Once there was this hero, who saved me from an existence of spiritual subsistence. The first time I saw Robin Williams’ masterpiece, A Night at the Met, I was hooked. On laughing. On the possibility of riotous, beautiful chaos. On the even more delicious prospect of that chaos’ meticulous orchestration. On the idea that making people laugh was what I might do with my life.
One of the greatest stand-up specials ever: Robin Williams – A Night at the Met
Back in the mid 1990’s I worked at a comedy club in Waikiki. One night, Robin had come to watch his friend Vic Dunlop perform. After the show was over and the customers gone, we locked the doors and hung out for a couple of hours. I couldn’t stop smiling for a week after that.
Flash forward to 2012 and I was performing at the Throckmorton Theatre in Mill Valley, CA. Robin Williams, who lived nearby, showed up backstage before I went on and hung out in the green room. OMG! I wanted to tell him about the time he met this awkward kid in Hawaii and how he had set me on my current path and ohmygodicantbelieve ad infinitum. But I know how that turns out with me sometimes, so I relegated myself to a big smile and a hello. After my set, Robin came over to give feedback and compliments, even quoting some of the stuff that made him laugh. That was among the best nights ever in my comedy life.
He touched many lives, in many ways. Through his stand-up, his movies, his wonderful improvisations with Jonathan Winters and Rick Overton and others. Even cut short as it was, his was a full life and an inspirational light. I hope he finally finds much deserved peace.
The world has lost a preeminent fount of joy with the passing of Robin Williams. And — to borrow a line from Robin’s John Keating character in Dead Poets Society — though the powerful play of life goes on without him, becoming more tragedy today than comedy, you may still contribute a verse. Robin Williams did. I know what mine will be. What will your verse be?
