Jackie Mason first came into my life via HBO and his comedy special they broadcast. He was a little too over my head and slower than the Robin Williams/Sam Kinison high octane kind of comedy I first experienced (and being too young for that too, but c'est la vie).
There was the awful Caddyshack sequel followed by his short-lived TV show (probably "Chicken Soup") that my Mom rooted for. Then he came back in my life during graduate school. I worked for Boston's Coffee Connection, just as Starbucks was about to wipe them from existence after buying the chain. During a quick shift at the Starbucks on the corner of Charles and Beacon, I saw a cut-out Boston Herald story focusing on Mason insulting Starbucks coffee. It was displayed on a back bulletin board like a wanted poster. Mason was my hero for a brief time.
In the late nineties, I served dead fish in a mall. The dead fish restaurant owners were obsessed with celebrities. Waiters were pushed to bend over backwards and do everything they could for a variety of stars while biding time for the owner to come by and potentially talk to them about endorsements. The reward was often terrible tips or no tip at all (and this might be my only opportunity to tell Ella Joyce that she can go to hell).
Mason didn't receive any special treatment when he came in one afternoon. People who were names often called ahead to see if they could get special seating, free appetizers and the like. Mason just dropped in. No one recognized him except for me. He took a table with three other older people I knew I had seen on TV or film before couldn't quite put names to. I asked if I should do anything special for Mason. The manager said no. He couldn't be bothered.
It was a weekday afternoon, dead, and he was likely my only table. I was professional and went through the five minute menu spiel we were all forced to do back in the day. Mason politely listened.
When I finally took a breath, he said, "Do you do that for everybody? God bless you!"
A working comic nearly all his life, he appreciated someone hustling the way I was.
He ordered peas and rice, perhaps some shrimp wontons. It was a small meal for older people with normal appetites. The tip was reasonable.The politeness made up for any dashed dreams of a grand payday. I'd never see him again, of course.
Years later, I heard a snippet of a interview with shock radio host Mancow. Broke my heart a little, but not altogether unexpected, given his material.
I was a service peon, less than nobody, and he treated me more nicely than just about anyone did during that time. What a mensch.
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