving something great thought. Paused … then raised his head back up and with a broad smile on his face said: “Timing!”

  We all laughed.

  —ANDY KAUFMAN

  CHAPTER 1

  “I Am Not a Comedian”

  Phone rings …

  B: Hello?

  A: Bob!

  B: Yeah, Andy.

  A: How would I go about getting my hands on a cadaver without anyone knowing?

  B: Go dig one up, like Igor did.

  A: Seriously, I’m not joking.

  B: Neither am I. You could probably buy one from a city morgue some place. They routinely sell those poor homeless bastards to medical schools so med students can practice on them. But there’s going to be paperwork. Besides, you need a body that looks like you—that complicates the matter.

  A: Well, I’m kind of figuring that one out. If I died in a car crash or fire, that would make it harder to identify the body.

  B: Yes, that’s true, but they’re still going to check dental records. How are you going to get around that?

  A: Maybe I can have some of my teeth pulled out and throw them in the fire. Will that do?

  B: You’ll have to yank a hell of a lot of them out. They usually have X-rays of the entire set of teeth, uppers and lowers.

  A few weeks later. Ring …

  B: Hello Andy, what’s up?

  A: I figured it out!

  B: Figured what out?

  A: I don’t go the cadaver route. I work with a real live body. I find someone who’s dying of some disease, like cancer. At the end, they’re all shrunken up and the chemotherapy makes them lose all their hair.

  B: OK so far. I’m with you.

  A: Bob, it’s just what we did with Clifton. We made everyone think that you were me as Tony through prosthetics. I do kind of the same thing, but this time I find somebody who kind of resembles me who’s terminal. I’ll pay them off. This way, they can leave a substantial amount of money for their loved ones. And then on my end, I’ll start to look like them.

  B: How you gonna do that?

  A: I’ll lose weight. Shave my head. Maybe I’ll even go through chemo myself. I wonder how much of that stuff a healthy person can take without doing too much damage to themselves. My hair will really fall out and I’ll have severe weight loss. Everyone will really think I’m dying. Nobody has ever gone this far to pull something like this off. It would be the crowning achievement of my career.

  B: What career? You’ll be dead.

  A: Exactly. Dead, but not forgotten. Eventually I’ll come back.

  B: Andy, are you serious about this?

  A: Dead serious.

  ***

  Lynne

  Every time Andy would go to a doctor, he’d ask him if he had cancer. I’d get so mad at him, I’d say, “Andy, you’re going to talk yourself into getting cancer.” So he called me from the doctor’s office one day and told me he had cancer. He said in a bragging tone, “You see, I told you I was going to get cancer.” His doctors sat us down over the first week and said, “There’s nothing we can do. You might not even live for six months. You’re going to die.”

  The amazing thing is Andy took it like somebody had just told him he couldn’t go to the movies—“Oh, all right.” It’s like he believed in magic or something and he’d be cured.

  I think he was so evolved because of meditation that the thought of death didn’t scare him. He didn’t want to die. He just wasn’t afraid of it. Then off we went to the Philippines to see this “psychic surgeon,”
getting two treatments a day, six days a week. You’d take off all your clothes except your underwear and then lie on a table. It’s very sterile and you’re in this third world country. It’s very hot. And the décor is kind of bamboo fake Jesus. And you’re standing in line with these Japanese tourists who come there on tour because it’s a fun thing to do. So you have them, and then also a few people like Andy who are really very sick. So you lie on the table and the guy starts putting his little hands on you, and blood starts flowing out, and he starts pulling these gut-like things out of you. It only takes a few seconds and then they wipe you up and off you go, and then the next Japanese tourist lies down. So there we were for six weeks. Andy was good at first. But then around the time Bob got there, he turned for the worse and couldn’t even walk. Bob had to go to some Catholic hospital and get down on his hands and knees and pray with the nuns before they would give him this World War II walker that was like a huge cage for Andy. Then back to LA in Cedars-Sinai Hospital. It’s like he went to sleep and that was it.

  When Andy died, many people thought he had faked his death. What the public didn’t know is that for many years he had talked about faking his own death. The first person I know of who he told was John Moffitt, the producer of “Fridays,” back in 1981. I know he talked to Bob about it constantly. He talked to me about it many times. He told his manager, George Shapiro. He also told an ex-girlfriend named Mimi. He told all of us he was serious about doing it and then he died. I was in the room the moment he passed, and yet at times I say to myself, Could he possibly have faked it? ’Cause if he had, he would have taken it all the way with his family, his loved ones being around the bed. He would have taken it that far. He would have done it to me.

  ***

  If I had lectured him back in the States about crossing his t’s and dotting his i’s in regard to making those around him believe he was dying, once in the Philippines he took the task to heart. When I arrived in Baguio City, Philippines, on April 7, 1984, he totally appeared as someone who would be dead in a short time. He was skin and bones. He could hardly walk. Lynne would have to assist him going to the bathroom, clean him up and help him back into bed. It was truly a sad, pathetic sight worthy of an Academy Award. I was quite impressed. I couldn’t wait to speak to him privately, but Lynne never left his side. Occasionally he would weep about his condition. I had only one opportunity to talk to him alone. He had fallen asleep and Lynne momentarily left the room to get a Coke from a machine down the hall. I jumped up and approached his bed. I shook him ever so gently and whispered, “Andy, wake up. It’s Bob.” He didn’t stir. I shook him harder. He slowly started to wake. “I want to talk to you. Lynne’s going to be back any minute.” He began to come around, his eyes flickered and then opened. I said, “Andy, you with this dying routine … It’s fantastic. Totally believable.” He smiled softly and then said in a raspy, low-energy voice, “I’m really dying, Bob.” I heard the key jiggle in the lock. Lynne had returned. I quickly ran back to the couch and picked up the paper as if I was reading it. Lynne entered the room. “How’s he doing?” “Still sleeping, I guess.”