The Key Word is “Goofy”

By Less Lee Moore

My mom and grandma were big fans of Jerry Lewis movies, but I don’t think they had any idea that I harbored secret desires for him during my numerous viewings of Cinderfella and The Errand Boy. What was it that I so admired? In all honesty, I think it was just that he was a big goofball who made me laugh. I loathed the movies he did with Dean Martin, who I angrily dismissed as “that old drunk guy”. How dare he take screen time away from my Jerry?

Jerry Lewis in Cinderfella
Still from Exquisitely Bored in Nacogdoches

My aunt was physically and mentally handicapped and tended to fixate on certain things, too. She became obsessed with staying up all night watching the annual Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy Association Telethon. I would stay up to watch it with her, but eventually it became difficult for me to reconcile ’80s Jerry Lewis—black shoe polish hair, dishevelled tuxedo, repeated shouts of “TYMPANI!”—with the sweet innocence of his ’60s movies.

It seems obvious that my love of the goofball would eventually lead to a crush on Gilligan from Gilligan’s Island. And to end the suspense, I will admit that it did. This fascination also elucidates a somewhat more perplexing aspect of my early crushes. With the exception of the French populace, I think it’s safe to say that most of the world finds Jerry Lewis’s particular brand of shtick insufferable and irritating. And so it was with the “Little Buddy” from TV. He was hapless, hopeless, and a huge pain in the ass. So naturally, I adored him.

When I discovered that Bob Denver was on The Many Lives of Dobie Gillis as Maynard G. Krebs, I immediately scanned the TV Guide for syndicated showings. Imagine my horror when I realized he was no longer cute and cuddly but creepy. . . and with a goatee! Facial hair was a definite no-no for me at that time.

Farewell, Little Buddy

My older cousin was a massive Barry Manilow fan and because I thought she was super cool, naturally I became one by default. Like Jerry Lewis and Gilligan, Barry was goofy and had a big nose. But he could also sing and play piano, which was likely the genesis for my burgeoning love of musicians (and one that continues to this very day).

For my fifth or sixth Christmas, I received the Barry Manilow Live! album and it became an immediate favorite. I listened to it over and over (and over and over) on my little portable stereo (which had previously housed Sesame Street Sings, another obsession of mine). I memorized the lyrics to every song as well as Barry’s between-song banter. Since my mother was a dancer and I had been attending dance classes for a few years already, I was totally embroiled in Broadway show tunes. . . and if anyone had the glamorous and over-the-top aesthetic of B’way it was Barry Manilow.

Barry Manilow, possibly performing his VSM
(that’s “Very Strange Medley” for those
of us in the know)
Image from Top of the Pops

I later received the album Even Now, which I liked, but which I felt was lacking in glitz and between-song banter (although I distinctly remember choreographing dances to songs from album at my grandma’s house, using my tiny stand up piano as a prop). I was a member of Barry’s fan club for several years but sadly, I no longer have any of the newsletters.

Perhaps the most telling aspect to my Barry-love was the ongoing rumor that Barry was gay. Being around dancers for most of my life, I fell for many a gay guy in my day, let me assure you. Let me also assure you that none of these crushes ended happily.

RELATED LINKS:

Popshifter‘s Secret Garden of Crushes

Andrea, Lynda, Margot, and Erin, by Christian Lipski

From Jesus to Micky Dolenz, by Michelle Patterson

Crush Encounters of the Pre-Pubescent Kind, by Ann Clarke