Category: Articles

  • Haunted Hollywood: The ‘Atuk’ Curse

    Haunted Hollywood: The ‘Atuk’ Curse

    By: Neda Raouf
    Originally printed in The Los Angeles Times
    Sunday, February 21, 1999

    Montgomery Clift hangs out at the Hollywood Roosevelt. Lon Chaney frequents a corner bus stop. Joan Crawford’s dog won’t leave her former home. The latest tale to join the burgeoning ranks of haunted Hollywood lore is the buzz that surrounds a decade-old script named “Atuk,” a comedy about an Eskimo. In its quest to become a film, it has passed through the hands of famously oversized–and prematurely deceased–comedians Sam Kinison, John Candy and Chris Farley.

    The rumored superstition surrounding the script is news to screenwriter Tod Carroll. “No matter what anybody’s impression was, I think it’s either coincidence or practical explanation,” says Carroll, 51, when reached at his new Tucson, Ariz., home.

    Carroll, who penned the 1988 movie “Clean and Sober,” based “Atuk” on Canadian author Mordecai Richler’s book, “The Incomparable Atuk,” a satire about an Eskimo on his first trip out of Alaska, which is to New York. Originally, Kinison was attached to the role. “When it came time to start filming, Sam wanted it rewritten,” says Carroll. “Once they started shooting it, it had accumulated a lot of costs.” The production eventually shut down, and Candy and Farley, among others, read it and expressed interest. United Artists has retained the rights and the film project remains in turnaround. “I’m not a superstitious person,” Carroll says, “and it doesn’t have any meaning to me.”

    On screenwriting hiatus to write a murder mystery, Carroll hasn’t heard about plans to revive the script, to his disappointment. “With the right actor and right tone,” he says, perhaps a bit cautiously, “it may have been a nice movie.”

  • Tributes: Sam Kinison

    Tributes: Sam Kinison

    Originally printed in Life: The Year in Pictures 1992
    January 1993

    He sneered, snarled and shrieked. Assaulting his audiences with insults – and parlaying his outrageous brand of humor into numerous television appearances and his own HBO special. When he died in April at the age of 38, the victim of a head-on collision on a California highway, he had just returned from his honeymoon. The comic’s wife of six days, Malika, survived the crash.

  • Sam Kinison: The Last Laugh

    Sam Kinison: The Last Laugh

    By Laurel Fishman
    Originally printed in Rip
    October 1992

    One evening soon after Sam Kinison’s tragic death in a senseless auto accident, the marquees of every nightclub on the Sunset Strip blazed with farewell messages in memory of the fun loving evangelist-turned comedian. It was only right, as Sam lived to rock as mush as shock. His friends and confidantes, the rockers who performed, hung out and starred with him in his videos, will always remember Sam as a one-of-a-kind, truly individual and irreplaceable presence. The public Sam was outrageous, controversial, outspoken, loud and always larger than life. In private, the man who became an ordained minister at 18 revealed a more thoughtful, kind and playful side. He was gracious with his time and hospitality; a compassionate soul who was as ready to lend a sympathetic ear as he was to party with the heartiest.

    Ozzy Osbourne drummer Randy Castillo, one of Sam’s closest musical buds, recently took some time to look on his adventures with the funnyman. It was Randy who shared Sam’s final days, his idyllic honeymoon in Kona, Hawaii. During that trip, the two became closer than ever, sipping tropical drinks and talking, says Randy, “about life and death. We has the time of our lives. I got the last photo of Sam ever, and it’s a really eerie picture. We had a villa overlooking the ocean, and he’s standing there as the sun’s going down. It’s a silhouette of him looking at his watch, almost as if to say, ‘There’s not a lot of time left.’” As the two watched the sun set, Sam told Randy, “This is heaven. This is where all your friends go when they die.”

    “Those last days were like a gift, really magical,” Randy reflects. “We laughed and laid on the beach. I woke up one day when we were there, and he wasn’t around. He came back an hour later with the weirdest stuff – Addams Family cereal, a bunch of kids toys – just dumb things. He was like a little Santa Claus. Robin Williams described him perfectly at the services. He said, ‘Sam Kinison was the antichrist you wanted to cuddle.’ Everybody laughed. That’s the way Sam would have wanted it.”

    Playing shows with Sam was a blast, Randy says. “He was such a magnet for people. You could have any rock star around him, and he’s be the center of attention. The guy knew how to work a room.”

