Brief but to the Point

I received a terse note this morning in my mailbox, telling me (in Croatian) that it was "high time I introduced myself," and that "there is to be no noise from 1400-1700h. and 2200-0800h." The author of the note also stated that all the rules for the building are posted in the entry hall. The author didn't leave a name or a door to knock on to introduce myself, but I suspect it was the woman who lives directly below me (and to whom I will pay 8 kuna per month to keep the stairways swept).

Perhaps it was my internet stream of the Saints-Bills game from 2200-0100 that prompted the note? I'm guessing she's not a Saints fan . . .

Fish for Lunch

Sundays in Zagreb are a different sort of day, for most people it is their day, a true day of rest. Businesses and shops, with few exceptions are closed. I visited two markets that are open and seemed to be doing booming business, at least in terms of the numbers of people there: the antique/flea market on Britanski Trg, and the food/flower/fish market at Dolac (the “main” outdoor market).

These two places aren’t open later than 1:00 or 1:30 in the afternoon on Sundays, so around 11:00am I ventured out with my daypack, camcorder, shopping bag, and comfortable shoes. I walked past the main square, which seemed to be hosting a race of some sort, with runners accorded their own lane past the goings on at Trg Bana Jelačiċa. I arrived at the Britanski Trg around 11:30 and proceeded to shoot footage of the tables. I’m not in the market for more stuff, especially after hauling the luggage I packed one-quarter of the way around the world. Still, had something caught my eye in a strong way, I might have succumbed. Luckily, the camcorder provided a handy excuse only to be looking.

One can find books, jewelry, wall sconces and door hardware, lace, old military bayonets, helmets and medals, toys, furniture, and almost anything else that accounts for the varying levels of “charm” and “clutter” in almost every household—on either side of the Atlantic. The sellers are almost as interesting as their wares, if not more so. Several tourists and locals peruse the tables, while several dozen more look on from the adjacent cafés. Finally, a little mitteleuropäischer combo provided the soundtrack.

I walked the four blocks east in time for the noon cannon firing, and I caught a glimpse of the funicular car that is drawn up the side of the hill separating the lower town from the older upper town. It’s kind of a one-stop PRT, as my WVU friends can relate.

Once past the main square again, I climbed the single range of steps to the Dolac. I have been to two other street markets already, the Branimirova and the Kvaterniča (they are equidistant from my home apartment . . . maybe five blocks either direction). The Dolac seemed in line with my experiences at the other places, so there was a bit of an anticlimax, since the items for sale repeated what I saw at the other markets for the most part. Or to put it more positively, I needn’t venture all the way to Dolac when the Kvaterniča is a short walk from my home base.

I bought two medium sized apples ($0.20) and a very fresh fish filet ($3.00). I figured I could cook it for lunch, which meant that I needed to get it home quickly and so I decided to tram it back to my place. While riding, I felt familiar enough with the route that I could contemplate the cooking of the fish: olive oil, fresh tomato, basil (from my little plant on the window sill), and some Cajun spices.

Home now and that’s my Sunday excursion culminating in a yummy lunch!

Nema Razlike?

So far, I’ve met with several colleagues from the University of Zagreb. I’ll be teaching in two programs: the doctoral program in comparative literature, and the undergraduate and graduate programs in American Studies. Everyone is as nice as could be, and the American Studies program especially thrives on the annual Fulbright guest professor. It doesn’t take a great deal of insight to understand why. The faculty and staff here seem to have the "usual suspects" of personality types and so forth that I'm used to in any academic department.

One of the phrases I should learn in Croatian is “no difference,” because I’ve uttered it when told about students’ work habits, or the rigors of the academic life, or the pile of used computer parts in a hallway. Not much different, as I see it right now.

I will be teaching three classes per semester: a doctoral-level class in comparative lit called “American Comedy as Cultural Mirror” that spans the two semesters I’m here—it’s primarily a history of American comedy; second, an MA-level course on American comedy of the twentieth century—a pared down version of the doctoral course that will run one semester and repeat in the spring; finally, an undergraduate survey of American stage comedy in the fall, replaced by an undergraduate American film comedy class in the spring. It's pretty much the same teaching load I would have back at WVU.

There doesn’t seem to be a great deal (or any, really) of pre-registration. The university is transitioning to the Bologna higher-education model, and silly me . . . that’s what I’m used to in the States and never knew it by that term. I'm sure differences will become more apparent as the year moves along, but for now, nema razlike . . . no difference!

