We'll Be Here For the Rest of Our Lives by Paul Shaffer Read Free Book Online

be hosting Ricky Layne and Velvel, a ventriloquist and his Jewish dummy.
    Ricky and Velvel, like Myron Cohen, were among Sullivan’s favorites. Ed had a fondness for Catskills chicken-soup humor, and of course my parents and I got a special kick out of Velvel, who actually spoke Yiddish. Starting in the fifties, Ed had been introducing middle America to the ways of funny Jews, thus preparing the country for an era when our brand of humor, from Woody Allen to Jerry Seinfeld, would prove popular with the masses. Back in the sixties, precisely because of Sullivan, Ricky Layne and Velvel were extremely popular. I was a fan. And when I learned that they would be coming to our synagogue to put on a show in support of an Israel bond drive, I was thrilled.
    So was the whole town. Ricky Layne and Velvel were so massive, the Israel bond drive couldn’t be contained. It had to be opened up to the goyim, including the mayor and the Pattersons, one of our city’s leading families. The Pattersons were our Kennedys, and my parents were proud to be included in their social circle. I had even fancied one of the Patterson daughters when we were in our early teens, but I was too shy to make a move. I may have missed a golden opportunity to relieve myself of what would become a burdensome virginity.
    On the eve of the bond drive, our
shul
was filled to the brim with Jews and gentiles alike. It was almost as if Ed Sullivan himself had come to Thunder Bay to present one of his favorite acts. But the irony was this: instead of Ed introducing the man and his dummy, the opening act was a Hasidic rabbi bent on selling Israel bonds.
    I can’t recall the name of the rabbi. But I can recall the power and passion of his plea for money. He was extraordinary, detailing the progress Israel had made while dramatizing the extremedanger the country still faced. When he was through, he asked for pledges, and though a few came dribbling in, they were modest. After all, this was Thunder Bay, not Manhattan. The rabbi wound up again and delivered another strong pitch, this time heightening the drama and raising the volume of his voice. The congregation responded, but only slightly.
    The rabbi got pissed.
Real
pissed. He let go with a stream of vituperative accusations and flung insults at the integrity of Canadian Jewry. We were irresponsible. We were cheap. We were cowardly. We were misinformed. We were shaming our forefathers. We were shaming ourselves. And as the rabbi went a little nuts in his chastisements, his Yiddish-accented English grew more Yiddish. Seated next to the very goyish Pattersons, my assimilated parents slid down in their chairs, hoping this would soon end. But the more the rabbi’s mission faltered, the less giving the crowd, the crazier the rabbi became. By the end, he was shouting in our faces and crying real tears.
    During the ordeal, my eye had been on the dummy whose face peeked out of the case carried by Ricky. While the rabbi was ranting, I quietly slipped over to take a better look at the dormant Velvel, the very doll I had seen so often on Sullivan. Just then, the rabbi, still raging, concluded his pitch. I watched as Ricky leaned down under the table, brought the dummy out of the case and slipped his hand up Velvel’s ass. Ricky looked at the man sitting next to him, the president of our congregation, and asked, “How the fuck am I supposed to do shtick now that this goddamn rabbi has reamed out the room?”
    “Don’t worry,” said our president. “After that, we’ll laugh at anything.”
    And we did.

Chapter 8
Here I Come to Save the Day
    Ricky Layne and Velvel bring to mind Andy Kaufman. Both acts operated from a unique and bizarre perspective. Ricky Layne’s was the first novelty act with which I had personal contact. Andy came much later in my life, but was perhaps the greatest novelty act of his time. Like Ricky, Andy had an alter ego. As it turned out, that alter ego bumped up against my actual ego.
    My first