Andy Kaufman Read online

  Kaufman and I together formed the same duo. We couldn’t control ourselves or shut it down. We were hell-bent on “slaughtering” the status quo. I imagine we had a sense of youthful entitlement, but we weren’t fascists about it. It was just fun. Fun was the key. Fun was the drug that fueled it all. Because if we were having fun, we wouldn’t have to be sad. Fun … Funny … Humor … Comedy. You can see how the comedian label got wrongly applied. Fun. It’s a word that can easily be taken for granted. People casually throw it around, as in, “We had a fun time.” People who knew Andy will always use that word seriously in describing him, pointing out that fun really was his essence. Cindy Williams of Laverne & Shirley fame was a friend of Andy’s. She elaborates:

  As an actress who loved to act, I couldn’t have met a better person than Andy, who acted every moment of his life. It was one big improv continuously. Such fun. The best fun I ever had in my life.

  ***

  Lynne

  Fun was everything with Andy. Breakfast was fun. We’d play the card game Crazy Eights for hours at breakfast because it was so much fun. Andy once challenged my brother Steve, who was a professional, world-famous card player, to a game of Crazy Eights. For fun. Sometimes we’d be driving in a car and pull up to a light. If there was a car next to us, Andy would start to strangle me and I would mouth “HELP!” to the car next to us, then when the light changed we’d speed off leaving them in shock. Just for the fun of it.

  Another story: When I first got to San Francisco, I was living in an apartment with a roommate, Michael. Michael made a comment to me at some point that Andy used a lot of toilet paper. So Andy made it his mission that every night he would bring home a four-pack roll of toilet paper (always the same brand, of course) and put the pack on the back of the toilet. The pile grew higher and higher. Andy was waiting for Michael to say something, but he didn’t. So Andy just kept adding packs until the pile reached the ceiling. Then he had me go in and ask Michael if he could get me down a pack of toilet paper because I couldn’t reach it. That was the punch line.

  ***

  Fun. It’s the reason Andy chose me to be his writer. In fact, I was really more “Andy’s actor” than “Andy’s writer.” We played and pranked constantly. Andy met his match with me. No matter when, no matter where, I “acted with Andy.” It was always fun. That’s why Andy became disheartened when his fun turned to work on Taxi. WORK IS NOT FUN! As the brilliant clinical psychologist Dr. Stan Martindale said, “Once they pay you for something you love doing, they kill it for you.”

  Andy realized early in life that kids got away with murder. Watch them in stores or supermarkets. They yell and cry, throw temper tantrums, and God forbid their mother physically reprimand them. Nowadays, a mom can run the risk of being thrown into jail. I am often asked, “Was that childlike nature Andy displayed a put-on?” The answer is “Yes … and no.” You see, he too wanted to get away with murder, so he would turn it off and on whenever he chose, depending on the situation. At the high end of innocence you have Foreign Man; i.e., the lovable Latka character from Taxi. In Foreign Man’s case, the innocence is amplified by the use of a foreign accent, making the character that much more vulnerable, as he tries to maneuver in a society that speaks a different language.

  On Andy’s first Tonight Show appearance with Johnny Carson, when he’s invited to sit on the couch, Johnny is talking to him much like an adult to a six-year-old. In this case, he’s dropped the foreign accent all together, but the Bambi eye movement, innocence, and shyness are all part of the act. Johnny doesn’t know it at the time and believes it to be real. Besides, comedically it works for both pros. Later, on other Carson appearances, Andy turns it down quite a bit and starts acting more his age. This new dynamic throws Johnny, he doesn’t know how to play Andy, and the laughter becomes less and less each time. Soon, Johnny realizes it’s not working any more between him and Kaufman and doesn’t invite him back, at least not when he’s hosting. In retrospect, if Andy had maintained that childlike quality each time, he most likely would have been asked back countless times, and Johnny could have done his famous deadpan takes to the audience, much as he did with other childlike wackos like Charo and Tiny Tim.