Waiter, another round of education for everyone!

Going Native

Part of the fun and function of the Fulbright comes in the appreciation of the host country’s culture and joie de vivre. Zagreb, all that I’ve seen of Croatia so far, is a vibrant city with a confidence in the way it does things that has impressed me in just the short week I’ve spent here so far.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I’m walking a great deal more here than at home in the States; I am doing about 2-3 miles in the morning and another 1-2 in the afternoon. So far, this is mostly running errands to set up my household, the daily food shopping, and a few meetings and appointments here and there. This will probably change once I begin teaching (next week?), but until then, I intend to walk as much as possible, even venturing out without an end point in mind (or perhaps using indirect streets to reach it). The more I explore new streets and new routes, the more I can discover—a hardware store here, a pharmacy there—that may pay dividends when needed.

On Saturday, Teri (my old friend from New Orleans) and her husband Mike (my new friend from New Orleans), who both work at the embassy here, took me to a little pasta/pizza bistro for lunch. It was fun to sit outside . . . Croatians seem to love to eat and drink al fresco, and even the McDonalds I’ve seen have few tables inside and many umbrella-topped tables out on the square.* Teri and Mike pointed out a “large supermarket” near the bistro, and I set out there on Monday on my own, taking tram 2 to get there (it seemed too far to walk). Well, yesterday, I studied my handy map and worked out a shortened walking route that cut the distance to about a mile. Perfect!

So far, I’ve shopped in three larger supermarkets: Konzum (the most ubiquitous), Billa (large and convenient), and the most recent find, Mercator (which bills itself as a “Hipermarket” not so much hipper as hyper to my eyes). Konzum is like a typical European grocery; anyone who’s shopped at an Aldi in the US knows this genus. Billa is more like a Kroger, both in size and scope. Mercator is like a SuperTarget, with clothes, DVDs, electronics, household goods, and lots of food.

On Saturday I ventured into the closest street (farmer’s) market to my apartment, off Branimirova Street. I saw dozens of tables with fresh produce, with lots of repetition: most tables had tomatoes, root veggies, apples, and plums. It seemed all very seasonal and bountiful. I looked for the best prices and quality. I picked up eight apples for 3kn (about $.60), and three beautiful pears for 4kn (or $.80). The apples, truth be told, were smallish and imperfect, but taste just fine. I bought a few tomatoes too that were too good looking to pass up.

One lesson that’s been reinforced from the orientation and the week here is that if you live like the natives, you can live more cheaply. Certainly the Branimirova market bears this out. The groceries naturally have all the produce, but at steeper prices. The meat is good quality, but more expensive. I bought some sausage the other day (and believe me, buying unknown sausage in strange wrappers in a foreign language is an act of faith), and it was a delightful smoked kielbasa-style.

And so, I’m diverting my American appetites to the local cuisines and feeling better for it. My budget is all the better for it, too! Still, I have a friend sending me some Simply JIF in a care package, since peanut butter is hard to find and five or six times the price when found. I haven’t found tuna packed in water yet, only oil, but it’ll form a nice tuna salad I intend to whip up later this evening. Celery would be nice for that, but alas the celery here is spindly and wimpy, when I can recognize it. Haven’t seen much spinach here either, but will keep an eye out.

I’m going native, as they say, and doing without some food and some conveniences I’m used to. Here are some major changes I’m confronting (and enjoying the work-arounds):

• NO Air Conditioning (haven’t really needed it and it’s now officially fall);
• NO Clothes Dryer (using a clothesline and some drying racks—the clothes dry stiffer than I’m used to);
• NO Microwave Oven (using another pot to reheat is an extra step);
• NO Dishwasher (I’ll get dishpan hands for sure, especially having to clean that extra pot!);
• NO elevator (eh . . . it’s only three flights up and I need the exercise).

I love this city already, and since I’m out so much, it’s only natural I’ve been accosted by Croatians asking directions of me on the street. It happened twice yesterday, and once again today. I do what any native would do in this situation, I open my eyes wider and wider until they stop talking and say politely, “ne govorim!”

*I swear I only purchased a Coke Zero there. Really!

