Kathy Griffin's Celebrity Run-Ins

by Kathy Griffin

  Zac Efron owes me more than a muffin basket. I truly believe the mere gesture of Ms. Kathy Griffin gently touching his hair (and yes, there are pictures online to prove it) was the night he truly became a man. Yes, I made it possible for Troy Bolton to become the ripped, shirtless hot guy who barely remembers high school.

  EMANUEL, RAHM

  Chicago Mayor, Ex–White House Chief of Staff, Scary Guy

  A Washington reporter friend of mine invited me as her plus one to a Washington, D.C., event called the Radio & Television Correspondents’ Association Dinner, which Vice President Joe Biden hosted. It’s not nearly as star-studded as the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, but the room was filled with hundreds of Washington, D.C., figures. To me, though, it looked as if everyone went to both events, because you saw all the same people. There’s always a comedian hosting, and the vibe is loose and satirical.

  I was seated at then Republican Massachusetts senator Scott Brown’s table. Brown, who had just taken the late Ted Kennedy’s seat earlier that year, pulled the Alec Baldwin Preemptive Strike with me, saying about the comedian who was hosting, “I bet this guy’s funny, but I wish you were performing.”

  Not fazed by the compliment, nor dazzled by his good looks, but remembering how he was referred to by detractors, I said, “It’s Ken, is it? Or Mr. Doll? Anyway, you should really be happy I’m not up there, because I’m going to give a performance at this table that’ll rival anything onstage.”

  My reporter pal looked nervous, as if she were thinking, Oh God, I’m representing my global media outlet. I bragged to the table about how I, too, was a legitimate journalist based on my hard-hitting New Year’s Eve coverage on CNN with Anderson Cooper. I gave Scott Brown so much shit I was practically writing my act that night.

  I noticed that at a nearby table, Obama senior advisor Valerie Jarrett was sitting next to Fox News chairman Roger Ailes. I couldn’t resist. I’d met Valerie once before, so I was going to use her as my inroad to confront Ailes. Bold as brass, I went up and said, “Hi, Valerie. Kathy Griffin! Remember me?”

  “Of course! That story made me cool to my teenage daughter!” (The short version: at a women’s conference, Katie Couric and I banged on Valerie’s hotel room door in our pajamas. Katie wanted an interview. I was just kidding around. It’s all Katie’s fault.)

  “Why don’t you tell me about your friend sitting next to you?” I asked.

  “Kathy, this is Roger Ailes,” Valerie said.

  “Hi, Rog.”

  “Hello,” he said.

  I said, “How’s everything going over at the propaganda machine?”

  And then, like an awakened guard dog, a nearby Rahm Emanuel got up and stood right behind me as Valerie said, “Oh, Kathy, you’re so funny. I know what you’re doing. You’re being a troublemaker!”

  Roger Ailes started in on me. “I remember when you used to do Fox & Friends.”

  I shot back with, “And I remember when your ‘show’ had cooking segments and Richard Simmons and me doing jumping jacks, and Steve Doocy was the weather guy, and Brian Kilmeade was the sports guy. It wasn’t you calling the dogs to war every five seconds. Way to go, Rog.”

  At this point, Valerie tried to escape because I was going at Ailes hard. But then I felt these firm hands on my shoulders as Rahm Emanuel himself pivoted me from the table, walked me away, and said, “We are not doing this now!” He struck me as a man who was obviously in a position of power in that room at that moment. I got the impression that he was a seasoned pro at encounters like this that would include the president’s advisors. To this day, I can’t tell you if Rahm Emmanuel is a prick or just a guy doing his job. It happened so fast I barely had a chance to get out a “Hey, Rahm, tell Ari I said hi! I’m a star client!!!”

  ESTEFAN, GLORIA

  Cuban Diplomat, Diva Para Siempre

  Gloria Estefan keeps trying to improve me. She thinks I’m going to change. She is like the hot girlfriend who thinks that her boyfriend, Kathy Griffin, will change. Ladies and gay men: people don’t change. Here are some photos that prove my point.

  In this pic, Glo is putting me in the doghouse because of my rather free-spirited hair-don’t. I think secretly she wishes I would just learn how to scrunch my hair properly in the way she has been doing for decades to her own.

