Tip It!

by Maggie Griffin

  K: And gone to St. Bernardine’s . . .

  M: To the nine a.m. mass.

  K: Which, by the way, was the only time I’ve ever volunteered to go to early mass in my life.

  M: Well, I couldn’t help it. You were so proud of yourself. You said, “Everybody was looking at me.” I’ll bet they were. I was in hysterics. I was laughing.

  K: But Mother, everyone was looking at me because I was beautiful.

  M: Kathy, everyone was looking at you ’cause they were saying, “What was wrong with Marge that she let her kid out like that?” Everyone who saw it thought it was hysterical.

  K: Jealous. You mean jealous.

  M: Of course, Johnny and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. We told you, “Oh you do look nice” and all that. But you were not going to wear that thing again.

  K: Um, translation, Mom. “What the Christ were you doing wearing that in church?” You know you said that.

  M: I might have. But I thought it was funny. At least I wasn’t mad.

  K: That is true. But would you say that’s the first time I officially shamed the family?

  M: Yes. That was the first time.

  K: By the way, what exactly do you think our family legacy or name signifies, compared to, oh, say, the Rockefellers or the Du Ponts?

  M: [Pause] Well, in our parish, we were considered kind of okay.

  K: The wig didn’t help?

  M: The wig didn’t help.

  I’m guessing what probably put Kathy in mind to go into showbiz was seeing her oldest brother, Kenny, be in a band, and get a lead role in a Chicago production of the musical Hair. Kenny used to perform every summer in a place called Saugatuck, Michigan, at a big restaurant/nightclub. It was the cutest place, like Cape Cod, and he convinced us to rent a cottage there, so we’d take Kathy and her brother John—Gary and Joyce were too old for these vacations, they were already off doing their own thing—and the kids just loved it. [In between rolling around on the floor trying to beat the crap out of each other.] They’d watch rehearsals, then we’d see the band perform, and it was pretty exciting for little Kathy.

  One summer, when Kathy was maybe twelve, we went to a place called Nippersink Manor in Genoa City, Wisconsin, a really lovely resort that had great meals, entertainment for kids, a golf course, and a nice lake. [Okay, the real story is that it was a place that catered to a Jewish clientele, which made Mom extra excited because she’s all about the food. Let’s cut the crap: that staff isn’t gonna mess with a banquet hall filled with round tables of pissed-off yentas. I believe we were the only gentiles there. However, I can’t confirm that the term “gentile” even exists anymore.] The thing about Nippersink was, every so often they’d have a talent show for kids up to ages sixteen or seventeen, and we happened to be there for one of those productions. One night Johnny and I were sitting at one of the big tables where you share your meals with other guests, and the kids’ talent show started. [Kind of like a Jewish Showtime at the Apollo. Can I get a “what what”?] Well, they’re bringing out all these adorable children to perform, and suddenly the announcer says, “And here we have a little girl with a big voice, and she’s gonna sing for you: Kathy Griffin!”

  Johnny and I almost died! We looked at each other and said, “Oh my GOD!”

  This was a smallish theater we were in, but boy did it suddenly seem very, very large. I started to sweat. Would she be any good? All these people from the resort are here! It’s one thing to sing and act and dance for us in the house, but this was completely different. [None of these people were having Hamburger Helper.]

  It barely registered that she was suddenly talking to us. “Hi, Mom and Dad! I’ll bet you’re surprised, aren’t ya?” Everyone started to laugh and clap.

  That’s when this friendly couple next to us who we’d eaten a few meals with told us their secret. Kathy had clued them in to her little scheme. “You know, I knew and I wanted to tell ya, because I thought you should know,” the lady said. “But I knew she’d be mad at me.”

  That sounds like Kathy. [As Claus von Bülow would later famously say, “You have no idea.”]