Zagrebački Apartman

Here's a quick and dirty tour of the apartment I'm renting. I spend most of my time in the bedroom/office; the kitchen contains the clothes washing machine (you may hear it rumbling under); the "living room" needs a dining table and some chairs--otherwise, I'm using it now as a storage and drying room. Oh, and note the high tank on the toilet, for which there's a pull chain to flush! The exterior shot shows the street, typical of the downtown neighborhoods, with lots of young mothers with strollers (in the daytime). The exterior shot also conveys that I'm on the third floor, what we in the States would call the "fourth," but it's a full three flights up . . . trust me on that one!

Stop by some time!

Larry Gelbart for the uninitiated

Below is a boiled-down survey of Larry Gelbart's career I did for a 1997 Gelbart tribute produced by the Writers Guild of America. These are my program notes. One of the happiest experiences of my life, doing this in service to Larry's legacy as a small payment for the many kindnesses he bestowed upon me in my life . . . and as Larry said that without Danny Thomas, he wouldn't have had the life he had, I can say unequivocally the same about Larry Gelbart . . .

Radio
“All we had were words.”
To appreciate fully Larry Gelbart’s professional writing career, one has to go back to his high school years, not because they were formative, but because that’s when he became a professional writer. In 1943, after his family moved from Chicago, he joined the Fairfax High band, the drama program, and would occasionally play duets at the USO and the Hollywood Canteen with his schoolmate, Andre Previn. Typical high school stuff.
His father, Harry Gelbart, a barber, offered his teenage son’s services as a comedy writer to his customer, Danny Thomas. Larry soon found himself pitching jokes with the writers of Fanny Brice’s Maxwell House Coffee Time. There he gained experience under Mac Benoff, $40 in salary (which he spent on a sportcoat), and the agent from the William Morris Agency. If it weren’t for Thomas, Larry admits, “I wouldn’t have the life I have.”
Next he joined Duffy’s Tavern the day Abe Burrows left the show. Ed Gardener, “Archie the Bartender” to millions, taught Larry the power of the word, and sharpened his abilities for puns, malapropisms, and non-sequiturs. Larry managed to squeeze his military duty writing Command Performance at AFRS inside his two years with Duffy’s Tavern.
A chance to write for Eddie Cantor ended when his partner, Sid Dorfman, fell ill. Larry then wrote for the Jack Parr Show in 1947, along with The Joan Davis Show (where he would finally get to work with Burrows), and later a season for Jack Carson. Bob Hope offered Larry and his new partner, Lawrence Marks, positions on his pared-down staff-they signed scripts “Larry and Larry”-and the two remained with Hope through the Berlin Airlift, Korea, and (scariest of all) Hope’s plunge into television.

Stage
“The only safe place for writers”
A revue titled My L.A. gave Larry a chance in 1949 to write for the stage, and to vary his lifestyle from the daily Hope routine. It ran only four performances, but presaged a later musical, 1989’s Broadway hit City of Angels. Teamed with composer Cy Coleman and lyricist David Zipple, Larry created in City of Angels a breathtaking intersection of two Hollywoods-one fictional and the other even harder to believe-in two simultaneous settings.
Between My L.A. And City of Angels, Larry penned several other plays: his first Broadway musical, The Conquering Hero (1961), had so many problems in its tryout performances that Larry quipped, “If Hitler’s alive, I hope he’s out of town with a musical.” His next show had problems on the road. But they, thankfully, were solved, and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (co-written with Burt Shevelove and composer/lyricist Stephen Sondheim) played nearly a thousand performances in its initial run.
Larry moved to England, then to M*A*S*H, but returned to the theatre in 1975 for Sly Fox, which he adapted on Arthur Penn’s suggestion from the Renaissance play Volpone. From first draft to final, Larry re-wrote all but one page, a luxury of theatre to which he has often alluded.
After writing several films, Larry again returned to the safe haven of theatre for Mastergate: A Play on Words, a savagely funny indictment of governmental “self-abuse” that closed on Broadway just as City of Angels opened. Larry’s other stage works include the original dark comedies Jump! (1970) and Power Failure (1991), as well as adaptations of Gulliver’s Travels for narrator and orchestra (music by Patrick Williams), and revised narration for Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf.