    Randy describes the off-stage Sam Kinison as a “gentle, beautiful, sharing, caring kind of guy.” He was so generous, Randy says, that “he would never let me pick up tabs. Never. Sometimes I’d have to sneak off and pay the waiter! He was big because he has a big heart, and his body had to contain all of it. I’m gonna miss him as long as I live. There’s a big, empty space only he could fill. Right now I think Sam’s in Hawaii, his favorite place, his version of heaven. Sam’s still on the stage, and he’s everybody up there!”

    “Sam became a very dear friend to me while we were doing ‘Wild Thing,’” says ex-Poison guitarist C.C. DeVille, another of Sam’s friends. “I’ve always believed in God, but I was always confused about religion. Sam made sense when he’d talk about spirituality. He was such a sweet and gentle man.”

    One of C.C.’s favorite Sam stories happened when Sam took him out to dinner once. “We went to Spago,” C.C. says. “In a restaurant like that there are, like, five forks and knives and a little spoon and a big spoon. I was very embarrassed because I didn’t know the order in which you pick up the cutlery to eat your meal. I was thinking, If I pick up the wrong one, people will think I’m an idiot. So I quietly go, ‘Sam, what fork do I use?’ He goes, ‘With the prices they charge here, you and use your hands! But,’ he continues, ‘You normally go from the outside in.’ Not only did he zap it to me, but he zapped it to the restaurant in true Kinison style!”

    C.C.’s most treasured memory is the time Sam told him, “My father’s dead, and I have no choice. I can’t go see him. Your mother and father are still alive, and you have the opportunity to see them. Nothing lasts forever. While you have the time, grab it.”

    “Sam was a mentor to me,” C.C. says. “There is no handbook on how to handle becoming famous, how to behave when suddenly people are treating you differently. Sam taught me to have a little class. When you’re in the public eye, people only get to see a certain side of you. With Sam, being a comic was the thinnest slice of a big pizza. He was intelligent. He’s make you think; he’d scare the shit out of you. It seems like someone put 500 years of wisdom in this man’s body. With us, it was like a senior/junior thing. I knew he loved me, but he knew I was learning from him.”

    C.C. recalls how Sam could walk into a restaurant, and “everyone just became Sam and would yell ‘Hey, Sam!!’ The decibel level would be like the Los Angeles airport! Sam had that thing. He had an aura that got there 20 minutes before he did! We would jam at Spice [a nightclub in Hollywood] all the time, and Sam would intentionally go on out of tune, just to frustrate the other musicians! Sam was a great piano player too. He loved Paul McCartney, and no one could do Paul like Sam could. He’s sing and play and, I swear, something came over him.”

    C.C. calls Sam a “genius comedian who raised issues. How he made humor of those issues was his genius. There was always a message. He would attack things other people wouldn’t, things other people were scared to talk about.”

    “He’s with me now, I know it,” C. C. concludes. “I know Sam’s out there trying to guide me and make sure I do good. I love him. I will miss him dearly. I was just a kid, and he was the guy who taught me what fork to use!”

    “Sam offended a lot of people,” says Ozzy Osbourne, the judge in Sam’s “Under My Thumb” video. “With entertainment, you’ll make people happy, and you’ll also make people pissed off. Sam Kinison was kinda like the Ozzy Osbourne of the comic world. He was nothing but a gentleman though. We had many good times. Sam was a man with a big heart. He was a teddy bear, a big naughty kid. I’d say, ‘Sam, c’mon, I’m not on welfare, let me buy a drink.’ But he’d say ‘No, no, no, I’ll get this.’ He’d never let me buy a drink. He was great, one of the guys, you know. But, boy, when he partied, he partied! I still can’t believe that he’s gone. It’s, ‘I’m gonna wake up in a minute. I’m dreaming this. ‘ But I have great memories.”

    “Apparently when Sam had the accident, I heard he got out of the car and look up to the heavens and said, ‘I don’t want to die,’ and then just said, ‘Oh, okay,’ and laid down and died. It sounds crazy and will probably offend a lot of my fans, but I believe there’s a higher power. Some people may think Sam Kinison’s in one place, but I know where he is: He’s upstairs; he’s next to God.”

