When Kenny Rogers died

Somehow, Kenny Rogers’ death turns into two hours of me regaling my family about 1970s variety shows. The conversation, which is likely just me monologuing, moves from Kenny Rogers to Glen Campbell to John Denver, Steve Lawrence and Edie Gorme, and finally Stiller and Meara, who are by far the most memorable of the bunch but, looking at the list, the odd men out.

There’s a point where I question whether my brain is strong enough to remember the names of Steve and Edie — I see flashes of them in my mind, Steve Lawrence’s buttoned-too-low shirt, the highlights in his perfectly 1970s-coiffed hair, how I was always sure he was best buds with Frank Sinatra, although I have no idea why. Edie was one of my mom’s favorite, I think, or maybe I’m confusing her with Robert Goulet. Their names seemed so similar when I was a kid.

I can’t actually come up with Steve Lawrence’s name. I push myself incredibly hard and somehow squeeze Edie Gourme’s name from my grey matter, but for some reason, I wrongly want to connect her to Sinatra. Maybe her co-star and Frank seemed equally slimy to my eight-year-old self?

I say this aloud — “I keep linking her to Frank Sinatra, but I know it isn’t Frank Sinatra and Edie Gourme,” and I don’t want to use the internet to find out her name, although I know for a fact that I could simply type in “1970s couple variety shows,” and Steve and Edie would be near the top of the list, likely after Sonny and Cher, but maybe no one else. When I remember Edie’s name, I breathe a sigh of relief and allow myself to search, which is when I find Steve Lawrence’s name and kick myself for not figuring that one out without the electronic crutch that people like me who live for nonsense trivia have become so dependent upon.

When I mention Stiller and Meara, however, my husband, who’s nine years younger than me, can finally play along. I mean, he knows Ben Stiller’s dad, Jerry. You know, Seinfeld. For a minute, however, he thinks that Ann Meara was Ray Romano’s mom in that show, but I reminded him, no, that wasn’t the case. “No,” I say. I go through the game shows they were on, something about apples and bananas, how she was taller than Jerry, and how they were hilarious. I say out loud, “Why weren’t they my parents? I’d FaceTime them with a glass of wine right now,” bringing back a discussion we’d had a few hours earlier about how pandemics make people drink in FaceTime and may actually b we bringing families closer together … but not mine ‘cuz my mom’s a stick in the mud.

Turning back to Ann Meara, I correct him again with, “The last time I saw her was in the movie Reality Bites, when she doesn’t give Winona Ryder’s character the job and Winona chases after her trying to impress her unsuccessfully with her knowledge of words and concepts that only … an … English … major … would give a shit about.”

And then I think I’m back to me. Because I’m pretty sure by this point, I’m spouting off only information that an English major who graduated in the late 1980s would know or care about.

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