Television
“With most television, the only way you get any feeling out of it is if you touch it while you’re wet.”
From his earliest days in television, Larry Gelbart watched the medium critically. His work with Bob Hope in the fledgling medium offered few new directions for writing: “a monologue is a monologue,” he noted. Still, writing for Hope taught Larry to polish a line until it shone bright. His education in comedy writing has followed a linguistic model: he learned the power of the word with Duffy’s Tavern; the potential of the sentence, the one-liner, with Hope; he would soon perfect the “paragraph” of comedy, the sketch, when he joined Red Buttons’ staff in 1952 and learned what constituted a full-fledged television/burlesque sketch.
After a season and a half with Buttons, he moved on to several other assignments, building on what he had learned. In 1956, Larry joined perhaps the most celebrated writing staff in the history of television, for Caesar’s Hour. He never wrote for Your Show of Shows, as many histories of television comedy claim (and while we’re debunking myths, Woody Allen wrote for Sid Caesar only after these first two series left the air). Nevertheless, Caesar’s Hour boasted the writing talents of, among others, Mel Tolkin, Neil Simon, Mel Brooks, Sheldon Keller, Michael Stewart, and Selma Diamond. With performers Caesar and Carl Reiner sitting in, the writing sessions became jam sessions. As Larry explained once, “Except for the fact that we were all white and Jewish, we felt like we were the Duke Ellington Band.”
The television sketch that Larry learned with Buttons reached its apotheosis with Caesar, whose staff elevated the comedy to the human condition and Larry began to understand in a real way the social powers of comedy. He went on to write for Patrice Munsel with Sheldon Keller and (with Woody Allen) several specials for Caesar, then three for Art Carney. He wrote a season of The Pat Boone Chevy Showroom, and helped launch The Danny Kaye Show. While his family lived in London, Larry wrote very little television, just a few pilots and The Marty Feldman Comedy Machine (1969-1970), which ran in England and America. For the cast, Larry hired British comedy legend Spike Milligan, and Americans Barry Levinson and Rudy DeLuca, as writers. Near the end of his nine years in England, he was visited by producer Gene Reynolds, who wondered whether Larry had seen the movie M*A*S*H.
Larry penned the pilot for the new series in two days (after extensive discussions with Reynolds and five weeks of “incubation”). He spent four seasons with M*A*S*H, and wrote or re-wrote the lion’s share of the show’s first 97 episodes. M*A*S*H afforded yet another opportunity for Larry to stretch the perceived limitations of television comedy. Multiple story lines, timely anti-war messages, and practically a new genre—the “dramedy”—are but a few of the program’s historic innovations.
One point of contention between the producers of M*A*S*H and the network involved the use of the laugh track (which were present in his later shows Roll Out! and Karen as well). When Fred Silverman coaxed him back to television for United States (1980), Larry stipulated that there be no laugh track and endeavored to draw real laughs from real situations, since much of United States explored marriage as Pat Marshall and Larry Gelbart (and their friends and children) had lived it.

Film
"One of the funniest comedy writers that has ever lived. One of the truly great comedy writers of our epoch.”
-Mel Brooks, AFI Seminar, October 19, 1977
As the 1960s dawned, Larry had reached the point where he felt able to go the distance on long projects, like Forum, and films. His first break came when Charles K. Feldman asked him in 1961 to adapt Sam Locke’s play Fair Game for the screen. Fair Game was never made, but before that decision was made, Larry had already moved to another project, a rewrite of The Notorious Landlady for director Richard Quine. Larry quickly realized the treatment writers received in Hollywood, and as a result has rigorously sough protection for his own work through the years.
After collaborating on the story for Carl Reiner’s The Thrill of It All (1962) and re-writing (with Peter Barnes and Norman Panama) Not With My Wife, You Don’t, Larry once again teamed with fellow Forum author Burt Shevelove on an adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Wrong Box (1965), a wickedly funny black comedy about greed, families, mores, and death. The cast included many of the most respected British film actors—in or out of comedy—Michael Caine, Ralph Richardson, John Mills, Peter Sellers, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore. Directed by Bryan Forbes, The Wrong Box is that rarity of rarities, it seems: a cult film of true quality.
Larry’s film output went on hiatus until near the end of his M*A*S*H years, when he adapted Avery Corman’s novel, Oh, God!, for the screen. Initially, he envisioned Mel Brooks and Woody Allen to play God and Jerry (the roles eventually played by George Burns and John Denver). Carl Reiner directed the story of God’s continued interest in humanity, which became an instant classic because, as Pat Marshall pointed out to her husband, “It’s what everyone wants to believe.”
Hearkening back to his childhood experiences sitting through triple features each Saturday afternoon (“today they’d call it a film festival”), Larry and Sheldon Keller embarked on a loving send-up of 1930s and ‘40s film writing titled Movie Movie (1978). Directed by Stanley Donen, Movie Movie combines two short films and a coming attractions reel that not only recall Larry’s past, but also figure into later projects like the musical City of Angels.
After Movie Movie, Larry’s next triumph would come in the hugely popular classic Tootsie (1982). By now the story of Michael Dorsey/Dorothy Michaels is legend, as is the story of the making of the film. All involved—Larry, director Sydney Pollack and star Dustin Hoffman—sweated each change because they knew how special the project was.
With the exception of Blame It on Rio (1983), also directed by Stanley Donen, the remainder of Larry’s later screenplays have intersected the medium of television, specifically in the form of made-for-cable ventures such as the adaptation of his own Mastergate (Showtime, 1992), the highly regarded Barbarians at the Gate (HBO, 1993), and the upcoming Weapons of Mass Distraction (HBO, 1997). The success of these films demonstrates the truth in Larry’s observation that much of his satire arises from a desire to show the politician (or CEO) “how disappointed I am in you.” It also demonstrates what might be said of Larry’s entire career, that “He never met a medium he didn’t like.”