    Fred Coury (ex-Cinderella drummer) and Stephen Pearcy (ex-Ratt singer), now playing together in a band called Taboo, worked with Sam live and on video. “Sam was the kind of guy you met and felt like you had known for a long time,” says Fred. “So much with Sam was so funny. It’s easier to say what wasn’t funny about the guy! One time we were playing at the Universal Amphitheater [in L.A.]. Joe Walsh was there, and all these people. We were doing this jam, everyone was getting into it, and Sam yells into the mic, ‘Everybody solo!’ There were, like, 12 guitar players, and they all started soloing at once. It was just the most ridiculous thing you ever heard in your life! It was terrible, but so funny that I started laughing so hard that I couldn’t play!”

    “You could talk to Sam about anything, really, and even if his answer was a funny one, it would get the point across and make you feel better. He cared about people. No matter who it was, he’s take the time to say hello. I never, ever had a bad time with Sam. It’s an amazingly great loss; but to me, it seems like a friend who moved away that I won’t see. I just can’t think of him any other way. It really just wouldn’t be right if I did.”

    Remembering Sam’s star-studded “Wild Thing” video shoot, Stephen says, “The guy was cracking jokes and rolling all over the floor with Jessica Hahn and making fun of the whole situation. Everybody was laughing. To have that many people under one roof – Steven Tyler, Joe Perry, Warren DeMartini, Slash, Billy Idol, Dweezil – that was memorable. Sam’s the only person who could bring that many rock ‘n’ roll people together to have a party at a video!”

    Dweezil Zappa shared a mutually supportive relationship with Sam. “I remember we were in Vancouver one time for a charity softball game,” he says. “Sam was the umpire. It was the celebrity team versus the charity supporters of the event, and we were winning the game by a bunch of points. Sam made continuous bogus calls so the other team could not only catch up to us, but beat us! You’d go up to bat, and he’s look at you and say, ‘You’re out!’ You couldn’t argue with him, ’cause he had the loudest mouth!”

    “I got invited to do a show with him not long before his accident. I wasn’t able to do it, and it never occurred to me that I’d never see him again. You never know when you could lose a friend in your life. Sam was a sweetheart. At times, he had material that made people uncomfortable, but everyone has a choice to listen or not. Sam would be having a helluva time with the next couple of years in America, with the decline of civilization! He had a hysterical perspective on things, especially human nature.”

    Lita Ford played last year’s New Year’s Eve show with Sam at the Aladdin Hotel in Las Vegas. “When Sam wasn’t cracking jokes, he was so incredibly nice,” she remembers. “That’s one thing that really surprised me when I met him. Some of his jokes were so rude, but he was warm, down-to-earth, caring, full of compliments. He did things that most people would never do. His brother told me he gave some poor people money once when he didn’t have the money himself.”

    Lita was also impressed with how family-oriented Sam was. “That shows what kind of person he was,” she says. “He always traveled with his brother Bill. At the Aladdin, his mom was there too. His family was there the whole time.”

    Lita was nervous about attending Sam’s memorial service, because she didn’t know what to expect. “There were cameras all over the place, and loads of people,” she says. “Everyone was trying to hold back their tears. Robin Williams gets up and says, ‘I know you’re all just waitin’ for that coffin to pop open and Sam to jump out ad go, “A-A-AOW!” ‘ Everyone started laughin’ and cryin’. It was a really funny, happy, warm, friendly sort of service, full of tears and laughter. Everybody joked and told personal experiences they’s had with Sam. When his sister sang some gospel music, it was really neat. Sam had a whole other side to him. He was a preacher from Oklahoma, and he was that rock ‘n’ roll bad boy.”

    Rock ‘n’ roll bad boy, genius comedian, gentleman, mentor. A magnet, a sweetheart, a teddy bear, a big naughty kid. The antichrist that you wanted to cuddle. Take your pick. Sam Kinison was all of these , and so much, much more.

  • Comedians Keep Banter Up Backstage at Fund-Raiser

    Comedians Keep Banter Up Backstage at Fund-Raiser

    By Mark Chalon Smith
    Originally printed in The Los Angeles Times
    Saturday, September 5, 1992

    ANAHEIM — Sam Kinison lived for confrontation. No sweet words and kisses from this comic–more like up-the-volume shrieks and hisses to get his message out.

    Knowing that about the man called “the beast,” a nickname Kinison did little to dispute, it was tempting to wonder what he would have thought about all the twinkling praise that engulfed his memory during a tribute at the Celebrity Theatre on Thursday. (Kinison, 38, died in April in an auto collision.)