  She was even willing to do it in a muumuu in her own home in Florida.

  And here she is that same night at a fancy dinner party in Miami, still trying to get it right.

  Gloria Estefan, in addition to being arguably one of the rulers of all things Latina, has been an incredibly generous friend to me. One time when I was on tour in Miami, she let me stay in one of her homes on Star Island. You heard me. One of her homes. Not a guesthouse. Not a spare room. She was in the kitchen, and I, of course, was on a mission to embarrass her and make her regret her decision to let me stay at ONE OF HER HOMES. I decided to try to make her laugh by dancing around the dock area without my pesky bikini top. That’s right. I was very proud of myself running around the dock of her property with just my bikini bottoms on, white titties flapping in the air, flailing my arms and yelling, “LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! I’m getting on my feet and making it happen! The rhythm got me! The rhythm got me!”

  To which she dryly shouted out the window, “You know, the paparazzi are stationed across the bay with long lenses all the time!”

  Like I care!

  A few days later, my first and last genuine candid paparazzi shot surfaced online and in all the weekly rags—topless, pale, wiry hair, and makeup-free. Trust me when I say this was not a staged photo. I was just trying to make my friend laugh while she was trying to be a friend and save me from myself. Gloria, don’t worry—someday, I’ll change. Everyone does.

  FERRELL, WILL

  Actor, Former Student of Mine (Yep)

  You may not know this, but my day job for several years was teaching improv classes at the famed Groundlings improv theater group in Los Angeles, of which I was a long-standing company member. Prior to being on Saturday Night Live, Will was my student. Both he and Cheri Oteri were my students. So yes, I was there when they invented the cheerleaders and was fully aware that they were geniuses in the making.

  The thing people don’t know is that when I was his teacher, before he was famous, he and his brother lived in his mother’s basement. You know, like Silence of the Lambs? You can imagine how much I enjoyed teasing him long after he became a star. “Hey, how are you and your brother doing in the basement? Do you have your own bed now? Your movies seem to be doing well, so I would think you would.”

  The other thing about Will is that he’s what I affectionately call “lost to fame.” Let me give you an example. One year, I was a red carpet correspondent for the E! channel, and when Will walked onto the carpet, I could not get his attention. He was surrounded by publicists, security, and the like, and everybody wanted a piece of him. He was at the height of the Anchorman frenzy. Good God, straight guys love that movie. I innocently shouted his name. He and his posse blew by. They probably didn’t hear me. Okay, maybe they heard me and had to move on. Was he being purposely rude? I doubt it. I used to take it personally, but he’s just so out of the stratosphere now with his career that I just don’t think it even occurs to him to say hello to his old pal Kathy. He probably has to meet a million people every time he goes to an event like the Emmys. There’s no vibe from him about it, either. And it doesn’t bother me one bit. He was always a funny, nice guy, but there are some rocket ships to stardom you just don’t see coming, and Will—sweet, hairy, suburban Will—was one of them.

  FONDA, JANE

  Movie Star, Works Out, Personal Chef

  Jane Fonda made me the worst quesadilla of my life. And I was never so happy to eat it.

  Of course, I’ve always wanted to get to know the great Jane Fonda. I mean, what a life! A true feminist, a wildly talented star of stage and screen, a survivor and victor.

  I initially reached out to Jane through Lily Tomlin
in 2010. Lily was a guest in an episode of My Life on the D-List where she and I called Jane on speakerphone. Once I had her contact info, we e-mailed back and forth casually. She wanted me to host a charity event for her organization in Atlanta, and I was hoping she would be a guest on my show.

  Months later, I changed the course of our budding friendship. I was smack-dab at the wrong end of a breakup. I was crushed, devastated. Basically, I was a wreck. I was desperate to talk to someone who had been through the fire. Jane was that perfect person. I was not messing around here. At that moment, I needed real advice from a woman who we’ve all seen go through extreme ups (winning Oscars, creating a successful fitness empire) and downs (high-profile breakups, media backlash) and is able to keep it moving. So I sent her an e-mail asking if we could hang out one-on-one. Jane invited me to the house where she was staying, told me not to bring anything, and asked if I had any dietary restrictions. I was so looking forward to spending time with this American legend and getting to know her as a friend more than as a fan.

