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Goodbye Gilbert
I knew he wasn’t well
In a world full of evil and dysfunction, Gilbert Gottfried wasn’t just a funny guy. He was a good guy — and a good family man. I used to see him in the neighborhood occasionally — just walking down the street in his unassuming real-life posture.
I didn’t know Gilbert personally. But I’ve known his health was failing for several years. More than half a decade ago, I received an invitation to an Al Goldstein memorial party held at The Museum of Sex here in New York City. Al Goldstein (if you don’t know) was the publisher of the infamous Screw magazine, a wildly successful and popular (in its day) pornographic publication aimed at the intellectual elite.
Al had died about a year before and somebody decided to honor him — albeit a few days late. No matter. Invitees were directed to the second floor. As I stepped up to the staircase to ascend, Gilbert Gottfried was beside me telling the museum’s escort/employee “There’s no way I can get up those stairs. Do you have an elevator?” he asked with more than a note of fear in his voice.
Well, apparently, they had an elevator because minutes later, Gilbert gave a hilarious insult eulogy that I’m sure would have left Al convulsed. Al and Gilbert were friends and Gottfried had appeared several times on Goldstein’s Midnight Blue cable show.
