Growing Up Laughing_ My Story and the Story of Funny - Marlo Thomas [71]
But for me the most astonishing reaction would come years later, when I interviewed Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg for my book The Right Words at the Right Time. When I left a message at her office, I wasn’t sure she’d even know who I was. But when she returned my call, she told me that she had always loved Free to Be.
“Really?” I asked. “Did you read it to your children?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, “and I always take it with me when I speak on feminism.” That was the best review of all.
But I’ll never forget the words of the Boston Globe critic the day the show aired:
“Keep your children away from the set tonight.”
In 1972, the world wasn’t changing as fast as we hoped.
AROUND THIS TIME, my father was campaigning for a local Los Angeles politician whose platform, I thought, was particularly questionable. Dad was a conservative Republican, and I a liberal Democrat, so we usually left politics out of our conversations. But I had to comment on this.
“Dad,” I said, “how can you campaign for this guy? He’s a creep. And, frankly, I think it looks really bad for the whole family.”
As usual, my father had the perfect comeback.
“Oh, I get it,” he said. “I’m free to be you . . . not free to be me.”
The man was hard to beat.
Chapter 37
One-Girl Show—Lily Tomlin
Over the years, we have all had the pleasure of meeting the many outrageous characters that live inside the head of Lily Tomlin—a snorting telephone operator, a precocious little girl, a homeless bag lady. And though each one is an offbeat creation, plucked from the playground of Lily’s boundless imagination, we believe we know them all, and have as much compassion for them as we have fun watching them. That’s because Lily never judges them. She simply loves—and lives—them. You can’t help but wonder where all these characters came from, and when I asked Lily, I was swept up in a colorful story, brimming with a cast of exquisite eccentrics, and starring the little Lily herself.
—M.T.
“I always wanted to be somebody, but I see, now,
I should’ve been more specific.”*
Lily: When I was a little girl growing up in Detroit, my father used to take me with him to bars and bookie joints. And as any kid does with their dad, I entertained. He’d set me on the bar and I’d sing a little song.
My father was kind of a street guy, but always dependable in his work. He worked more than thirty years in a noisy factory. While my mom was light-hearted, sweet and witty—right up until the day she died—my dad was more morose. He was also a big drinker and gambler. That wasn’t a great thing for him, obviously, but, as a teen, I never felt that I was affected by his drinking. I’d come home with friends, and he’d be passed out on the couch. So I’d just push his legs aside, and sit down.
“We’re so good at it, the ability to delude ourselves
must be an important survival tool.”
I’m not sure how other kids develop a sense of humor, but for me, it began when I started imitating the people in the old apartment house where I grew up. Later when we got a TV I’d see women doing comedy on The Ed Sullivan Show—comediennes like Beatrice Lillie and Jean Carroll. I was like a performance artist in that way. I’d wear my mother’s slip, throw pearls around my neck and do their jokes. I especially loved Jean. She was very attractive, always dressed glamorously and had a real breezy style about her, like:
“I’ll never forget the first time I saw my husband, standing on a hill, his hair blowing in the breeze, and he too proud to run after it . . .”
I thought that was a scream. It still makes me laugh.
But most of my material came from that apartment house I grew up in on the west side of Detroit. It was a three-story building called the D’Elce—it was pronounced Delsie—and every single apartment