Pulp Nonfiction

              It is the 15^th anniversary of the untimely passing of Benny Bell, the comic songwriter who gave us “Everybody Wants My Fanny,” “Take a Ship for Yourself,” “She Got Her Tidbit” and his signature novelty tune, “Shaving Cream.”

            Untimely? He was 93 when he died!

            Well, yes, my grandfather was 93 when he died, but he could have used a few more years to try to spread his message to more people—the message being that it’s important to laugh at least once a day.

            Benny had a few successes during his 75-year career, but he had several demons, such as paranoia and obstinacy, which kept him from truly realizing his dream—and from laughing every day. His ups and downs in the record business tell only part of his fascinating story (he wrote, arranged, recorded, promoted and marketed all of his own albums and singles—and there were hundreds of them). The other part concerns his daily life outside of his basement recording studio. Those stories are where many of the laughs come in. What makes them even funnier is that they’re all true. Let me tell you two of them, one in this post, and another in a post that will follow in a few days.

            In the early 1970s I attended a relative’s bar mitzvah at a suburban temple near my home. Benny was there, too. That’s good, because it was a pretty boring affair.

At the conclusion of the service the rabbi took the pulpit to… pulp. (Isn’t that what you do behind a pulpit?). The rabbi spoke about the culture of immediacy; there was too much emphasis, he said, on wanting things and acquiring things much too quickly. He wanted us all to slow down. He admonished us to avoid giving credence to books about major events that were published just weeks after the events took place, to savor the value of good, wholesome cooking rather than being dependent on instant dinners. He warned us to warn our children about the emptiness and danger of instant gratification through drugs and casual sex.

Afterward, all the guests were ushered into the lobby, where the bar mitzvah boy’s family sponsored a little repast of cakes and beverages prior to going to the reception hall. The rabbi was there. I stayed close to my grandfather, because that was always the smart thing to do.

With a plate in one hand and a cup in the other, he went over to the rabbi.

“I enjoyed your speech,” he said.

The rabbi thanked him.

“And by the way, this is the best instant coffee I’ve ever had.”

If there was any fire in the rabbi’s eyes, it dissipated instantly as the irony—and the humor—sunk in. That was one of Benny Bell’s gifts. You just couldn’t stay mad at him. He’d make you laugh.

Instantly.