‘His humility was beautiful:’ my Jerry Stiller story
Jerry Stiller never yelled “Serenity now!” at home. But he certainly tried to give his kids a sense of calm. Image by Getty Images
According to my Facebook feed, every person in New York has a Jerry Stiller story. The way he cracked jokes with tourists in restaurants, his kindness to young actors, how he sent $500 checks to people for their kid’s educations. Here’s my story.
When I first moved from Vermont to New York as a young actor in the 1980s, I took a class taught by Jerry Stiller at HB Studios. When he was unavailable, Anne Meara would substitute. They were gregarious and funny, and so very New York. They had been trained by the great acting teacher Uta Hagen and they taught us about being present, about committing fully to the moment, and about respecting the scene partner.
Props were important. So was showing up prepared. I remember sitting at the White Horse Tavern with Anne and their daughter Amy talking about how theater tickets should be free for all students. Their secretary became a close friend and one day I stopped by the office to see her, only to be greeted by Jerry and Anne, who after finding out I was on my way home for Christmas, presented me with a bottle of Blue Nun – “perhaps your parents would like a lovely Liebfraumilch?”
Amy Stiller came in and out of my life for 30 years, and in 2018 I directed her one-person show about her colorful life in this show-business family. She had been developing it for a while and was getting ready for a festival performance. We often rehearsed at Jerry’s apartment to take advantage of his big living room, and we would order free lunch “on Jerry.” I had the chance to chat with him a number of times, and to attend his Hanukkah and birthday parties. (So much lox! Such good cake!)
By this point, Amy and I were both middle aged, and Jerry was an old man. When Amy told him I had taken his class all those years before he looked delighted – “Did you know Anne? My wife? Anne Meara?” Didn’t he realize that we all knew Anne? I found his humility beautiful.
My own mother and father were both in failing health, and had lost their charm to the demons of age. It was an unexpected blessing to be around such a great old guy. He was curious and inquisitive, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy having people around. It was wonderful to see him and Amy together. She would sing songs with him, rev him up, and she knew just what to say to get him to launch into some hilarious story about nutty guys he knew back in the day. She in turn would do her impression of him telling the story later. It was live comedy folklore.
Having worked and muscled our way through the script and staging of Amy’s show, we were ready to do a first run-through. Jerry and his assistant came out to watch. I wasn’t convinced this was a good idea. I worried Amy would be nervous in front of him, and I worried that his response might affect her. Amy is no wimp, and strove to be truthful – reproducing verbatim family conversations she had recorded over the years, searching to tell her version of what is, like all families, a complex web of love, disappointment and comedy.
Jerry was very still and very focused. He laughed quietly from time to time, and his eyes never left her. As she reenacted a conversation in which her mother gave advice to her own teenage self, I saw a slight tilt of the head. Perhaps he never knew about these conversations. What could it be like – at age 90, to watch your daughter theatrically curate the high and low points of her life?
She finished smoothly, and got a drink of water. I said a few things, and we waited. Was this all too much for him?
“What do you think, Dad?”
A long pause.
Then, in a quiet voice — the gargantuan roar of the “Seinfeld” era had mellowed considerably — “It’s terrific.”
It was all he needed to say. The encouragement the old pro gives to his protégé. The unconditional love of a father for his daughter.
Like most of us, when I thought of Jerry, what came to mind was the sublime buffoons he played – particularly the bellowing, outrageous, just-ridiculous- enough-to-be-real TV Dads. But what I saw on that sunny afternoon on the Upper West Side was the Dad we all deserve. One who is on our side, who believes in us, and knows how great we are.
Jerry was a giant of comedy, and a damn good actor. But it seems to me that he was also a really good person. And that’s the role I will remember the best.
Kathryn Markey is a New York-based actor and director.
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