As we mourn the loss of Joan Rivers, I must confess to having admired her bravery and toughness and work ethic more than her one-liners. She took chances. Like a good journalist, her comedy “afflicted the comfortable and comforted the afflicted.” But she also worked like hell. That’s what endeared her most to me. And, I suspect, I’m not alone.
Whether you’re talking about a journalist, a politician, an athlete, or a comedienne, you’ve got to respect the player who respects the game. “Baseball may be a religion full of magic, cosmic truth, and the fundamental ontological riddles of our time,” declares Annie Savoy in Bull Durham, “but it’s also a job.” As fans, rather than destroying the facade, knowing this can enhance our appreciation for the players of the game — for their workmanlike commitment to the profession.
That’s part of the reason I respect Joan Rivers so much. The entertainment business isn’t just about the “magic” we see on TV; it’s also a job. Even for the famous. What may look glamorous to you and I is sometimes humiliating or humbling (behind the scenes). A lot of people, having attained some modicum of success, are, perhaps wisely, no longer willing to endure it. They don’t have the eternal “fire in the belly” like Rivers did.
Anyone who has ever striven for success in this dog eat dog world can find much to admire in Rivers’ endurance. Like Dolly Parton in the music industry, Rivers spent much of her career overcoming obstacles, losing cherished mentors, and reinventing herself.
She was talented, to be sure, but much of her success was due to perseverance, shrewd business acumen, and ability to find creative ways to stay relevant. In a way, those are more admirable traits than raw talent, which, after all, you’re mostly born with.
No matter your business, you’ve got to respect her hustle. As Jonathan Capehart notes, much of this is on full display in the 2010 documentary about her life:
In “Joan Rivers: Piece of Work,” you see the then-75-year-old comedic powerhouse at her most human. From the opening scene, when you see a tight close-up of her bare face as a make-up artist gets to work on that plastic surgeon’s playground, to the very end, Rivers bares her fears, dreams, failures, aspirations, everything for all to see without apology. “I’ll show you fear,” she says as she runs her fingers across an empty calendar. “That’s fear.” The scene that stuck with me was when she approached a wall of filing card cabinets. “These are all my jokes over the last 30 years,” she tells the camera. They are typewritten on index cards and filed according to topic. No doubt, I admired her obsessive organization. But what spoke to me was how hard she worked her entire life to be where she was and who she is. “Joan will turn nothing down,” said her assistant. [Washington Post]
Right up till the end, she was working. As Annie Savoy said, “You have to respect a ballplayer who’s just tryin’ to finish the season.” Rivers always combined chutzpah and hustle. And that’s a lesson for us all.