  But Kaufman didn’t want to maintain that innocent character all the time. After all, there was a trunk load of alter egos just waiting in the wings, some of them bad guys who wanted to wrestle or the obnoxious lounge singer Tony Clifton who needed to come out. But innocence was in his arsenal of characters and could be summoned up whenever it was called for, even in everyday life, especially to pick up girls. That wide-eyed childishness just sucked them in. It was like a lost puppy they were gonna save. Once that puppy had got them in the sack, however, he would turn into a full-grown wolf—“Wanna wrastle?”

  This man/child gimmick proved quite effective in business dealings also. Let the managers and agents bust their balls figuring out the best direction to take his career in. After all, they were getting a piece of the action. He’d just sit wrapped up in his innocent cocoon, spooning chocolate ice cream into his mouth like a child. He played the innocent to his manager, George Shapiro, through his entire career, and George would reciprocate by talking back to him in baby talk—much like his real dad did. Howard West, George’s partner in Shapiro/West, knew it was an act and didn’t buy into it, so Andy steered clear of Howard, choosing to deal with George instead.

  With Lynne and me, he dropped the façade altogether. We wouldn’t put up with it, nor would he want us to. Recently I was talking to Scott Thorson, who was Liberace’s lover, played by Matt Damon in HBO’s highly successful Behind the Candelabra. After watching Michael Douglas’s portrayal of Liberace, I asked Scott if Liberace really talked like that. He said, “Hell, no. Only onstage. At home, he used his real voice.” Same with Kaufman. At home, he used his real voice, at least around Lynne and me. Still, he’d cleverly work us sometimes with his hurt innocence when he really wanted something.

  Like an artist with a palette of colors, Kaufman could mix and choose whatever character it would take to get what he wanted. I’m sure in the faking of his death, he had a whole other persona waiting in the wings, so he could live unrecognized. And I doubt very strongly that he would have flown off to live on some remote little island in the Caspian Sea. I think rather like Osama bin Laden, he would be hiding in plain sight, every day gloating in the satisfaction of his legendary disappearing act. Look around next time you go out. You just might spot him. Someone, someplace is probably standing next to him this very minute. By now he might be bald or have a beard and probably a good size gut to go along with it. Once he even told me he might have one of his legs amputated. This way no one would suspect him of being Andy Kaufman, who had two good legs.

  This obsession with faking his death became just that—an obsession. No matter what time of day or night, if he had an idea or question about it and needed a sounding board, I was there, much to the chagrin of many a live-in girlfriend. Even though he never discussed how to fake his death with Lynne (after all, he was planning on fooling her also … and did), the around-the-clock phone calls about anything and everything just kept coming incessantly.

  ***

  Lynne

  Oh, man, the phone thing. I hate talking on the phone and it’s a testament to my love for Andy that I tolerated talking to him for hours at night when he or I were away from one another. He would talk endlessly because he knew it drove me crazy! I’d try to disengage and say I had to go to sleep and he’d say, “OK, good night …” But then, just try to hang up! He’d say goodnight but not hang up, then you’d say “Are you still there?” “Yes, alright, good night” … silence, silence, silence … “Hello?” “OK, you hang up first.” “No, you hang up first.” “No, you hang up” … for hours. Hours! But at the same time it was so much fun. Andy was like a little kid.

  ***

  Ring …

  B: Hi, Andy!

  A: How did you know it’s me?

  B: It’s three a.m. Who els
e would it be?

  A: Sorry!

  B: It’s OK. What’s up?

  A: What’s the name of that stuff that Juliet swallowed to make her appear dead?

  B: I don’t know. I think Shakespeare made up the whole story.

  A: No, it was real! He just took it from some newspaper article he read.

  B: Wait a second. Are you telling me Romeo and Juliet really happened?

  A: Yes! We learned it in school. William Shakespeare wrote his play based on a real incident that actually occurred in Verona, Italy. You can actually visit Juliet’s tomb. It’s a big tourist attraction.

  B: Is she in it?

  A: I don’t know. I never went. I guess she is.

  B: Well, I’m sure if you researched it some, you could find out what it is. How long does it knock you out for?