  Well, Kathy started to sing this Carly Simon song [actually Roberta Flack, Mom—oh, same dif], ’cause she was a big fan of hers, probably from sneaking into Joyce’s room and playing her records. And Kathy was wonderful! You might not know this about Kathy, but she had this beautiful singing voice [and is similar to Roberta Flack in many ways], and she sounded great. But she was also so cute up there, all giggly and everything, not wearing a lick of makeup [as opposed to my current signature tranny face paint], and she waved to us as she walked off the stage. What struck me, though, was how at home she looked up there. I couldn’t believe how self-assured she was when she came out to perform.

  On top of that, she won an award! That was a real treat, and a big thrill for us as parents. And I’ll bet that’s what got Kathy to thinking she might want to do this for a living.

  [Okay, the deal was, I came in second. Not first. Second. Making me officially on the D-list at a freaking resort in Genoa City, Wisconsin. Holla!]

  Johnny and I, meanwhile, still didn’t think it was anything but a hobby. We didn’t take it seriously because I’d seen what Kenny had gone through with his band, making money sometimes, other times not. Real up and down, up and down. Even when Kathy pursued theater in high school and started getting leads in the shows, I still kept wondering what she was going to do with herself after she graduated. There she’d be in that real cute Jewish musical Fiddler on the Roof, playing the part of Hodel, the nice young daughter who angers her traditional dad by leaving the family to get married, and I’m sitting there crying, thinking that that’s what Kathy would do. Little did I know, it’d be showbiz that would woo her, not a man! [Don’t worry, Mom. Plenty of busboys and barbacks would go on to screw me over in my lifetime.]

  Then again, Kathy didn’t have to leave us at all to pursue her dream. In fact, we’re the ones who left Chicago when Johnny decided to retire, and it was Kathy—still newly graduated from high school—who tagged along with us. You know why? Because we were headed to California, and as our oldest, Kenny, told us—because he was out there already—it’s where Kathy should be. We didn’t even need to ask Kathy if she wanted to move out with us. “You guys are going to California?” she told us. “Then that’s where I’m going!”

  Can We Get a Little More Truth in Here, Mom?

  KATHY: Okay, hold it. Can we get a little more truth in here, Mom?

  MAGGIE: What truth?

  K: What you really wanted me to be.

  M: Oh. As you got older, you mean . . .

  K: Not as I got older. When I was a little girl. When you said show business was for “hoors.”

  M: I did not . . .

  K: You wanted me to be what? Come on. You know.

  M: Well, a stewardess.

  K: You can’t use that word, Ma. I’ve told you a million times. It’s “flight attendant.”

  M: We figured if she was a stew, we could get deals on flying.

  K: Do you think President Obama’s mother wanted that for him when he was a child?

  M: Well, whatever she wanted, he surely exceeded her expectations.

  K: Thanks, Mom. So the bar was that low for me, huh? Well, go ahead, then, what was the other one? The other profession you had in mind for me.

  M: A dental hygienist. For the same reason. We could go, the family could go, and probably get a little discount on checkups and cleanings. Maybe even a root canal. You know, your braces weren’t cheap. I wanted to write down the amount and show you.

  K: You did write it down. Like I had a running tab. How much were the goddamn braces I got when I was twelve? Were they ten thousand dollars? A hundred thousand?

  M: Twelve hundred.

  K: Twelve hundred? You gave me shit for ten years about twelve hundred dollars? All right. I’ll let you get back to this. I just felt a little dishonesty. This idea that you were in any way supportive of my show busi
ness dreams.

  M: Well, I didn’t think you’d follow through on it.

  K: I rest my case. I guess I know why I never got those unicycle lessons.

  Look, our attitude about Kathy was, she’ll do what she wants to do, and if we can help her in any way, we will. Why wouldn’t we?

  I think you’re so blessed if you’re doing something you love. I don’t care if it’s shoveling cement or sweeping up trash or delivering mail, if that’s what you like to do. [No one likes those jobs, Mom. No one who is actually sweeping up trash is spewing their philosophy with things like “Hey, I love what I do!”] I don’t think there’s anything worse than having no interest in your work. So get a job you love! [By the way, Mom’s part-time job when I was a kid was in the cashier’s office of a Catholic hospital, run by nuns that she didn’t, let’s just say, get along with. But remember, “Get a job you love”!!!]

