For many, Robin Williams was a hero. For me, he was a friend from afar that I never met, but always knew.
by Shimbo
I just want to be able to stop crying long enough to write this, because I don’t want to wait to do this. I need to be able to get this out.
It’s been about an hour or so since the world learned that Robin Williams passed away at the age of 63. That he died of an apparent suicide makes this news sting all the more, because my first thought immediately turned to how this didn’t have to happen. This wasn’t a heart attack, this wasn’t cancer. This wasn’t the end of a long illness, except that’s exactly what it was. That’s precisely what it was.
In the hours and days ahead, you’ll hear quite a bit about depression and suicide and how depression is real and should be paid attention to because when it’s too late, all you have is your own grief to deal with. I can say without question that depression is real. Depression is like a black cloud that follows you through rain, snow, sleet and even sun. But a depressed person will have good days, no, not every day is spent lying in bed (just like Brian Wilson did).
I know this because I myself suffer from depression just as my mother suffered from depression before me. Some days it feels like everything is nothing, and other days, it’s pretty OK.
But I don’t want this to be a rumination on depression. That’s not how I choose to remember this man. I don’t want to remember Robin Williams for his pain, I want to remember him for his immense gifts.
Robin Williams was one of the funniest, most talented people who ever walked the face of the earth, and THAT’S how he should be remembered, so let’s do that.
Like so many in my generation (X), my first exposure to Robin Williams was on Mork & Mindy. I still remember (and wish I still had) this toy of Mork that came in a plastic egg. It was probably my favorite toy as a kid. I held on to this thing so much that eventually the silver insignia on his chest rubbed off. Back then, I didn’t know who Robin Williams was, I just knew that this dude in the red suit climbed out of an egg and made me laugh, a lot.
I didn’t get to know who Robin Williams was until 1986, when HBO aired the stand up special Robin Williams: Live From the Met, which was an offshoot of his comedy album from the same year, A Night at the Met. For over an hour, Williams was a pure beam of energy, seamlessly sliding through riffs on drugs, sex, world affairs and children. As he was making the move from stand-up to movies full-time, this would be one of his last big concerts. I was only 9 when I first saw it, and while some things flew over my head (kids shouldn’t really get a crash course on cocaine) his manic, tireless delivery made me laugh my ass off.
Watching clips from it today, well, it helped dry the tears. Isn’t that what comedy is supposed to do?
I didn’t actually see my first (and still favorite) Williams film until after Live From the Met, and when I saw The World According to Garp, I didn’t like it. I didn’t like what happened and I hated the way it ended, but I kept watching it every time it came on HBO, and I grew to love it. From there, it was a love affair with his work. What made his work so seminal, so vital so important was the diversity. He was never going to be just a comedic actor, and by the same regard, and this is what made him near and dear to me, he didn’t do that thing that comedic actors do (I’m looking at you, Hanks) once they cross over into drama and never venture back into comedy. Sure, the results weren’t always good, but he was always, and I mean always a great performer.
In 2009, I got the opportunity to see him perform live during his “Weapons of Mass Destruction” tour. Somehow I managed to snag amazing seats the day of the performance, which was sold out. When I walked into the Indiana University Auditorium, the entire situation felt surreal. I was going to see one of my comedic heroes, but wait…this was Robin Fucking Williams. How does that even ever happen? I spent the entire show grinning like an idiot and laughing like a loon. For 90 minutes, he was a dynamo, he told jokes, did impressions (including his film version of Popeye) Then it was over, and the experience was such that it didn’t feel like it actually happened. I mean, how could it?
That’s how I choose to remember Robin Williams. Not as a troubled man who succumbed to the demons so many of us have, but rather as the man who gave so much to a world that desperately misses him so.
For that, all I can do is simply say, “Thank you.”
Hashim R. Hathaway (Uncle Shimbo) is the host of the Never Daunted Radio Network, and proud father to NeverDaunted.Net. You can reach him on Twitter @NeverDauntedNet