    In fact, Robin Williams was asked that very question backstage during a tightly controlled session in which the show’s performers met with the press.

    “What–you want me to channel him?” Williams shot back. “We want an interview with the dead? . . . I’m sorry, but that would be Shirley MacLaine.”

    It was such moments that made the backstage affair as entertaining as the official show–and probably the reason that TV cameras were rolling on both sides of the curtain. (The tribute was taped by the Fox network for future airing.)

    When the good vibes weren’t on center stage, they were zipping about backstage courtesy of Kinison pals such as Williams, Rodney Dangerfield, Judy Tenuta, Pauly Shore, Richard Belzer and Jim Carrey.

    Williams called Kinison the adventurous “Chuck Yeager of comedy,” and Dangerfield described him as “electrifying–someone that can’t be duplicated.” Shore, in a lavish testimonial, said, “I just clung to him. He was my comic mentor.”

    Tenuta downplayed Kinison’s bad-boy image, claiming it was just a put-on for the spotlight. The Kinison that Tenuta knew was a sweetheart, good to his friends and family.

    Although obviously not an evening open to many hard looks at his controversial career–this was essentially a feel-good benefit to help pay off the $1 million in debts he reportedly left behind–some of the performers did allude to Kinison’s checkered past. There were a few surprising moments, especially with Tenuta.

    Angry with herself for forgetting to tell the audience a joke about her first meeting with Kinison, she offered it to the media. The gag parodied the longstanding feuds Kinison had with both feminists and homosexuals.

    “Off-stage, he was really soft and sensitive,” Tenuta cooed. “I remember when we met: It was at a NOW (National Organization for Women) meeting, and he was knitting an AIDS quilt… he told me he needed to be with other men where he could cry. I told him to go to a Dodgers game.”

    Williams, who pointed out that he mainly knew Kinison from his stage work and the times they ran into each other at comedy clubs, spent the longest stretch before the press, riding a wave of ad-lib.

    After explaining that Kinison “pushed the limits and told comics not to be afraid to try things,” Williams offered another little known fact. “One thing I knew about him that nobody else did?” Williams repeated in response to a question, “Well, he was a woman. A black woman.”

    Easily the most uncomfortable before the media was Dangerfield, who looked ready to flee at the first opportunity. (“Any more questions?” he asked–before any had been tossed out.)

    Dangerfield recalled that he gave Kinison his first national exposure by including him on a Dangerfield TV special. Later, Dangerfield created a small part for him as a crazed history professor in the 1986 movie “Back to School.”

    “Sam was different things to different people; I don’t know what he was,” Dangerfield said. “I do know that he was a tremendous artist; he had that stroke of genius. He had problems, just like everybody else. I do know that he must have made other comedians unhappy” because of his intimidating talent.

  • Comedy Review; It’s a Far Cry From Sobbing

    Comedy Review; It’s a Far Cry From Sobbing

    By Rick Vanderknyff
    Originally printed in The Los Angeles Times
    Saturday, September 5, 1992

    Tears aren’t on the lineup at Sam Kinison tribute taped in Anaheim, where comics irreverently honor their outrageous colleague

    ANAHEIM — In the ’80s, Sam Kinison served as comedy’s raw nerve, dipping below the surface of civility to become the screaming embodiment of blind, bewildered rage. If it was Morning in America, Kinison was our national hangover.

    Like most stand-up comedians, Kinison traded heavily in the commonality of everyday experience. But while most of the herd grazes contentedly among the banalities of air travel humor and glossed-up memories of bad ’60s TV, Kinison strayed off into the next field, where the grass was definitely not greener.

    Thursday in Anaheim’s Celebrity Theatre, friends and peers including Robin Williams, Rodney Dangerfield, Judy Tenuta, Pauly Shore, Jim Carrey and others gathered in what was billed as a tribute to Kinison, who was killed last April in a head-on collision on a California desert highway. The program was taped for later broadcast on Fox.

    While show-biz tributes to even the living can be treacly affairs, this nearly two-hour toast to Kinison’s memory was no place for maudlin sentiment. Said Williams: “He’s one of the few people who’d make you want to say, ‘Cremate him, and we’ll snort the ashes.’ “

    Comics did routines of five to 10 minutes, separated by film clips of Kinison projected onto screens that rose niftily from the stage. Most of the performers in a very strong lineup offered pared-down, TV-ready versions of their stage acts, with Kinison’s name evoked to varying degrees.