  So Kathy lived with us. [Until I was twenty-eight years old. Which I’m still ashamed of. That’s way too old to live with your parents.] And when she needed help to pay for acting classes, or those classes you take that tell you where to stand when you’re on television, we supported her. She wasn’t making any money at the odd jobs she had to take. You hear about these actors and actresses who say, “I came out here with two hundred dollars.” What does that mean? That means the girls end up having to do nude stuff, calendars and the like. [Let me translate Maggiespeak for you: either you’re a Kelly girl temp earning money for a camera blocking class in the Valley, or you do porn.] Makes me ill, I tell ya. I just can’t see throwing a kid somewhere where they don’t have a roof over their head, or a meal. And in Los Angeles, it’s so much worse than anyplace else, because for every talented kid, there’s a thousand behind him. For every pretty girl, there’s a thousand behind her. [Luckily I didn’t have to worry about the latter category, but I fought those talented boys tooth and nail.]

  I remember once when I accompanied Johnny to a class about show business—when my husband was going out for commercials himself later in life—and at the end they asked for a donation of about ten bucks from all the attendees. Well, there was this real cute girl there, probably twenty-one, and she said, “All I have is thirty-five cents in my purse.”

  Johnny said, “Why don’t we pay for the poor kid?”

  We were too slow, because another guy stepped in and took care of her. [I’ll BET he took care of her.] But that sure got me thinking, “My kid’s never gonna go with only thirty-five cents in her purse! Never!” [Ever since then I’ve had $5.35 in my purse at all times. For safety.]

  Moms and dads, if you’ve got a kid who wants to do this, you’ve got to be there for them. If that means helping them out with cash, you’ve got to do it.

  Besides, we’d supported the other kids who went to college and paid for their tuition. This wasn’t any different, to me. Kathy’s acting classes, whether it was her time at the Lee Strasberg school or her classes at the Groundlings, were her college. Would I have liked Kathy to go to a regular college first? Sure, but she didn’t want to do it. And to see the way she threw herself into becoming an actress when we moved to Los Angeles, how could anyone not support that desire?

  Seems to have paid off, don’t you think? [Obviously here she’s referring to my small supporting role in On the Fritz, a comedy pilot starring Los Angeles weatherman Fritz Coleman. You’re damn right it paid off.]

  Giving them financial support is easy. The hard part is being with them through the disappointments. Success doesn’t always come so fast in the biz. [Mom, did you really just call it “the biz”? You old show horse.]

  Kathy would call us up and say all excitedly, “Oh Ma, I think I’m gonna get this little part in a sitcom!” Sitcom roles were a big deal. Are a big deal still, what am I saying? Anyway, “I’m pretty sure the part’s mine!” she’d say, because the audition went really well. I’d get excited with her, which was easy to do.

  Then, the inevitable follow-up call would come.

  “The other girl got the part,” she’d say, and then start crying. “I guess she was more the ‘fresh-faced all-American’ girl type than I am. I’m never gonna make it! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

  Boy, is that hard to hear from your children, especially when you know how hard they’re working to make their dreams come true. Well, I’d just be extra-supportive at those times, and try to get her thinking straight again. “Kathy, listen to me, the talent is there! It’s got to be recognized, and it will. You have to bide your time.”

  In time, as we’d talk through those moments, I could hear the tears subside, and eventually she’d say, “Oh Ma, that’s so great. Thanks for talking to me like that.” [Can you please become the president and chairman of all of “the biz” right now, Mom?]

  She’d get off the phone, and guess what? That’s when I’d start crying! Now it was my husband’s turn to do the consoling! “Aw geez, Johnny, is she ever gonna get a break? What’s wrong with this silly town that they won’t give her the part she wants? She’s so talented!”

  This went on for years. I didn’t want Kathy to feel depressed, because she’d be so down on herself. But I would never show her that side in me. My job was to show her love and care and support, and not make it about me and my feelings.

