It looks like yet another iconic bit of show business that’s been around for most of my existence is heading for the sunset. First, they dropped two soap operas I never watched from the daytime schedule (One Life to Live and All My Children—see previous, much-discussed blog for further insight) and now it’s been announced that Jerry Lewis will no longer be hosting his marathon Labor Day Muscular Dystrophy Telethon, a show that nobody in their right mind actually wants to sit through from start to finish, but one that most of us think of as a dependable television perennial, something that’s been around for over 40 years, annually, to, if nothing else, herald the beginning of the new school year. 

That’s exactly what the Jerry Lewis telethon meant to me for years; it was kind of a sobering reminder that the frivolities of summer had come to an end and that it was time to get serious. Serious indeed, because here you had one of the silliest of all comedians raising money to stop a degenerative illness. It became something of an obsession of Jerry’s, who wanted to remind you that inside that klutzy geek he played in the movies was a humanitarian who was ready to abrasively guilt you into donating your hard-earned dollars to a worthy cause.

If you grew up a youthful admirer  of Jerry Lewis’s strident slapstick, as I did, then you’ll remember how jarring it was to see the off-screen Jerry,  both on talk shows and on his epic-length telethon. He was often moody, impatient, longue-lizard smarmy, caustic, and had a temper that could be set off at a moment’s notice. Frankly, all these negative traits made him fascinating to watch. As I got older and started to find so much of his comedy less amusing than I did as a child (and came to the realization that his one-time show business partner, Dean Martin, who was obliged to play the straight man in their duo, was far more effortlessly funny than Jerry), I couldn’t help but stay curious enough about him to tune in to his telethon, randomly, during its 21 ½ hour length, to see just how Lewis might misbehave, as there were never any rules in Jerry’s world except his. He was known to make comments that were alternately racist, homophobic, misogynistic, and off-handedly rude; all in the pursuit of humor. Well, in the cigarette-puffing, booze-swilling nightclub universe he was weaned on, that’s how everybody behaved, as far as he was concerned. And damn be the world that moved on and insisted this kind of stuff was no longer acceptable in polite society.

This unpleasant side was a tad painful to digest because  I had fond memories of so many Lewis moments from his movies while growing up. Over the years, I’ve revisited many of these and have come away with mixed feelings. Despite his none-too-subtle insistence on making his presence felt, loudly, not all of what he  did was memorable. There were, however, some gems scattered along the way, including a good deal of The Bellboy (his efforts to restore a clay statue to its original look and a surprising gay gag involving a Stan Laurel imitator are among my favorites), most of The Nutty Professor (one of my earliest movie-going memories was his use of white-outfitted revelers being mistaken for bowling pins), and select moments from The Errand Boy (“I’m drowning” … if you’ve seen the film, you’ll get the joke), The Ladies Man (just the set design alone is inspired), and Who's Minding the Store? (cattle stampede sound effects to indicate overly eager shoppers), among others.

So, basically Jerry Lewis is a mixed bag. He’s controversial, and he’s done enough bad things to make people flat out hate him. Say his name and you’re never going to get a neutral reaction. But maybe that’s what makes him someone I’ve been happy to have around throughout my life. He knows how to make himself count. He’s one of a kind. He’s a legendary show business figure, in spite of his shortcomings. And maybe seeing Jerry in his tuxedo, wearily trying to raise money for Muscular Dystrophy as he got older, less relevant and less vibrant possessed a certain degree of poignancy and nostalgia.

Yes, the Labor Day Telethon long ago became the target of derision as some kind of crowning pinnacle of bathetic bad taste. These days, the guests are hardly even “C” level. Jerry always wore too much ‘product’ in his hair. But the thought of him being dismissed from his one gig that keeps his name alive at least once a year makes me feel a bit melancholy. You can try to hire fill-in comedians and emcees to take his spot, but without the checkered Jerry Lewis history of career highs and lows, the indelibly strong persona, the brash confidence, the fact that he’s one of the last representatives of a fast-disappearing facet of old show business, is there anybody who really measures up? Ask Jerry, he'll tell you.