  A: I don’t know. I remember once in science class, the teacher injected a live frog with the stuff or something like it.

  B: What happened?

  A: It died—or at least it looked dead. The next day it was hopping back around in its tank.

  B: No shit!

  A: Yeah, I saw it with my own eyes. If I can get ahold of some of that stuff, I’ll swallow it, appear dead, and then come back when no one’s looking.

  B: How do you know when that’s going to be? And how can you be sure no one’s around?

  A: Well, I would imagine after you die, like in a hospital bed, they take you down to the morgue. I can wake up there in the middle of the night. And if I already have the substitute body in the same morgue, I’ll just switch toe tags. Then I’ll put on a fake beard and clothes and simply walk out. Presto change-o! Look, I know it’s not going to be that simple, Bob. Maybe I’ll pay one of those Mexican guys who clean up there to help me. Most of those guys are illegal, anyway. They’d probably be happy to make a few extra bucks.

  B: What if they wheel you down to the morgue and start performing an autopsy on you? Hell, they can kill you while you’re still alive and not even know it.

  A: Why would they need to perform an autopsy on me? They already would know what I died of.

  B: And what is it you’re going to die from?

  A: I don’t know yet. I’m still working on it. I’m in no rush. I won’t do it until it’s perfect. All right, talk to you tomorrow.

  B: Great, Andy. Now I’m going to have nightmares about bodies in morgues.

  A: You want me to send a hooker over? I got phone numbers. She could be there in an hour. It’s on me. I had three working girls already this week.

  B: Three? Why not just fuck groupies …

  A: They’re more trouble than they’re worth … You want a hooker?

  B: No, save your money. You’re going to need it. I don’t think faking your death is going to be cheap.

  A: But you do admit it’s doable.

  B: Of course it’s doable. People get away with it every day.

  A: Can you imagine how great this will be when I actually do it?

  B: Well, just remember: If you get caught, they don’t give out chocolate ice cream in jail. Speaking of jail, you better send me a piece of paper stating I had nothing to do with helping you.

  CHAPTER 2

  How Jim Carrey Got the Job

  Lynne

  I slept on the couch in his room (Cedars-Sinai being the hospital to the stars, one could get away with anything there, doctors in the pocket of the famous). I rarely left his side. It was around 6 p.m. on May 16, 1984. Andy’s condition hadn’t changed and I hadn’t slept for days. I lay down on the couch at the far end of the room and fell immediately asleep. The next thing I remember is hearing ALL the Kaufman family voices shouting, “Andy, hang on! Don’t go!” I literally flew from the couch to his bedside. I can’t recall my feet hitting the floor. When I got to Andy’s bedside, he was surrounded by his family. There was no room for me at the head of the bed, so I stood and held one of Andy’s feet while he died. (Hmmmm. Symbolic for how the Kaufmans treated me, eh?) Later, I was standing at the head of the bed, stroking and kissing his forehead; cold (holy shit, could that have been a body double?). I did see him (or whoever) take his last breath.

  Then the nightmare of the Kaufmans invading my home. Andy and I had rented a house in Pacific Palisades after he found out about the cancer. Of course, HE rented the house, not me. After Andy died, Stanley, his dad, “graciously” let me stay in the house for one month. After that, get out.

  There they were in MY house. But they felt entitled because they were Andy’s family; who the fuck was I? I had actually asked Michael, Andy’s brother, a few days earlier if they would please move to a hotel because I needed solitude in my home. I remember that he just stared at me. He didn’t respond. And I realize now it was because they didn’t consider me of any consequence at all. It was THEIR house, not mine.

  Lynne has had friction with the Kaufmans since then. This has escalated in the last few years to some serious threats of lawsuits. Andy would roll over in his grave … if he were in it.

  ***

  Take your pick: either Andy Kaufman faked his death or he was a psychic. For it is an indisputable fact that he not only named the disease he would die of, but also the exact hospital he would die in of that disease, and he did it a full four years before he supposedly died.