  Sometimes, as the supportive parent, you show your love by boycotting something. One of the biggest disappointments in Kathy’s life, after she joined the Groundlings and started making a name for herself there in comedy, was that she was never asked to do Saturday Night Live. A lot of the performers from the Groundlings did go on to that famous show, and really got their careers moving along, but Kathy really wasn’t for a while there. She did commercials and industrials and got little speaking parts here and there, but SNL didn’t happen. And because of that, I never watch it. Never. Hey, I stick up for my kid!

  Likewise, her dad and I would go see Kathy perform anywhere. Every week at the Groundlings, for one thing. That was a given. But then when she first started getting into stand-up comedy, we’d go to any place that would have her. And every little thing she did, we just thought it was so wonderful! If she got a little gig at a coffee shop that would let her get up onstage and tell her funny stories, we’d be there, laughing right along. She probably didn’t get paid half the time at those places. [Try fifteen years I didn’t get paid.] But at least we were now looking at our kid on a stage, and this time it wasn’t us thinking, “Oh what a nice hobby she has,” or wondering what career she was going to eventually get into, or whether she was going to find a man and settle down.

  We could look up at Kathy and think, “She’s going up that ladder!”

  [Little does she know I slept my way to the middle, and I’m proud of every rung.]

  Ways Kathy Is Screwing Up Her Life

  My daughter Kathy is always getting into some kind of trouble. Here are some ways I think Kathy is ruining her life.

  NAMING NAMES. Kathy can say whatever she wants, but does she have to use people’s real names? Can’t she use a code like “A certain blond actress,” or make up a fake name, for cryin’ out loud?

  STRONG LANGUAGE. For Chrissake, Kathleen, watch your Goddamn mouth! Frankly, I think you embarrass that nice Anderson Cooper when you talk like that.

  NOT GOING TO CHURCH. Come on, Kathy, can’t you stop by once in a blue moon? Maybe every other Sunday?

  ENOUGH WITH THE CRAP DIET. Would it kill you to eat more vegetables and fruit and less cake and pizza, Kathy?

  KATHY DOES NOT WATCH NEARLY ENOUGH FOX NEWS. No wonder she doesn’t know what the heck is going on in the world.

  HOME REMODELING DISORDER. Why does Kathleen have to keep remodeling her house? It’s such a beautiful house and she just refurbished it a few years ago. It’s got a roof, it heats up when it’s cold, and the doors lock. That should be enough.

  CLOTHES SHOPPING DISORDER. Who needs that many shoes? Or jeans that come with holes in them?

  I Have Other Kids Besides Kathy, Part 1


  Being our first child, Kenny naturally got a lot of attention from both Johnny’s family and mine. It helped also that he was a spectacularly good, happy baby.

  Then we all started to notice that early on in his development, he could carry a tune. He’d sing along with whatever was being played on the radio. So Johnny took it upon himself to teach Kenny the beautiful Irish ballad “The Rose of Tralee.” It was one of Johnny’s favorites, and by the time he was done Kenny had learned every word, every note, every nuance to performing it.

  Then, when all the relatives were over, and Kenny was running around having fun and going nuts with the kids his age, one of the adults would say, “Oh, Kenny, would you sing ‘The Rose of Tralee’?”

  Suddenly, as if he were some sort of little soldier, Kenny would stop, straighten up, put his hands behind his back, and sing that song perfectly. There was such an innocence to it, and I’m not kidding you, he was so good people would cry.

  My first child, Kenny, with our first dog, Pancho.

  But the minute that song was over—bam!—he was back to being a rambunctious little boy. That was always funny to see.

  Eventually the relatives all developed a habit of giving Kenny a dollar every time he sang the song. He’d take it and put it away, or we’d keep it for him. Then Kenny got older and got into rock and roll and started his own band. Sometimes, he’d refer back to his days entertaining the family and joke about his steady compensation for his performances.

  “Ma, I probably made more money as a kid singing than I do with a damn band!” he’d say, laughing.

  Kenny’s not with us anymore, but when I think about him, that’s the memory I really cherish.

  “I Want My MaggieTV!”