It's Not Easy Bein' Me: A Lifetime of No Respect but Plenty of Sex and Drugs (16 page)

I live in a rough neighborhood. One night I was held up, but the guy had class. He used an electric razor. This guy, he took my watch, my wallet, and a little off the sides. Actually, I blame myself. I was standing right next to an outlet.

P
eople often ask me what it was like to meet Elvis Presley. While I was working at the Sands in Las Vegas back in the late sixties, I got an invitation to attend Elvis’s closing-night party at the Hilton Hotel. So when my show was over, I went to the party.

Elvis was very warm and friendly. He walked in and said, “Hey, man.”

I said, “Hey, man.”

With our “Hey, mans” out of the way, we had somebody take a picture of us, and we chatted awhile.

I still have that picture on the wall at my club, which is why Dangerfield’s has the distinction of being the only nightclub robbed over two thousand times. When Dangerfield’s opened, we put that picture of Elvis and me on the wall in the bar area, along with the many other pictures of me with big shots. That picture has been stolen at least once a week—more often during prom season. In fact, the club has been open over thirty years and that’s the
only
picture that has been stolen.

One night I was standing in the bar area and a girl said, “Hey, Rodney, can I take a picture?” She was kind of cute, so I straightened my hair and my tie and said, “Sure, honey, go ahead.” She said, “Thanks,” grabbed the Elvis picture off the wall, and walked out.

I was working at the Tropicana Hotel in Vegas in the seventies when those Elvis impersonators became so popular. During that period there were ten Elvis impersonators working on the Strip at the same time. You didn’t even have to look like Elvis—if you wore an Elvis outfit and sang an Elvis song, you were a big hit.

One night I went backstage to visit an Elvis impersonator before his show. This guy was fat and very unattractive, but I heard him tell somebody, “The girl I want you to bring back after the show is the third girl I give a rose to.”
Then he grabbed his guitar and waddled out to a screaming audience.

This photo’s been stolen hundreds of times from my club. I told Elvis it was a real kick to meet him. So many people tell me we look alike
.

Courtesy of the collection of Rodney Dangerfield.

Years ago, when you spent $25 to see a show, you saw a star. Today, you pay $50 to see someone impersonate a star.

My wife and I, we both love Las Vegas. She likes to play the slots, and I like to play the sluts
.

I
met Barbra Streisand when I was tapped. It was at Elvis Presley’s party in Vegas. I was sitting at a table talking to a couple of guys. All of a sudden I felt a tap on my shoulder. I look up and it’s Barbra Streisand.

She was very nice. She said, “Rodney, I just came over to say good night.” She was about to leave.

I said, “Barbra, remember the Bonsoir in Greenwich Village? That was the first time I saw you.” I recalled the story to her.

I was there with a friend of mine. We were ready to go home when the maître d’ said to us, “There’s a girl auditioning now, and I hear she’s very good. You might want to see her.”

I said to my friend, “I tell you what. We’ll get our coats, we’ll stay for one song, and we’ll cut.”

She came on, and about forty minutes later we were still standing there holding our coats in our arms. We were mesmerized by the voice and the whole thing. That’s the first time I saw Barbra.

The next time, they’re having a show in New York—a benefit show in Barbra’s honor—and they asked me to be on the dais. So I do about four or five minutes. One of the jokes I told was about that night:

The first time I saw Barbra at the Bonsoir, it was a very unusual evening for me. It was the first time I went over the minimum.

I met President Reagan when I performed for him at the Ford Theater in Washington. Prior to the show, we all went to a reception at the White House, where I had my picture taken with both the president and Nancy Reagan.

After the show, I didn’t feel like hanging out with the senators, governors, and all the other political big shots—I got high on some shit and went outside and hung out with the limo drivers. I figured I had less chance of getting in trouble out there.

The next day I showed the picture of me and the Reagans to my housekeeper Thelma. I said, “Hey, do you know this couple right here?” She looked at the picture. Her eyes got real big, and she said to me, “Did you meet them in person?”

I was hoping to show the president how to inhale, but I never got the chance.

Courtesy of the collection of Rodney Dangerfield.

My wife is the worst cook in the world. At my house, we pray after we eat
.

P
resident Reagan wasn’t the only president I met. I like to tell people that President Clinton slept on my floor. In the nineties, I was living at the Beverly Hilton Hotel when Clinton came to L.A. for a speech. He decided to stay in my hotel that night, so they gave him a suite on the eighth floor, the same floor I was on.

The Secret Service said that no other guests could stay on the eighth floor because the president was sleeping there. They had moved all the other guests out, and were getting ready to evict me, but Clinton said, “Rodney doesn’t have to move. He’s okay.”