  Jane greeted me at the door in casual clothes. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but her hair was perfect. Here’s someone that I’ve idolized my whole life, and here I am in sweatpants and tears on her doorstep. I opened with, “I’m out of my mind right now.”

  She responded, “I can tell. Come on in.”

  We went right to her office/work area. She told me that this was a writing day for her. Her office is a room off the kitchen where she sits on a recliner with her laptop. Jane said, “Pull up that other recliner and we can talk. I’m shacking up here at my boyfriend’s house for a while.” Her office was more like a traditional man cave, which I thought was hilarious. This is working, I thought. I’m sitting here in Jane’s office / boyfriend’s den, and she seems perfectly happy. I was hanging on her every word. I asked her to give me some advice about how to best deal with emotional turmoil while still working in the most public of fields.

  She whipped off a grocery list of advice, and I took notes. I actually took notes! I’ll give you my knee-jerk reactions in italics because I was in a frame of mind that was questionable:

  “Don’t make any major decisions right now.”

  So I shouldn’t join Doctors without Borders?

  “Don’t sell your house.”

  But I’m pretty sure I could get a billion dollars.

  “Don’t buy a house.”

  I’d be perfectly happy in one of those tiny houses I’ve seen on the HGTV channels.

  “Don’t move across the country.”

  What? I could pull my tiny house on the back of a U-Haul and drive to Bangor, Maine, to start my new life.

  “Don’t jump into a new relationship.”

  What about a booty call with one of those Backstreet Boys?

  “Don’t do anything dramatic for one year.”

  I’m hungry.

  We moved to the kitchen where she made me a quesadilla while continuing to rattle off advice. I sat at her cozy kitchen table and watched her as she got a tortilla from the fridge, pulled out some cheese, and casually asked, “Do you eat chicken?”

  She confided in me about several of her relationships and why she had come to the conclusion of waiting a year before doing anything substantial. I never knew I would get to know Fonda in this way. She was so nurturing and kind and helpful. It was a window into her world that few get to experience. There were plenty of jokes, too. I teased her about reading an article one time where someone asked her if she ever binged on junk food, and her response was, “Sometimes I have too much peanut butter.” We laughed, but she was always focused on bringing it back to the simple task of a new friend being there for a friend.

  Jane plopped down the quesadilla on a plate in front of me, and I couldn’t resist saying, “I’m not gonna lie: it’s a little bland. This quesadilla is terrible. This is a very WASPy quesadilla,” hoping she would laugh. “No wonder you’re so thin and fit.”

  She came back with, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Look, kid, stay the course. Steady as she goes. Make sure you stay super active and put yourself out there. Keep reaching out to friends. Girlfriends. Guy friends. Check in with me and let me know how you’re doing.”

  I got in my car, drove home, and thought about everything she told me for one year. That’s right. I took Jane’s advice because she was absolutely right. I think about that day and how content she seemed sitting in her boyfriend’s rec room, writing and juggling television and film roles while still being able to tap into her own experiences and offer me such thoughtful support. I owe Jane Fonda a hell of a quesadilla.

  FORD, GERALD

  Former President, That Should Be Enough

  Only once have I ever been glad to be ignored by the media regarding a big event. In 2001, my friend Camryn Manheim took me as her plus one to a charity fund-raiser called “A Family Celebration” that was so celebrity-packed it blew my mind. We’re talking super-duper A-list: Elizabeth Taylor (who I’d never seen in person before), Calista Flockhart and the whole Ally McBeal cast (which was THE show at that time), *NSYNC performing at the height of their *NSYNC-ness, Britney Spears in tow, Michelle Pfeiffer, David E. Kelley, Sylvester Stallone, and even a couple of former presidents, Gerald Ford and Bill Clinton. At one point Camryn jokingly whispered to me, “Oh my God, Bill Clinton is sexy.” I was nervous about shaking the hand of a world leader because I wasn’t some big donor, just a comedian/sitcom star/plus one, but Camryn set me straight: “If Bill Clinton wants to shake hands, you shake hands.” Then I shook President Ford’s hand, too! He was older, of course, but very distinguished. A nice strong presidential, respectable handshake. I went home on a total high.