  It appears for all to see in black and white on page 124 of The Tony Clifton Story, a script that Andy and I wrote together for Universal Studios in 1980. I remember the day he rushed into our bungalow on the Universal lot quite worked up, nothing short of in a frenzy. “We’ve got to change the script, Bob. I just had a great idea.” I said, “Fantastic. What is it?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that he had scribbled on at 3:00 a.m. the night before and handed it to me. It read: “Tony Clifton dies of cancer at Cedars-Sinai hospital in Hollywood, California.” We put it in the script. In 1984, “Andy Kaufman would die of cancer at Cedars-Sinai hospital,” proof enough that he had decided four years earlier the exact disease he would use to fake his death and the hospital that he would stage it in. This fact has been recently verified by Universal Studios’s script department, which has had the original script in its possession for the last thirty-five years. A statistician from the University of California—Berkeley ran an odds-predictability study listing all the possible ways one could die and a total of all the hospitals in the U.S. Statistically, the odds of someone’s predicting what he would die from and the hospital he would die in are 780,000,000 to one. Basically an impossibility. That S.O.B. knew back in 1980 exactly what he would supposedly die from and where.

  Actual page from The Tony Clifton Story, written in 1980, proof that Andy had decided four years before his supposed passing in 1984 what disease and hospital he would use to fake his death.

  Equally remarkable is the last recording on the Andy and His Grandmother album (track 17), where the microcassette tape recorder catches Andy and me talking candidly. Out of nowhere, Andy comes up with the idea of faking his death for the first time. The recording ends with my saying, “Andy, you fake your death and nobody believes you, you’ll go on forever … immortal.” Kaufman’s reply is, “GREAT!”

  When the Kaufman family heard of the release of the tapes, they tried everything in their power to stop it, sending threatening legal letters to both Lynne and Drag City, the company that released them. I couldn’t help but wonder why they were so concerned. Was it Andy openly talking about faking his death? What were they trying to hide? I could only wonder if maybe they were in cahoots with him all along. Maybe Andy agreed with my thinking that it would be a cruel trick to make his mother believe he was dead when he wasn’t and told her. Does track 17 reveal Andy’s smoking gun? Did it have to be censored by the Kaufman family at all costs because it was a clear indication that he faked his death? What or who is in his crypt? His fans want to know. Just ninety minutes with a backhoe at the grave site and everyone can get a good night’s sleep.

  Working with Andy was like working with the great Houdin
i, and time and time again I’d see him go to incredible, painstaking lengths to pull off illusions. So why not this? Why not the greatest illusion of all time? And I wish I had a nickel for every time he called me, turning it around over and over in his mind on just how to get away with it. And those odds: 780,000,000 to one. How could he possibly have predicted the disease and hospital years before? And after all, wasn’t it I who told him, “Andy, you even have to fool me.” Had he even fooled Dr. Zmudee, as he called me? Maybe temporarily. After all, there was a body, wasn’t there? There is a death certificate, isn’t there? No, he did it. I know he did it. The brilliant bastard faked his own death, and he’s going to return thirty years later, just like he said, and it will be the single most amazing event in the history of showbiz!

  ***

  One day my phone rang—surprisingly, it was Danny DeVito on the other end. I’d met Danny a few years earlier on the set of Taxi, but that was nothing that would warrant a personal call. He was quite excited: “Bob, I have great news! Universal Studios is going to make a major motion picture about Andy’s life, and I’m going to produce it through my company, Jersey Films. I’m even getting my old buddy, Milos Forman, two-time Academy Award winner, to direct it. And as Andy’s writer and best friend, I want you involved in a big way. This film is going to be amazing.” After my shock subsided, I congratulated Danny and told him how proud Andy would be of him. I then asked what he needed me to do. He said, “For now, nothing. I’ll be contacting you in a week or so with more details. Till then, hold tight and don’t tell anyone. I want everything signed, sealed, and delivered before we make an announcement.” “I totally understand, Danny.” Danny’s last words to me were, “I’ll call you back in no longer than two weeks.” When I hung up the phone, I was ecstatic. Finally, Andy would get his due and, unashamedly, so would I. After all, ever since his “supposed” death, I had done everything within my power to keep his memory alive.