Controversial topics and provocative language may be a staple of contemporary comedy—or, in the case of hot comic Chris Rock, just about his whole act—but someone had to set the stage, and that someone was Lenny Bruce. Before his death from a drug overdose at age 40 in 1966—the culmination of a swift downward slide accelerated by his many arrests and trials—Bruce forever altered the landscape of comedy. "Stand-up at that time was all one-liners and jokes about your mother-in-law," says filmmaker Bob Weide, whose current HBO documentary, Lenny Bruce: Swear to Tell the Truth, was up for an Oscar last spring and is now nominated for two Emmys. "Lenny was the first guy to go onstage and talk to the audience like he was talking to you at the table."
Bruce also liked to challenge social mores with frank and profane riffs on the Pope (he "looks like the Birdman of Alcatraz and Eichmann combined"), Jesus (he visits St. Patrick's and wonders "what the hell 50 Puerto Ricans were doing living in one room when that stained-glass window is worth 10 G's a square foot") and racism ("How to Relax Your Colored Friends at Parties" was a popular bit). "Lenny was the first person who made the kinds of scathing attacks on the icons, the politicians and the church that are now acceptable," says attorney Martin Garbus, who defended Bruce in his New York obscenity trial in 1964. "And Lenny paid the price for doing that." Arrested a dozen times, Bruce wound up destitute, addicted to hard drugs and out of work, succumbing finally to his self-destructive urges in the bathroom of his Hollywood Hills house. The photo of his naked body sprawled across the floor became a symbol of defeat, but his squalid demise also enhanced his image as a martyr—a pioneer who cleared a path for Richard Pryor, George Carlin and others. "He was the Jesus Christ of alternative stand-up," says cutting-edge comic Eddie Izzard, who is cast as Bruce in a London play. "He died, and it opened all the doors."
Early in life, Bruce embraced the show business traditions he later tore down. Born Leonard Alfred Schneider on New York's Long Island, Bruce was influenced by his eccentric mother, Sally Marr, a dance teacher who later became a comedian. (She divorced his father, Mickey Schneider, a podiatrist, when Bruce was young.) Marr, who died in 1997, introduced her son to the entertainment world by taking him to a Times Square burlesque show when he was about 12.
Bruce enlisted in the Navy in 1942 but wangled a discharge by dressing in drag and in 1948 got his big break on Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts. His skill as a mimic earned him bookings at small clubs, establishing him as a run-of-the-mill Borscht Belt-style comic. Then in 1951, Bruce married Harriet Lloyd, a stripper known as Hot Honey Harlowe. Before long they were working in L.A. strip joints, with Bruce honing his risqué act as an emcee. "He was transformed, like Jekyll and Hyde," says comedian Jackie Gayle. "The new Lenny was so exciting, like listening to a Charlie Parker solo."
Bruce's manic energy and experimental ways served him less well offstage. He and Honey had a daughter, Kitty, in 1955, but, driven apart by his partying and drug use, they divorced two years later. Bruce won legal custody of Kitty but was hardly a stay-at-home dad. Kitty Bruce, now 43 and living in Pittston, Pa., says today of her upbringing, "All this child wanted was a white picket fence and a sense of normalcy."
Bruce's growing fame, however, didn't allow for that. In 1959, Steve Allen gave him a shot at prime time on his NBC variety show. "Lenny was a sharp departure," says Allen. "He had the courage to say whatever he thought as a social critic." Christened King of the Sick Comics, he sold out clubs, recorded albums and saw his notoriety grow. But in 1961, Bruce was arrested in Philadelphia for possessing narcotics. He publicly accused law officials of suggesting a bribe could make the charges go away, a claim many believe led to another arrest five days later, this time for using obscene language during a San Francisco show. "If God made the body, and the body is dirty," he would say in defense of his act, "the fault lies with the manufacturer." A jury acquitted Bruce, but arrests followed in nearly every city he played. "They wanted to shut up Lenny Bruce," Honey, now 71 and living in Honolulu, said later, "and they found a way to do it."
The showdown would come during Bruce's 1964 gig at New York City's Cafe Au Go Go. "Eleven officers came in and took notes," says club owner Howard Solomon, who was arrested along with Bruce. Broke and strung out on drugs, Bruce became obsessed with the legal nuances of his case. But despite his poignant pleadings—"please don't lock up these words," he begged—a panel of judges found him guilty' of obscenity and sentenced him to four months in prison. "The trial killed him," says his lawyer Garbus. "By the time it was over he was a wreck." He spent his last years poring over appeals and sinking deeper into drugs. "He became humorless," says a friend, club owner Maynard Sloate. "He absolutely destroyed himself."
Others blame authorities who couldn't handle Bruce's disdain for hypocrisy. "He may have died from an overdose of police," says producer Phil Spector, who worked with Bruce late in his life, "but he also died for your sins." That he paved the way for every taboo-busting comic working today seems small consolation to those who cherished him. "He was this warm Jewish guy who loved kidding people," says comedian Mort Sahl. "Lenny wasn't a sick comic. What he was was truthful."
Alex Tresniowski
Champ Clark in Los Angeles and Eve Heyn in New York
- Contributors:
- Champ Clark,
- Eve Heyn.
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