Goodbye, Robin Williams, We Love You

One of my early memories is of my mother taking me to East Windsor, New Jersey to visit a friend. She did this from time to time. I remember that she took me there on Opening Day in 1976, which was the day the world finally got to see the revamped Yankee Stadium. I sat in front of the television and fell in love with Thurman Munson and Graig Nettles and Mickey Rivers and Roy White.

I also learned during one of these trips that a friend of the family had developed a cocaine habit and had spent all their family’s money and was being divorced. And I learned that one of his coke-buddies was Robin Williams, who apparently had an unquenchable desire for the stuff. I may have some details wrong, and my mother will probably correct my memory, but from my earliest childhood I have always associated Robin Williams with substance abuse. And I have always loved him. I think he was the best comedian I have ever seen because he was the most generous comedian I have ever seen. I knew how vulnerable he was. I knew how eager to please he was. I could see how much he loved because he wanted so desperately to be loved back.

And who was ever quicker on his feet with a retort? Who has ever been as spontaneously and energetically creative? Has anyone ever been funnier without being mean? My favorite routine of his was actually about golf, of all things, which I don’t even play or watch.

All the other comedians I love have made their names talking about politics, race, or inequality. Robin Williams could talk about anything. He struggled with addiction his whole life. He once told a story about relapsing after a couple of decades of sobriety because he had found himself in a remote Alaskan village where he knew he could drink without anyone knowing about it. Within a few weeks, he was back in rehab. That’s how trying to live sober is. Always a struggle, no matter how long you’ve been doing it.

Reportedly, he was back in rehab this summer. Reportedly, he was severely depressed. This greatly saddens me. He gave so much that he should never have felt badly about himself. I will miss him terribly, and I will never get over how he died.

Author: BooMan

Martin Longman a contributing editor at the Washington Monthly. He is also the founder of Booman Tribune and Progress Pond. He has a degree in philosophy from Western Michigan University.