Zagreb: First Impressions

I’m walking about four miles a day as I explore the city. For those who know me, this is astounding; for those who don’t know me, stop picturing a man in great shape. I’ll get there if I keep this up.

Almost every corner turned reveals a different picture of Zagreb, and all of them “true” to a degree: baroque buildings mixed with communist-era blocks of apartments, along with glassy modern buildings. Banks, for instance, can come in any architectural flavor. Trees and parks break up the buildings, and I’ve passed more than a few teenage couples making out on a park bench . . . while an elderly pensioner sits on the next one reading what looks like a lottery newspaper. A different pensioner, of course, for each different couple sucking face.

The tram system is confusing at first, which means don't believe the guy who tells you "all the trams go through the main square" . . . they don't. Could they put a tram map INSIDE the streetcars so a fellow could double check his choice of the 6, 17, 1, 14, or 5? So far, I’ve been on the right number going in the right direction . . . can’t forget the importance of that last bit!

Coming from New Orleans as I do, I already have a sense of what a European city should feel like, and Zagreb feels right to me. In New Orleans, directions come in two varieties: toward the lake or toward the river? And (at Mardi Gras) Sidewalk or Neutral Ground side of the street? I find myself reducing Zagreb to a few simple demarcations: toward the river or toward “up the hill”? And the corollary, the river side of the train station, or the “up the hill” side?

To be fair, I should point out that “up the hill” has a name, Gradec, and it is the place where St. Mark's Church resides, the sabor (parliament), and a few expensive shops and restaurants (but damn good eats—had a “peka-style veal breast roll” last night that made me crazy—Peka-style means baked under an iron bell). Gradec is the old town dating from at least the thirteenth century; it merged with another town and evolved into the Zagreb of today.

Another part of Zagreb is the Novi Zagreb area—sort of the “West Bank” suburbs that New Orleans has at its own riverbend. Nevermind that Novi Zagreb is south of Zagreb . . . so is the West Bank of New Orleans, but no one seems to care about that. I’ll continue to think of it as the West Bank, thank you very much. For my Morgantown friends, think Westover. Funny how these geographical patterns repeat. Also for my West Virginia friends, the weather here is spookily the same as there. Right now, highs in the mid-70s and lows at night in the low 60s or upper 50s. I will get all four season in my time here.

Finally, the strongest first impression is that there’s a salon/barbershop/beauty parlor/day spa in every block of downtown!!! I’m not kidding, and so far no native has contradicted me when I’ve mentioned the fact. It actually reminds me of the opening line of Ilf and Petrov’s novel THE TWELVE CHAIRS (see the Mel Brooks film of it, by the way): “The town of N. has so many salons and funeral parlors that one might think that the inhabitants are born, have their hair done, and die.” Forgive the quoting from memory . . . my copy of the novel is in my attic in Morgantown.

Early Favorite Graffiti

Here's a scrawl on the wall of a Zagreb church. Mary does not look pleased.
I imagine the author was told not to skateboard down the church steps...