I thanked him, and we had our picture taken together. He was very cordial—we chatted about fifteen minutes. When I got back to my rooms, though, the Secret Service was there. They had two dogs running around, sniffing everything. I had some pot in my place, so I was sweating it out.

I got away with it. And I tell ya, these dogs, they were hip. On the way out one of them winked at me.

I tell ya, the dog drives me nuts. Last night he went on the paper four times…three times while I was reading it
.

I
did
The Tonight Show
one time when Bill Gates was on. Before the show, he told me he was a little nervous.

I said, “Bill, what are
you
worried about? You just have to talk. I have to get laughs.”

I wanted to befriend him. I felt like saying, “Bill, come on, will ya? You got billions and billions. What do you say you give me one billion? Do me a favor, okay? I’ll owe you one. What’s it mean to you? I’ll do things for you. I’ll get you girls, anything. I know the best massage parlors. You won’t be sorry. I know the right people. A friend of mine runs an all-night crap game.”

Nothing works out. I bought an Apple computer. There was a worm in it
.

Here I am alone with Bill Gates. The girls never showed up.

Courtesy of the collection of Rodney Dangerfield.

I
t’s strange how getting up in front of a big crowd brings out fear in some people. To me it was never that difficult. I started in amateur shows when I was seventeen, and I’ve been doing it most of my life. But most people would fly to the moon before they’d stand up on a stage all by themselves and try to make people laugh. I know that for a fact. I was working at the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas, and after the show, Neil Armstrong—the first man to walk on the moon—came backstage to say hello. We shook hands and he said, “Wow, I wouldn’t want your job.”

I told him, “I wouldn’t want
your
job either.”

When I was a kid, I got no respect. I was kidnapped. They sent my parents a piece of my finger. My old man said he wanted more proof
.

B
ack around 1995, people started saying to me, “Adam Sandler keeps talking about you in all his interviews.” He would speak very favorably of me.

I’d never met Adam, so I was touched.

I finally got to know Adam when he asked me to be in his movie
Little Nicky
. I had a very small part, but Adam and I got to hang out a bit. He told me that when he was fourteen years old his father took him to see me at the Sunrise Theater in Fort Lauderdale.

Recently I was extremely honored when Adam presented me with the Comedy Idol Award at Comedy Central’s award show, the Commies.

I like Adam, and I like his comedy. I think Adam and I are the only comedians today who have a clearly defined image. You can be a big star without having an image—Jim Carrey proved that—but Adam Sandler has an image that really works. In his movies he’s a likable lug, and you’re rooting for him when things go wrong. And when he finally wins at the end of the movie, he wins for everybody.

Adam gets involved in all the aspects of his movies, the writing, the directing, the casting, the producing, and all of his decisions are right on the money. I wouldn’t be surprised if someday he owns his own studio.

Chapter Twelve

Stuck in a Bag of Mixed Nuts

Last time I saw a mouth like that, it had a hook in it.

—
C
ADDYSHACK
, 1980

W
hen the credits roll at the end of my movie
Back to School,
there’s a line that reads
Estelle, thanks for so much.

I get a lot of letters wanting to know who Estelle is and what I’m thanking her for, so instead of answering every one of those letters individually, I’ll tell the story here.

When we opened Dangerfield’s, my publicity man was Richard O’Brien. Estelle Endler worked for him. After four or five years, she moved with her husband to L.A. to take a shot at doing publicity on her own. She was there about six months when I got a call from her. She said, “This agency, APA, would very much like to talk to you.”

At that time in my life, I didn’t want
any
hassles. I didn’t want to meet anybody. I didn’t want to deal with money, with problems. I didn’t want any of the hassles that come with life on the road. I didn’t want to get caught up in the
business side of show business. I just wanted to stay in my club and work it like a nine-to-five job. So I told her I wasn’t interested in meeting with APA.

“But they really want to talk to you,” she said. “They think they can get you some great jobs.”

At first I said, “I don’t know.” Then I said, “Okay.”

So we all go into a room and talk. The APA agents tell me, “You’re wasting your time just working at Dangerfield’s. We can get you good jobs. We’re talking big money—much more than you’re making now in your club.”

My kids were older now, so I finally said, “Okay, I’ll give it a shot with these guys and see what happens.”

They said, “Great. Who’s your manager?”

I said, “I have no manager.”

They said, “How can you not have a manager?”

I said, “I just don’t. I just do things myself.”

They said, “Well, we can’t work with you unless you have a manager.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get a manager.”