  Cut to a few years later: I’m sitting in bed watching my newsmagazine shows, and there’s a piece on who organized that event, some guy named Aaron Tonken. Well, that some guy turned out to be a gigantic con artist, stealing millions from these fund-raisers, and he went to prison for it. So when I say I was glad to be ignored, that meant I was watching this ABC News piece, which featured red carpet footage of that “Family Celebration” event, and thinking, Please, please, please, don’t show me. Thank God I wasn’t famous enough to make the cut on ABC News of all the A-listers who sincerely thought they were attending a legitimate charity event. Including two frickin’ presidents. Oh, I fly, but sometimes I’m just under the radar.

  FREEMAN, MORGAN

  I Can’t Wait for Him to Read This

  I think Morgan Freeman is one of those guys that people truly want to know about. What is he like in real life? I can tell you.

  Morgan Freeman is a stately dude. There is a presence about him. Everything about him just reeks of a man of a thousand experiences and stories. I think that is part of the Morgan Freeman mystique. Obviously, there are lots of jokes about him being God. He has even parodied that himself. I once saw him give a really funny interview about how he was jokingly bitter about not winning the Academy Award for Best Actor yet, even though he won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for Million Dollar Baby.

  I am happy to report I have seen Morgan in several different settings. He is everything you would hope he would be. He looks you directly in the eye, he plants himself on the ground when he speaks, and the minute he opens his mouth, you turn your head because his voice is so iconic. But what I love the most is that he has a great sense of humor. I was at a dinner thrown by Beverly Hills heavyweights Arnold and Anne Kopelson, and there was Morgan Freeman—Academy Award winner, voice of God, living screen legend, favorite actor to many, and so on. I was at a great table. I was seated with Sharon Stone and the great Don Rickles. Morgan approached a sitting Don Rickles from behind and threw his arms around him. Don turned around and gave him a friendly, “Hey, you bastard!”

  Morgan said, “Don, I’ve been waiting all night for you to call me a hockey puck.”

  Let me stop for a minute. Obviously, if these two old pals are joking around with each other in a way that you can only do with someone you go back a long way with, then I
want to watch with eyes wide open and ears pricked up. I just want to be honest and tell you I was quietly losing it inside to just be looking at Morgan Freeman. He’s one of those legends. I can’t be cavalier about my run-ins with Morgan because they are always very significant to me. He probably would laugh at this, but I’m just telling you, he’s one of those big-time stars that would stop anyone in their tracks.

  Of the many times I’ve had brief encounters with Morgan, there is one that he probably doesn’t remember but stuck with me. I was hosting an awards show, and he was picking up an award for his film with De Niro, Michael Douglas, and Kevin Kline called Last Vegas. When he came onstage, in the off-microphone moment it took him to walk up to the podium and I went halfway to meet him with the award, he simply said to me, “Hey, Kathy! How have you been?”

  I responded, “Great, Morgan. It’s good to see you.” It may seem like nothing to you, but I must have told the story of that small exchange to thirty of my friends. It has engendered every response from “Oh my God, he knows your name!” to “What is he really like?” to “That is just cool!” and I agree. I was giddy like a schoolgirl simply because Morgan Freeman said my name.

  Back to the party. Morgan continued to Don, “What’s going on? Are you off your game? I’ve been here two hours! I’m waiting.”

  Now, witnessing that exchange, it was like I got a hopeful glimpse of what I hope starts right now. When you’ve put as much time in as I have, watching these two gave me hope that I’m reaching that place where these folks that I put in my act actually come around and have a laugh at it. I’m looking at you, Jacob Tremblay (the kid from Room). Morgan was laughing at everything Don said. Don was on a roll. And that’s how it should be. The guy we think of as God, wanting Don Rickles to bust his balls, was for me a sign that if I keep at it, I can still do what I do when I’m that age. Morgan and Don’s rapport spoke of longtime friendship, mutual respect, and a bond over whatever makes you laugh regardless of the tenor. It reminded me of seeing the Don in his documentary Mr. Warmth and how Clint Eastwood just lit up talking about him. Ballbusting will never get old, and since it’s what I do, I’m planning on sticking around until celebrities beg me for it. Let’s just say, when I’m ninety, the goal is for me to have my Morgan Freemans chase after me at an event and say, “Kathy! I’m right here! The night’s not over till you roll your eyes at me and flip me off!”