Foreword
It is an honor to write the foreword to this book for my good friend Bob Zmuda. Not many people know this, probably because they don’t care, but I got my first job in show business from Bob Zmuda. In 1986, I was a freshman at the University of Southern California where I was studying screenwriting. One day I was watching a show like Entertainment Tonight and saw Bob Zmuda holding a press conference where he was announcing the formation of Comic Relief, an organization which was about to put on a Live Aid–type event starring the world’s greatest comedians to benefit homeless health care centers across America.
At the time I had no interest in charity but I was obsessed with comedy, so I called the offices of Comic Relief immediately and told them I would love to volunteer and be a part of their new organization. I think they just recently got phones and didn’t really have an infrastructure, so they kind of blew me off. I was bummed because I could feel that this was going to be special. I had just watched Live Aid the year before while bussing tables at El Torito on Long Island, and the idea that all of my idols would be performing on one show was almost more than I could handle.
A few months later, I got a call from a man named Jacques Fiorentino who had come up with this idea with Bob, who said they needed help, and would I be willing to help them produce a series of smaller Comic Relief events at comedy clubs around the country. I was in! And for the next half decade I worked at Comic Relief for no pay and then for a little pay, producing benefits that raised over a million dollars for the homeless.
Those years working with Jacques Fiorentino, Bob Zmuda, Mario Bernheim, Paul Bennett, Caroline Thompson, and so many others were magical. I remember when I was told I could attend rehearsals for the show and then got to sit in the Universal Amphitheatre watching Robin Williams, Billy Crystal, and Whoopi Goldberg run through the show for the crew. I do not think I have had a more exciting comedy nerd moment since. On the nights of the big shows, I gave myself the job of being the one who had to walk up to every comedian on the lineup and have them sign fifty posters, which we sold for the charity. That gave me an excuse to have five minutes to talk with every comedian I had ever dreamed of speaking to—everyone from Pee Wee Herman and Sam Kinison, to George Carlin and Harold Ramis. I still have some of those posters!
As the years went by, I became more involved in the charity side of Comic Relief and was inspired by the tireless work that people around the country do to help the homeless receive much needed health care and other vital services. Dennis Albaugh ran the charity side of Comic Relief and was a real angel who taught me the importance trying to lift up those who are in need. He died way too soon of cancer and I think about his wisdom and his big heart constantly.
When dealing with Bob, there was always the specter of Andy Kaufman. I was a fan of Andy’s since I was a little kid and had watched almost all of his TV appearances religiously since I was in elementary school. I remember knowing that this comedian who I loved was about to be on a new show called Taxi. My aunt Sam was friends with one of the stars of Friday’s (an ABC sketch show), and I recall sitting up one night watching the wheels come off the cart when Andy hosted and let a sketch collapse on live television, resulting in a fist fight. I am still confused about who was and who wasn’t in on it.
Over the years I have forced Bob to tell me so many of the epic Andy Kaufman stories. I was able to spend a lot of time with Bob when he was working with Milos Forman and Jim Carrey on the biopic of Andy, Man on the Moon. Jim Carrey dreamed of getting this role, and I was with him running the camera when he made a video-taped audition at his home in character as Andy. When it was time to research the role, I traveled with Jim and visited Andy’s childhood home on Long Island, his grave, and met with his brother Michael and his father to talk about Andy and the film.
I remember Andy’s dad, Stanley, telling us he never understood what Andy was going through as a high school student in the nineteen sixties. They just didn’t understand each other and fought a lot. Andy was experimenting with drugs and was opening his mind to arts of all kinds. He told us that one day Andy gave him a copy of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and asked him to read it.
He said one afternoon he was reading it in his bedroom and was crying because he finally understood his son and what he was going through and inspired by, when suddenly Andy entered the room. He said they talked and cried and connected, and then sat there reading passages of the book to each other.
I felt privileged to watch Bob and these brilliant people talk about how they would approach making this important film. On several occasions, I went to visit the set and Jim would only speak to me as Andy or Tony Clifton. It was really uncomfortable because Jim and I are good friends, but it was also truly hilarious. I was there to see Jerry Lawler recreate the terrifying pile driver moment on Jim in front of a huge stadium of fans.
I was so glad to see the film come out so well and be such a monument to Andy’s work and the world’s love of him. He continues to inspire people to this day, but there will never be anyone quite like him. Not even close.
I am thrilled that Bob has chosen to write books about his time with Andy and the years since his death. As a comedy student, there is no end to my interest in all of the old stories and I think it is important that we keep his memory alive so people will continue to go on YouTube or where ever else people go these days and hunt down all of the wonderful, insane comedy moments that Andy and Bob created.
I also want to thank Bob for giving me my first job in comedy. He allowed me to enter a world I had dreamed of being a part of since I was ten and was always warm and kind to me, even when I was little runt who he should have mistreated and abused.
So enjoy this book and, if it makes you happy, send some money to homeless health care organizations in your town. I am sure Andy wouldn’t mind.
—Judd Apatow
National Health Care for the Homeless Council: www.nhchc.org
Health Care for the Homeless Inc.: www.hchmd.org
National Association of Community Health Centers: www.nachc.com
Alameda County Health Care for the Homeless: www.acphd.org
Probably no performer in the last four decades has been shrouded in more mystery than the enigma known as Andy Kaufman. Andy wanted it that way, and I, as his writer and best friend, along with Lynne Margulies, the love of his life, have dutifully supported those wishes over all these years. But now that his artistic legacy is forever finally secure and our own mortal coil may be unraveling sooner than we ever expected, it’s time for the truth to be finally told. And in Andy Kaufman’s case, that truth is even stranger than fiction.
Between Lynne and myself, we have over seventy years of firsthand knowledge of Andy. We have read just about every article ever written about him and spoken often to all those closest to him.
As you will see, we hold nothing back. Lynne reveals for the first time that Andy was bisexual and possibly died of AIDS. I know for a fact that he faked his death and will be returning. Either of these opinions is both shocking and explosive.
So sit back, pour yourself a glass of milk, open a bag of chocolate chip cookies, and read the true account of Andrew Geoffrey Kaufman. And may his life (or supposed death) be a testament to all avant-garde artists everywhere never to give up their vision, no matter how unusual that vision may be.
—Bob Zmuda
