Notes of a Defeatist

There may be no bad words, but thirty-five years ago, George Carlin’s performance at Summerfest proved that when an off-duty police officer and his nine year old son are present there are inopportune moments.

The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel’s Jim Stingl spoke with Elmer Lenz, the officer who filed the complaint that led to Carlin’s arrest and subsequent infamy for reciting the Seven Dirty Words You Can Never Say on Television . At the time Lenz wanted to stop the show and drag Carlin off the stage. Instead he found a superior officer who apprehended Carlin after the show.

“I wouldn’t have changed anything I did if I had known there were children in the audience. I think children need to hear those words the most because as yet they don’t have the hang-ups. It’s adults who are locked into certain thought patterns.”

“I find it kind of funny to be hassled for using them¹ when my intention is to free us from hassling people for using them,” said Carlin.²

Ultimately, the case was laughed out of court.

This incident was in my mind last night while watching Lewis Black rant on everything from golfers to Scooter Libby. Standing next to my wife, a woman and her two bored looking children took in every “fuck”, “motherfucker”, and “cocksucker” Black spit out.

As Lewis Black yelled out a Tourettic “Fuck” my wife heard “Peanut butter” loudly shouted over her shoulder. Turning around to look at the source, her eyes met with the mother of two.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, as long as you say ‘Peanut Butter’ afterwards,” she said.

The fact that at 11:30 p.m. two half-awake children could’ve cared less what anyone yelled on stage because they soaking wet from standing in the rain for the better half of the last hour.

Somewhere I know George Carlin would be smirking.

A few years ago, Carlin was on tour and knowing how desperate I was to see him, my friend Charles got tickets for his stop in Madison. During college my attempts to see Carlin fell short three different times over the years. To my surprise the seats were second row center. We were so close, George Carlin could have pissed on my head. Accurately. I was so fucking excited.

Waiting for the show to start three elderly women sat down next to me. Three other women from their group sat down in front of Charles and Nathan.

Carlin’s career stretches across many decades, but these women seemed to be more like misplaced members of Lawrence Welk’s crowd. The shock on their faces when Carlin let loose a profane rant danced through my head until the woman next to me leaned over and asked me to watch their coats. The silver cross pin on the lapel didn’t catch eye at that moment.

“We’re going backstage,” the woman said.

Dumbfounded, they left me to ponder how they scored backstage access as the opener started his set.

Maybe they won a contest.

Maybe they were big supporters of the venue.

Returning to their seats during the intermission, the women bubbled about meeting George.
“He was my student,” the woman next to me said, as she sat down. The six women were nuns who had taught at Corpus Christi Elementary School in New York. The woman next to me had been Carlin’s third grade teacher and she had written him a letter earlier that year to tell him how proud she was of his achievements. Carlin responded to her letter and invited them to attend a show. The women were on a road trip and stopped in Madison to see the show.

If Elmer Lenz had been appalled to hear Carlin say “cocksucker” in the presence of his child, imagine the trip your brain takes as George Carlin takes stage five feet in front of you and three nuns and says: “You know what nobody talks about these days? Pussy farts!”

 

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1. Shit. Piss. Fuck. Cunt. Cocksucker. Motherfucker. Tits. In case you were wondering.[back]
2. Milwaukee Journal Sentinel [back]