Laughing was one of the best parts of my childhood.
My parents were not ideologically driven. They were not religious either, although my
father had some religious inclinations. He would have been a good rabbi, learned,
judicious and fair. He looked the part: white-haired, reliable. My mother did not
even remotely resemble a rebbetzin, in her orange pedal pushers and large gold loops.
She read novel after novel, and chain smoked all her life.
They were observant in the way that some people were religious in the 50’s and 60’s.
No ham or shellfish in our house. Shrimp cocktails in restaurants, buttery lobster
rolls at the beach every summer. Their rules were arbitrary, and interesting. For
example: my brother and I were named for dead ancestors. My father’s father Oscar
died a few months before my birth. They interpreted the naming tradition – if
interpretation is the right word – to mean that my name should begin with an O. So I
was called Olive. My mother later explained that it took her two
days to tell my father she didn’t like Olive. They then called me Esther because they
believed it was a legitimate cousin to Oscar. What in the world could that mean?
My brother’s name was more straightforward: Sam for my mother’s father Shmuel.
As for what else they believed, justice and hard work and living a good life and humor
as a way to exist in this world. My father who looked more Talmudic than comedic
surprising sense of humor and my mother loved to laugh. We would watch comedians
on television, and every year in February we would go with friends and their families
to Grossingers, where live comedians were the highlight of every day. We Jews love
to laugh – at least most of us do. People who had no sense of humor were discussed in
our house –and I still remember who they were. At Grossingers, we heard many
comedians live, including Jackie Mason, Jackie Vernon, Henny Youngman, and so
many others. We loved them all, especially Buddy Hackett who would make his
audiences sick from laughing.
Hackett, born Leonard Hacker in Brooklyn, was the son of a garment worker and an
upholsterer. He had Bells Palsy as a child, and his face and language were affected.
But that didn’t get in his way. He could tell a story like no one else, and I became
obsessed at an early age, maybe because of Hackett, of learning how to tell a story.
But no one was ever as good as Buddy.
These difficult days when we often quote Audre Lorde’s Joy is an act of resistance,
I often think about Buddy Hackett, and one of my favorite stories he told, about
animals and farmers and us.
I laugh when I hear it as much as I ever did. Some good things are a constant in life.
https://www.google.com/search?q=Buddy+Hackett+duck+joke&source=hp&ei=19vRYuqSG8-y5NoPhqGLmA4&iflsig=AJiK0e8AAAAAYtHp543jvWx1U4FIF7JAosE6b094UmXM&ved=0ahUKEwiq2pCG6_v4AhVPGVkFHYbQAuMQ4dUDCAw&uact=5&oq=Buddy+Hackett+duck+joke&gs_lcp=Cgdnd3Mtd2l6EAMyBQgAEIAEOgsILhDHARDRAxCRAjoLCC4QxwEQrwEQkQI6EQguEIAEELEDEIMBEMcBENEDOg4ILhCABBCxAxDHARDRAzoLCC4QsQMQgwEQ1AI6CAgAELEDEIMBOgUILhCRAjoLCC4QgAQQsQMQgwE6CAgAEIAEELEDOgsILhCABBCxAxDUAjoICC4QgAQQsQM6DgguELEDEIMBEMcBEK8BOggIABCABBDJAzoFCAAQkgM6DgguEIAEELEDEIMBENQCOgUILhCABDoECAAQAzoICC4QgAQQ1AI6BQgAEIYDUABYgyNglyVoAHAAeACAAXCIAYQOkgEEMjEuMpgBAKABAQ&sclient=gws-wiz
Thanks for this, Esther C. I'd never heard or seen this one before. Hackett was a genius.
Ernie Kovacs, Hungarian ( I believe ) and not Jewish ( I believe) made me laugh till it hurt. He never worked the Catskills ( I think) but his humor was timeless ( I know ).