Comics scripter, comedy legend Del Close dies at 64
by Kim “Howard” Johnson
Comedy icon–and comic book creator–Del Close died March 4, 1999 at Illinois Masonic Medical Center in Chicago. He was 64.
Along with co-scripter John Ostrander, Close created Munden’s Bar for First Comics, and co-created and co-wrote (also with Ostrander) the 12-issue maxi-series Wasteland for DC Comics. It was the comic book medium that Close chose for his autobiography: nearly every issue of Wasteland contained one or two true stories from his life, illustrated by Don Simpson, William Messner-Loebs, David Lloyd, George Freeman and Tim Truman. Although he co-authored Truth in Comedy (with Charna Halpern and Kim “Howard” Johnson), he considered the Wasteland stories to be his only true autobiography. He also made an appearance in the second issue of Marvels as Phil Sheldon’s publisher.
Close’s real life was indeed the stuff of comic books, a real-life Forest Gump adventure. He was born in Kansas, where his cousin’s cousin–General Dwight Eisenhower–came over for Thanksgiving dinner.
He was always a fan of science fiction and horror, devoted to the writings of H.P. Lovecraft, lark Ashton Smith and many others. When he was 14, he co-created the world’s first science fiction poetry fan magazine.
He knew L. Ron Hubbard when he ran the Dianetics Institute in Wichita, Kansas (he told Del that because of taxes “I’m thinking of turning this into a religion” (a tale told in part in Wasteland #9).
He ran away from home at 17 to join a traveling show called “Dr. Dracula’s Magic Horror Show,” in which he served as a fire-eater, and later, when the lights were turned off, would call out “A plague of worms shall descend upon you!” as he ran through the audience tossing handfuls of cooked spaghetti.
Eventually, he wound up in New York, where he resumed his bass drum studies in a class with fellow student James Dean. He resumed an earlier career as a human torch/fire-eater, calling himself Azrad the Incombustible, but bigger things were ahead.
Del joined the Compass Players–the precursors to Second City–when he was 22 years old, largely because he was a friend of Severn Darden.
Between leaving the Compass and joining Second City, he began doing stand-up comedy, playing clubs and opening for acts like the Kingston Trio. During one memorable stint, Del, Bob Newhart and Lenny Bruce were all performing around Chicago at the same time, and this unlikely trio spent their off-stage time going to each others’ shows.
He used to dream for the U.S. government in the late ’50s (and when he left it abruptly, got a letter from the government saying “You owe us two more dreams.”).
Del was one of the founders of Second City, performing with folks like Mike Nichols, Elaine May, Barbara Harris and Joan Rivers in the early ’60s, eventually leaving Chicago to do a stint with the Committee (and folks like Howard Hesseman) in San Francisco in the ’60s. While on the West Coast, Del was a regular on My Mother the Car and had a recurring role on Get Smart. And in his spare time, he used to do light shows for the Grateful Dead.
Del was an important figure in the ’60s counterculture around Chicago and San Francisco (the bizarre but true story about the time he went roller-skating through the sewers of Chicago with a flashlight strapped to his head, shooting rats, is related in the first issue of Wasteland).
Eventually, he came back to Chicago in the early ’70s to direct Second City, and discovered John Belushi, Dan Ackroyd, Bill Murray, Gilda Radner, Harold Ramis, Betty Thomas, George Wendt, Tim Kazurinsky and John Candy; most of them still consider Del their most important teacher.
He became the “House Metaphysician” at Saturday Night Live for two years (during “the Eddie Murphy era”), then came back to Chicago again in the early ’80s and co-founded the Improv Olympic, where he taught folks like Mike Myers, Tim Meadows and Chris Farley.
He continued appearing in stage and in films throughout the ’80s and ’90s, most notably the 1980s remake of The Blob, The Light of Day, and The Untouchables, where he played a corrupt alderman who tries to bribe Kevin Costner. Most recently, four of his students created The Upright Citizens’ Brigade for Comedy Central; Del provided voice-overs for the series, and cut a final voice clip for them by telephone the nigh before he died.
He was an alcoholic who managed to stop drinking in 1978, and a former heroin addict who gave up drugs after the death of his good friend John Belushi. But, the most difficult habit to kick would be cigarettes, and they ultimately proved his undoing. He began to suffer from emphysema, and finally wound up in the hospital February 26th. The end was near, and he knew it.
But his death was as non-traditional as his life. He spent his final days saying good-bye to a steady stream of friends in person and by telephone. He received e-mail, faxes and tributes literally from around the world, from old friends and longtime admirers like Robin Williams, Howard Hesseman, Peter Boyle and Wavy Gravy, to recent acquaintances like Monty Python’s Terry Jones.
On Wednesday, March 3rd and at his request, a going away party/wake/memorial service was held in his honor at the hospital. Nearly a hundred friends, students and former students crowded in to pay their last respects, listening as Del flung his oxygen mask aside to tell stories and share his final thoughts. Guests flew in from across the country, several with only a few hours’ notice, and Harold Ramis canceled part of the publicity tour for his new film to be there. A Comedy Central camera crew filmed the party, which included a pagan ceremony, a lavish buffet and jazz saxophone players, and master of ceremonies Bill Murray served Del a final martini.
After more than two hours of partying that would tax anyone, he retired to his room, and a handful of his closest friends said goodnight to him for one last time. And he died the following day, right on cue.
The words creative genius may be bandied about far too frequently, but in Del’s case, they truly apply. Del remains an incredibly important figure in American comedy/improv, and his influence will long live on. He was undoubtedly the best (and most influential) improv teacher in the U.S., and traveled all over giving his workshops. He didn’t invent improv, but he is probably most responsible for making it into its own art form, particularly with the work he’s done in long-form improv in the past 20 years.
Del is survived by his partner Charna, his cat, his hundreds of students, and an American comedy landscape that he forever changed.
Del’s Last Words
The day after his “Going Away Party/Wake/Memorial Service,” Del spent most of the day trying to die. His doctor gave him two morphine injections, but Del was too strong (and of course several people have since suggested that he had built up a tolerance…).
Finally, Del and Charna browbeat his doctor into hooking him up to a morphine drip. Just before he did so, he asked Del if this was what he really wanted, and Del nodded yes. He told him “I’m tired of being the funniest one in the room.”
And that was it. The doctor turned up the machine to give him enough morphine to drop a bull elephant, and fifteen minutes later, he was gone.
Del’s Last Joke
Del’s Will was fairly straightforward, but there was one odd provision.
He bequeathed his own skull to the Goodman Theatre, to be used in their productions of Hamlet, with him getting a credit in the program.
He asked the Goodman in advance, and they said sure–never, ever dreaming he would do it. But the day after he died, Charna was on the phone making arrangements with a local medical school to remove the skull before he was cremated.
