For Ben, it’s a family affair
Ben Stiller’s knocked off a terrific documentary about his now-gone fabulous parents Stiller & Meara. Ben Stiller’s a star. We know him. His parents were stars. Today, not all knew them. Me, I knew them.
I knew Jerry Stiller fell for Anne Meara light-years ago. He told me: “It was when I saw her steal some restaurant silverware. I knew right away that she was for me.”
It was a long marriage. Said Anne: “Our marriage license was on a stone tablet.”
There was the Christmas their secretary died. So I asked, “How’s the new secretary?” One of them answered: “Who knows? The new secretary already quit.”
Before becoming big A-1 comedy stars they weren’t rich but had enough money to put two bagels together and owned a nice West Side apartment. When they went to Patsy’s together with Carroll O’Connor, I asked who grabbed the check. She said: “Not Jerry.”
I found a May 26, 2015, column where I’d written: “I knew Anne Meara had been ailing — but nobody wanted anything said.” About her forever mate, it was about this “short, furry creature. I married Jerry Stiller because it was love at first bite. He saw a girl with lots of guts — or at least silverware.” I asked, “How’s Jerry?” and she said: “How would I know? I’m married to him.”
In 1990’s Inner Circle event, where pols roast the press, my red-haired friend Anne played me. She sported a dark geisha-style wig, chopsticks in the hair, black eye makeup, borrowed jewelry and was deliciously nasty.
I miss her. And I applaud Ben Stiller’s A-1 documentary.
Do your civic duty
Do not forget to vote! It’s early voting time. Ignore Sliwa, which almost everyone has done for the last 20 years. Forget Damcrap salami who’s never run anything, whose friends despise us all, who’s close with those who want to smother NYC, who hate the US, hate the rich, hate NYC. So, first go to the Second Avenue Deli for a pastrami on rye — and then go vote!
Our golden years
Financial note: The hills are alive with the sounds of money jingling in piggy banks. Finance. Pros are saying, and it’s something you probably all have heard or know: With our economy, our finances, our stalled government, our heavy medical bills, our higher food bills, our lower income, our lesser jobs, our pennies obsolete, our financial limits and deeper miseries, be aware — gold is king. Gold. It’s why civilization is lining up and right now selling its unused wedding bands and cavity fillings.
Is this all we have?
Just a word about our great country. And who’s gearing up for their next run? Pelosi, who predates Methuselah? Our temp VP KanNotDoKamala? Her middle name’s Zero. Her first name is also Zero. We are now such a great nation that I look forward to our next presidential run. Maybe Hunter? The hunted. Haunted? Hinted? Hated? And her VP? Maybe Adam Schiff who we all know misspells his name. What’s the matter with us? Is there no room for our next Treasurer? Our last mayor’s wife?
A slippery slope
Or — about our prison system. Jails are now teaching police dogs to nurture and train. Cons are tutoring them to sit and stay. Not the convicts. The animals. And since Crapdammy wants to license streetwalkers, maybe he could add the one who now has the title of Best of the Group, we could shove her and her last client into a boys locker room. Forget baby oil and satin sheets. The area will need just a rubber mat and a quart of Valvoline under a color photo of Crapdamny.
OY. Only in New York, kids, only in New York.