    It was the ever-mercurial Williams who offered the night’s most memorable set, using the occasion to launch into a manic rumination on matters of life and death, complete with a hilarious impersonation of Kinison trying to hustle his way through heaven’s gate.

    “I’m on the list! I got backstage access. Let me in!” Williams screamed in an accurate take on Kinison’s trademark howl. “Stevie Ray Vaughan–I know him!”

    Tenuta, chauffeured onstage on a Harley, offered only tangential references to Kinison (“We used to go cruising for chicks together”) but provided the evening’s most striking visual image: about 30 volunteer female “virgins” from the audience, on their backs and shaking their legs in the air while Tenuta screamed, “Release your eggs!” Jim Carrey, from the cast of “In Living Color,” offered a mock testimonial to how the real Kinison differed from the stage Kinison: “Shy, retiring, never quick to judge–that’s the Sam I knew, and I’m sorry if I’m bursting your bubble.”

    Dangerfield opened the show with a rapid-fire set of his signature one-liners (“I looked up my family tree and found out I’m the sap”) before introducing a clip of Kinison’s first TV appearance, on a Dangerfield HBO special in 1984. The bit, a crude-but-deadly take on TV coverage of the Ethiopian famine, was an audacious and entirely appropriate introduction of Kinison to the world at large.

    “You know the film crew could give him a sandwich,” Kinison said in the clip, describing a television image of a starving child. Then, taking on the role of the director: “Don’t feed him yet! He’s gotta look hungry.”

    Kinison made it his goal to be funny and discomfiting at the same time. His public struggle with personal demons and onstage airing of his uncensored thoughts made him the target of charges of everything from blasphemy to misogyny to homophobia–charges that cannot always be easily dismissed.

    “Sam loved doing everything he could to shock you, because he knew it would make you think,” said comic and close friend Carl LaBove. The argument that Kinison was merely being honest is true enough to be unsettling–Kinison usually struck closer to the bone than the more cynical shock-meisters who have found notoriety in his wake.

    But the argument that it’s healthy to freely vent our baser impulses has a dark side: the creeping implication that it is somehow dishonest to apply the test of reason and compassion to those impulses. While Kinison’s bracing presence in a too-often-staid comedy field will be missed, the demons he unleashed are likely to stick around for some time.

  • Kinison’s Friends Recall His More Compassionate Acts

    Kinison’s Friends Recall His More Compassionate Acts

    By Dennis McLellan
    TIMES STAFF WRITER
    Originally printed in The Los Angeles Times
    Wednesday, September 2, 1992

    Colleagues remember shock comic’s off-stage kindness. But the tribute they’ll tape in Anaheim won’t be syrupy

    Pacing the stage like the Pentecostal preacher he once was, Sam Kinison would work himself into a primal heat as he railed against homosexuals, AIDS victims, organized religion and one of the topics closest to his heart: Marriage.

    “Oh, Oh-h-h -h-h! Marriage is hell-l-l-l-l!” the twice-divorced comic would scream.

    With an infectious giggle and his signature banshee wail, Kinison soared into the public consciousness in the mid-’80s as the King of Shock Comedy. His detractors–and there were many–called him obscene, vitriolic and annoyingly loud. His fans–and they were legion–called him an innovator, a biting social commentator for whom no topic was taboo. Not the Crucifixion. Not sex. Not even necrophilia.

    When the 38-year-old comedian was killed in a head-on collision on his way to a show in Laughlin, Nev., in April, media reports referred to the wild stage persona and the equally wild personal life of the man who joked that his cocaine use was once so heavy he used a garden hose to inhale.

    But his friends, many of whom will be honoring the outlaw comic at a comedy tribute Thursday at the Celebrity Theatre in Anaheim, remember another Sam Kinison.

    “The partying is legendary, but there also is a side of him that was very sweet and loving, and he was very good to a lot of people,” said Richard Belzer, who first met Kinison in 1980.

    Scheduled to join Belzer on stage are Robin Williams, Rodney Dangerfield, Judy Tenuta, Carl LaBove, James Carrey and Pauly Shore. The show, which will include video clips of Kinison’s career, will be taped for a later TV broadcast on the Fox network.

