F. SCOTT FITZGERALD would have us believe there are no second acts in American lives. But then, he never met Rodney Dangerfield.
Dangerfield, who died last week at age 82, was the consummate late-bloomer. In that regard, his story was quintessentially American. After all, what could be more American than failing at your chosen profession, quitting at age 28, then starting all over again at 40 and becoming a multimillionaire household name? Rodney put the lie to Fitzgerald’s dictum–and in the process confirmed one of George Eliot’s: It is never too late to be what you might have been.
I know, I know. Associating Fitzgerald and Eliot with Dangerfield is like mixing Belvedere and Grey Goose vodkas with Budweiser. Rodney was Joe Six-Pack. He defined “unpretentious.” He was just a charming, self-deprecating schlub who made an underdog image the centerpiece of his show business career.
That’s why people loved him. And being lovable was a key to Rodney’s success. He knew this. Consider the advice he offered to young comics in his autobiography, released earlier this year: “From the moment you walk onstage, try to make the people like you. That’s the most important thing. If they like you, you can get a big laugh with a mediocre joke. If they don’t like you, you’ve got some serious thinking to do about your career choice.”
Audiences sure did like Rodney. He appeared on The Tonight Show a record number of times (more than 70). He won a Grammy in 1981. He received the Lifetime Creative Achievement Award at the 1994 American Comedy Awards. His famous getup–white shirt and red tie–is permanently displayed at the Smithsonian.
My introduction to Rodney came in the 1992 movie Ladybugs. It features Dangerfield coaching a girls’ soccer team–not his most memorable role. Afterward, I wanted to see Caddyshack, but my parents felt some of the humor was, ahem, a bit off the fairway for a kid my age.
When I finally did watch Caddyshack, I understood why it turned Rodney into a big-screen star. His character, the über-rich loudmouth Al Czervik, is brilliant. Or, more accurately, Rodney is brilliant. His delivery and timing are perfect. He makes crass jokes laugh-out-loud funny.
This water-into-wine dexterity was a Dangerfield hallmark. So were his classic one-liners. Rodney told quick jokes–period. Jokes directed at, well, mainly his own personal shortcomings. Nothing preachy. Nothing political. Nothing about Democrats or liberals, Republicans or conservatives. Everyone could enjoy Rodney’s humor–and just about everyone did.
He was a stand-up comic, but a throwback. Modern stand-up tends to be heavily cynical and dominated by topical (and often partisan) “observations.” Think Jerry Seinfeld, Jon Stewart, Dennis Miller, Bill Maher, etc. That’s fine. I love Seinfeld’s shtick and think Miller is a riot. But what ever happened to plain-old joke-tellers? The Henny Youngmans? The guys who would get on stage and let fly with pithy one-liners?
Their breed–Rodney’s breed–would seem hopelessly atavistic in today’s stand-up market. Yet somehow, Rodney himself never did. He stayed hip into his 80s.
I always chalked it up to his self-mockery. Dangerfield was the king of self-belittlement, known above all for his “I get no respect” routine.
“When I started in show business,” he’d say, “I played one club that was so far out, my act was reviewed in Field and Stream.” Or he’d crack, “I’m not a sexy guy. I went to a hooker. I dropped my pants. She dropped her price.”
Rodney had hundreds of lines like these. Here are two more: “My wife and I were happy for 20 years. Then we met.” “I tell ya, I get no respect from anyone. I bought a cemetery plot. The guy said, ‘There goes the neighborhood!'”
It was timeless, Everyman humor that had a universal appeal. Small wonder he influenced multiple generations of comedians. Jack Benny once told Rodney, “Your image goes into the soul of everyone.” As Dangerfield himself put it, “I’m the masses.”
It’s inspiring to know Rodney’s razor-sharp wit persisted through his final days. In late August, he underwent heart surgery at UCLA Medical Center. He then fell into a coma.
When he briefly emerged, reporters asked how long he’d be at the hospital. Dangerfield quipped, “If things go right, I’ll be there about a week, and if things don’t go right, I’ll be there about an hour and a half.”
He is an American icon. I’ll miss his jokes a whole lot. We all will.
–Duncan Currie
