Many years ago, during my first stint living in the Windy City, Jimmy Wales of Wikipedia fame lived with us. During that time, he told us a funny story. He was in a park in a major city, I believe it was Central Park, but I can’t be certain. He saw an aggressive mime bothering someone in the way mimes do, although this one seemed even more active and annoying than usual. Suddenly, the man serving as the “audience” for the mime just slugged the mime, knocking him down. I laughed – haven’t we all wanted to do this at some point in our lives?
This would have just been a cute story, except that Jimmy related seeing Williams on a talk show many years later – TELLING THE SAME STORY! Only in that version, Williams was the mime being slugged. I was laughing hysterically now, imaging my favorite comedian, being punched by some stranger who never knew his brush with fame.
All these many years later, I’m as stunned as everyone else at Mr. Williams’ death from suicide. Even as a physician who cares for many patients with depression, knowing the dangers it brings, I feel as sucker-punched as Williams-as-mime must have.
I vividly remember the first time I saw Williams on TV – in his role as Mork from Ork on my favorite childhood show, Happy Days. His appearance on that family sit-com, in justice, should have been the “jump-the-shark” moment for the original “jump-the-shark” moment. We would be calling such derailments of successful shows that have over-run their course the “alien-from-Ork” moments, I believe – except that Williams was just so damn funny.
I heard that, during the try-outs for the part of Mork, each applicant was asked to sit like an alien. Williams spontaneously chose his now-famous head-down/ass-up posture, which nearly won him the role by itself.
There is nobody I can think of who filled my life with laughter as much as Robin Williams. I watched Mork and Mindy religiously. Even as a kid, I would stay up late, after begging my parents, to see him on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. I watched every one of the charity specials that he co-hosted with Billy Crystal and Whoopie Goldberg. I have seen virtually all of his movies, especially the comedies. I love to laugh, and nobody made me laugh more than he did. The manic craziness, combined with the abstract flight-of-ideas, and the obvious delight in response of an audience – any audience – was infectious beyond belief. There is just nothing like it.
I have read that one of the “reasons”, if such can be adduced after someone suffering from depression kills themselves, that he committed suicide was a recent diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease. Since I treat many people with this disease, I wanted to comment that I hope that’s not true. Many people with PD have a wonderful quality-of-life with the diagnosis, receiving treatments for it. But I can’t help but wonder if, after playing the role of neurologist Oliver Sacks in the movie Awakenings, Robin was reminded of the unfortunate outcomes from that initial episode of using carbidopa/levodopa to treat a variant of PD. But it is haunting to watch that film and not wonder a bit.
Now that Mr. Williams has written the final chapter of his life, he has left a hole in the universe, it seems. His life, as much as anyone’s, was a singularity – and like the outer space version of such, it has left a black hole behind. I wonder at this feeling of loss, this presence-of-an-absence, that some people leave behind. It’s the converse of the bright flare of joy such people bring to our lives, and I’m going to try and le that shine on in my memory, as much as possible. He really was the funniest person I’ve ever seen, and I see in my mind’s eye, him being punched for being TOO good a mime, with an astonished Jimmy Wales looking on, heading out to change the world in another way. And you can read all about one due to the vision of the other.