    Tenuta, the accordion-playing, self-anointed Love Goddess who met Kinison in a Denver comedy club in 1985, joked that “we used to hang out cruising for chicks together, Sam and I.”

    “He was the most compassionate person I ever met in my life,” said LaBove, Kinison’s best friend and longtime opening act. “He was always there for me.”

    But don’t expect a stream of sugary testimonials Thursday night. According to Belzer, “The tribute is going to be a life-affirming thing rather than maudlin.”

    “There won’t be a lot of reminiscing,” said Bill Kinison, Sam’s brother and manager who is serving as executive producer of the show. “It will be kind of a ‘Heaven Can Wait’ type set with a lot of smoke and things like that. The story line is basically whether or not Sam makes it (to heaven).”

    That seems an altogether fitting premise for a tribute to the outlaw comic with the hell-bound persona. Yet despite Sam’s penchant for the sacrilegious on stage, Kinison said, his brother never lost his own faith.

    “He was a strong believer,” he said. “His unhappiness was with religion and never his commitment to God.” With a laugh, Kinison added, “I don’t know if you’re going to have a lot of Christians who are going to believe that.”

    Proceeds from the tribute, according to Kinison, will go to his brother’s estate. At the time of Sam’s death, Kinison said, he was nearly $1 million in debt. “After he died and I looked at the estate I thought, ‘Well, if you can die a million in debt, you can say you enjoyed life.’ “

    Kinison feels a comedy tribute is the kind his brother would have wanted. “And I think just about all the entertainers who are involved are involved because of the contribution he made. When I watched ‘Comic Relief’ this year, there was not only the (raw) language but the (controversial) viewpoints that you probably wouldn’t have seen on HBO or on television if it hadn’t been for Sam breaking down all the walls.”

    Bill Kinison believes his brother belongs in the same camp as such boundary-stretching predecessors as Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor. “What he brought–and they also brought–is being totally honest on stage. Even to a fault. There’s a lot of people who would not have agreed with Sam’s views on things, but he was honest on stage about it.”

    Tenuta agreed.

    “He was dealing with his demons on stage,” she said. “It was really refreshing to see someone just sort of take issues by the horns and really go to the root of it. He was just very funny. And you never felt that there’s this structure of ‘joke,’ like it’s a newscast.”

    Says LaBove: “Sam was the first guy to bring that kind of everyday anger, that stress you have in a car, in a marriage–all that stuff–and just blowing it out.”

    LaBove remembers first meeting Kinison in Texas in 1979 when they both were starting out in stand-up at a legendary Houston club called the Comedy Workshop.

    From the start, LaBove said, “Sam always had the stage presence because he had come from the ministry. Even when he didn’t have great ideas, he was always interesting.”

    As for Kinison’s legendary use of drugs, LaBove said “he was repressed as a preacher’s kid and as a preacher he was someone people looked up to for spiritual guidance. He didn’t have a lot of opportunities to experiment. He started late in everything, so actually he was going through his teen-age years when he passed away.”

    LaBove was riding in a van with Bill Kinison behind Sam’s car when the pickup driven by a teen-ager who had been drinking slammed into the comedian’s Pontiac Trans-Am. Malika, Sam’s longtime girlfriend and wife of less than a week, was knocked unconscious.

    It was LaBove who held Kinison just before he died. At first, the comedian protested that he didn’t want to die. But as LaBove told The Times after the accident, Kinison paused as if listening to a voice from above. Then he said, “OK, OK, OK.” And then, softly and sweetly, he uttered a final “OK.”

    “At the time I knew in my soul it was the moment of death,” said LaBove, adding that he has since found a sense of peace from hearing Kinison’s final words. “I’ve watched my father pass away and other people pass away, and there is a moment where it seems someone comes to get you or you see something and it really relaxes you. When Sam’s moment came, it seemed like Sam listened.”

    LaBove said that preparing his six-minute portion of the tribute has been an emotional ordeal.

    “As far as I’m concerned, everybody else is the stars of the show; I’m his best friend.’ I’m actually going to use this spot as my last public goodby to Sam.”

    Speaking late last week, LaBove said that “at this point, I’ll either tell stories about a friendship the public didn’t see and tell those funny stories of things he did off stage–and actually just talking to him, just staring up. I want a powerful moment. He was a powerful friend.”