Montreal Comedy Festival, 1993
She’s at a front table overdressed, sipping a warm beer. Her heart pounds as she preens knowing when it’s over, she’ll be the one on his arm.
The crowd is noisy, restless as servers scurry around for last minute orders, but then the lights dim…
He struts onto the stage, like a gunslinger coming into town, the way a pal of his likes to describe him, his gracious swagger taking the mike.
The room roars at his mere presence while standing centerstage humbly basking in their approval.
He quells it with one hand, “What, do ya all owe me money?”
They roar louder.
Now I know how Mrs. Sinatra feels, or Jerry, when she comes to see Mick. He belongs to everyone, but to no one…a force self-possessed onto himself.
He said fine, when Bruce asked, if they could add another show.
See, there was no one like him then, now, or ever.
December 16, 1961-February 26, 1994