By now you probably know that comedian Sid Caesar died today at the age of 91.
But judging by the paper-thin pieces I have been seeing on the web this afternoon, I am guessing many readers might not understand how seminal he was to the history of television and sketch comedy.
Caesar deserves some cultural context and honor for the fearless and pioneering figure he was.
Live television burned him up within a decade, leaving behind a guy addicted to amphetamines, downers and alcohol. But, oh my, did he burn bright with the energy of post-World-War-II American life in the early 1950s, when not even the founders of American television knew what the medium was, let alone could be.
Part hipster jazz musician and part Borsht Belt tummler, Caesar won a mainstream audience and then pushed it into cultural spaces most viewers could probably never imagine themselves going. John Belushi's samurai warrior? Caesar was there first with a crazed, Yiddish-speaking samurai.
Caesar regularly parodied foreign-language art films, like “The Bicycle Thief.” Think of that the next time you want to make some big, uninformed statement about how TV has “dumbed down” the culture since its earliest days.
In 1990, my wife, Christina Stoehr, and I wrote an article for the now long-gone "Memories Magazine" in connection with the 40th anniversary of the debut of Caesar's landmark "Your Show of Shows."
We interviewed Caesar and his brilliant sidekick, Carl Reiner, for the piece.
"We spoke to the people," Caesar told us. “You know? We did things the audience went through. We were beginning to see psychiatrists, and we were buying our first home, our first furniture and toys for our kids. Which is what America was going through at the time."
Foreign films, psychiatrists and a comic critique of the birth of the consumer society on TV every Saturday night at 9?
Couldn't be. Just ask all the revisionist or never-knew pop culture professors and media analysts who tell you 1950s TV was suburban-bland and Barbara Billingsley cooking Beaver's dinner in pearls and a dress.
No, I'm here to tell you tonight that it was there in Caesar's crazed, uninhibited sketch comedy. I was a little kid who understood almost none of it at the time, but I tuned in religiously every week because I was fascinated by the angry, manic energy of Caesar sweating through suit after suit on live TV looking as if he was going to explode right through the box into our living room.
"We were the first show to do situation comedy in sketch form," Carl Reiner told us. "We used to investigate our own lives. All the performers were from the lower class who had made enough money to be middle class. And we were all commenting on our new-found middle-classicity."
Class-consciousness on '50s prime-time TV? Never. We all know the tube was always a Don-Draper tool invented only to sell refrigerators and laundry detergent.
Yes, that was there as well in Caesar’s early work -- social class consciousness and commentary. And even as a little kid, I knew these guys were from the same "lower class" I was from, and to see them in the opening credits waving from the glittery, magical world of the Broadway Theater District told me there was another America out there, and it was possible to get there even from the world into which I was born.
I will always love Caesar & Co., as well as early TV, for telling me about that other world far away from the factory town where I lived.
Here's some of what Stoehr and I wrote for "Memories" about Caesar and his brilliant TV creation.
By fall, the newspaper was telling its readers the show "was not to be missed."
Indeed, "Shows" would become the third most popular program on television that year, with almost half the nation's television sets tuned to NBC on Saturday nights at 9 o'clock.