I'm Here

I’m here because I lied to my mother. Better still, I’m here in Zagreb, Croatia, because I lied to my mother. You see, I am a Fulbright scholar teaching “American Comedy as Cultural Mirror” to a group of graduate students in American Studies at the University of Zagreb. Why Croatia? Because I wrote a random email to Boris Senker, a scholar from Zagreb, who presented a paper at a Theatre Symposium I hosted on Comedy a few years back and asked him if his school hosted Fulbrighters. I chose comedy as the topic of that conference because I’m interested in it as a scholar and practitioner, and I wanted to invite the writer Larry Gelbart to be the keynote speaker and visit me in West Virginia; ends up I couldn’t invite him after all because we had no money in the department at that time. I got to know Larry because I was stuck for a research topic in a graduate Latin class I took years ago and out of frustration wrote him a letter asking him why no one had written on the subject of how his musical A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum was adapted from the plays of Plautus. I also asked him why every one of his colleagues and contemporaries—Neil Simon, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks, et al.—had books written about them and no one had done the Larry Gelbart bio . . . and promptly asked if I could “claim” him. I was an overworked grad student and thought Forum would be an easy topic to write on since I had played the wily slave Pseudolus in college in New Orleans back in the ’80s. I wasn’t even a theatre major, but got cast in the lead. I auditioned over the protestations of my mother, who thought I needed to work more shifts at Steak & Ale rather than waste my time acting in school plays. So I told her I was off to wait tables and auditioned anyway. And that’s how I lied to my mother and that’s how I got to Zagreb.

MUCH more on Zagreb and Larry in days to come

Larry Gelbart: A Man and a Half

God, as Larry would have mused, has a sense of humor--sometimes black, sometimes bittersweet. The Irony that my "comedy father" has passed away on the very day I begin my journey to teach comedy abroad can hardly be missed. I'm in London at this moment, on my way to Zagreb, but London is the place I met Larry face to face in 1994. We had corresponded since 1992, so I count my friendship with him from that year.

Larry Gelbart had a signature phrase that he inserted into almost every script he penned, an homage to a favorite phrase of his mother's, and it consisted simply of " . . . and a half." Not particularly funny, but warm and genial, like the man himself.

I called his home Wednesday, and his wife, Pat, answered the phone (as she often does). She told me he was resting with back troubles and she didn't want to disturb him. I left the next day for London. Now he's joined many of the other writers, performers and producers he'd worked with over the years. More and more over the last ten years I've found myself emailing Larry to express my condolences for the loss of a friend or colleague (usually both): Hy Averback, Jack Paar, Jack Lemmon, and so forth. On Wednesday, I had planned to mention the passing of Army Archerd to him, since Archerd was always so nice and supportive of Larry and his work.

Larry called me his "official memory" of him after I published his biography a few years back. I have not been looking forward in any way to revising the book upon his death. I was hoping for another chapter or two derived from his latest projects. Now I'll work on that in Zagreb, too.

He never let me down when I needed a contact for an interview, or even his own time. We ate a meal when I visited Los Angeles, and discussed his career, comedy theory, or even a screenplay I had dedicated to him . . . I've been implementing his notes this summer.

What a melancholy day for American Culture! The critic Frank Rick said that real artists provide society with cautonary satire of where we're headed -- that they can see the future in some way. Gelbart was such an artist; his comedy over the last two and a half decades became more and more personal and pointed. Gone were the broad strokes of Tootsie or Caesar's Hour: he took a topic and assailed it with every ounce of his considerable wit. His play Mastergate: A Play on Words read like a manual from George Orwell on how to talk Politispeak. His dark comedy Power Failure and his HBO movie Weapons of Mass Distraction present a view of interconnectedness that haunts one long after the final lines are spoken.

He was a writer's writer and a Writer's Guild lion. One of his last public gestures was to throw his support behind a candidate for WGAw president. He never lost sight of the fact that his words were his weapons, sometimes defensive, sometimes offensive. He was a poweful writer who found himself enshrined in almost every screenwriting book, but had trouble getting a script to the right person in the last few years. Thus the business has evolved, and Larry Gelbart worked the writing profession in almost every medium out there: classic radio, television, film, stage, and internet. Although only 81 at the time of his passing, he had contributed his words in seven decades, from the 1940s to this century.

He is missed. Missed and a half.