Normally, it is appropriate to offer a brief biography of our interview subjects. But if ever the expression “no introduction is necessary” was appropriate, it’s here and now. Furthermore, as nobody is interested in our interviewer, we’ve turned the rest of the pages over to Mr. Burns. You can guess what the questions were.
Oh God, It’s George Burns!
Everybody asks me about the young comedians of today. So I start to tell them about Henny Youngman, Milton Berle. Oh, younger than Milton? Oh, Red Buttons? What, younger than him? Okay, I got you — Andrew Dice Clay, Richard Pryor, kids like that. I like them. I know they use those dirty words, but if the audiences like them, I like them. Why shouldn’t they use those words? The audiences use those words. Today you have different audiences. I’ve never used those words in front of an audience. I get sort of under edge, and if I’m going to say something risque, I let the audience guess it. If they guess it, I’m the one who is shocked.
We live in different times today. Let me tell you something — when I was in vaudeville, you couldn’t say “damn” or “hell.” There was a guy named Frank Keenan who said in his act “Damn him.” They canceled him. In those days in vaudeville, you could be canceled after the first act. So there would be a sign backstage: DON’T SEND YOUR LAUNDRY OUT. Because if they didn’t like what you said in the first show, you wouldn’t be around for the second show. I was brought up in that kind of school. Today the kids talk differently. If I were a young performer today, then I would talk as they do. I have no problems with their language.
In this business, the audience is everything. I’m going to be 96 years old in January, and if you asked me to get up and do what I do on the stage, I couldn’t. I’m too old. I haven’t got the strength. But even before I walk out on the footlights, before the audience sees me, and the band starts playing “Ain’t Misbehavin’” and I blow cigar smoke out, something happens that gives me an incredible vitality. The audience stands up and cheers and I walk out on the stage. Probably what they’re really thinking is, How do you like that? He can walk, too.
I don’t watch too much television or movies, so I can’t comment too much about what’s going on in the business today. I’ll tell you what I do like is talk radio — you know, the shows where people call up with their problems. I can’t believe some of the stuff I hear. You really don’t want to laugh, but it’s amazing what people will say to strangers. Once a woman called in to say that her daughter was a prostitute. Jesus! That was the opening line, and then she goes on to tell the rest of her problems. It’s hard to believe.
The times have changed. When I was a kid, if a girl wore lipstick she was considered a prostitute. This was something you didn’t even discuss in the house. Once, when I was very young and starting out in the business, I was having breakfast with my mother. My mother said to me, “George, you come from a nice family. All of your sisters were married virgins.” I said, “Well, Mom, the reason they were married virgins was because they weren’t very pretty.” My mother looked at me. “Pass the salt, George.”
Actually, sex was never a big deal to me. I was never a great lover. The success of my marriage to Gracie was that I made her laugh, not because I was good in bed. We were married a long time, but when we were together for about 27 years, Gracie woke me up in the middle of the night complaining she couldn’t sleep. She said, “George, make me laugh, because I can’t sleep.” So I made love to her. She laughed and fell asleep.
Seriously, I don’t think a good marriage has anything to do with sex. Marriage starts when you get out of bed, not in. Marriage is, what did you do today? It’s making a good cup of coffee. Look, sex may be important to other people, but if I can get my cigar in the holder, that’s exciting.
Sometimes, it gets so silly. I keep reading these magazines where I’m voted “the sexiest man in the world.” Yeah, right. I keep pissing on my shoes and I’m getting these awards. People think because I smoke cigars and drink martinis that I fuck, too. They can’t figure out how a guy who smokes cigars and drinks can’t keep his fly closed. Yeah, I’m the sexiest guy in the world. As soon as everybody leaves my office, four girls are coming in. Every day I have four different girls. They come in, sing harmony, and leave.
I do go out with women. For a time I went around with a beautiful little girl, Cathy Carr. We’ve had wonderful times, but I’d never get married again. In the first place, I’m 100 years older than her, but most important was that I had a beautiful marriage. Gracie was a wonderful lady who took care of me, the house, children, everything. She let me take care of some things. But once she got on the stage, she did it all. I would say to her, “How is your brother?” and she talked for 40 years.
And when she died, I cried until I couldn’t cry. What the hell can you do? You go on, you live. You’ve got to go to the bathroom, eat dinner, do all those things you did when she was alive. You miss all those things you did together, but you got to let go at some point.
Look, even in death there’s something to laugh about. When my mother was dying she called my sister into the bedroom and made two last requests: “I know I’m not religious, but make sure that George prays for me; half an hour won’t hurt him. And one more thing. Make certain that at my funeral the coffee is hot. Because if the coffee isn’t hot, your uncle Frank won’t come.” She died the next day.
My mother was right about me not being very religious. There was a Protestant church in our neighborhood which needed some musicians to represent them at a church affair. I was eight years old, and with some other Jewish kids played in a band called the Peewee Quartet. We played for the church and were each given an Ingersoll watch that probably cost 85 cents. I ran home to my mother who was on the roof hanging clothes. “Mama,” I screamed, “I don’t want to be a Jew anymore. I’ve been a Jew for eight years and got nothing. I was a Protestant for one hour and I got an Ingersoll watch.” My mother glared at me. “First help me hang up the clothes and then you can be a Protestant.” It was like when I told my mother that I was marrying Gracie, a Catholic. She said, “George, if they’ll have you, it’s fine by me.”
Maybe it’s because I’m 95 years old, but people think I have an opinion about everything. Like politics. Oh, I’ve known several presidents, but I don’t follow politics very much. Look, I’ve met George Bush, but as long as he doesn’t tell me how to sing “Red Rose Rag,” I don’t tell him about the Middle East.
I’ve known Ronald Reagan for many years; in fact, Gracie and I would socialize with him when he was married to Jane Wyman. But I never got involved with him when he became active in politics. I’ll tell you one thing: If he hadn’t married Nancy, he would have never become president. She’s the one who pushed him .
A beautiful man was Jack Kennedy. Once Carol Channing, her husband, Charlie Lowe, and I were invited to the White House. We all wanted to see the room Abraham Lincoln slept in. (No, I didn’t know him.) Jacqueline Kennedy seemed hesitant, and didn’t follow us to the Lincoln room. The president opened the bedroom door and quickly closed it; his mother was fast asleep. Nobody said anything and we went back to the other room. Jackie Kennedy told me that she knew Rose Kennedy was sleeping in the bedroom. I asked her why she didn’t say something. She answered, “When the president of the United States wants to go into anyone’s bedroom, you let him go in.”
Kennedy had a great sense of humor and loved show-business anecdotes. I remember him asking if I could tell him one story that says it all about entertainers. I think your readers will also enjoy what I told the president.
Many years ago, there was a great actor, like John Barrymore, named Wilton McKie. In the summer, when he wasn’t on Broadway, he would go on the vaudeville tour. Well, he was on the bill in a theater in Cincinnati with a small-time two-man act, Brown and Williams. They were overwhelmed at appearing on the same bill with the great Wilton McKie.
One day after rehearsal, at about ten in the morning, they’re at a bar when the great McKie walks in. The small-time performers couldn’t help themselves and turned to McKie at the bar and offered to buy him a drink. After all, so many years in the business and here was their first opportunity to share a drink with a star.
McKie thanked the gushing performers, but declined the offer for a drink. “Boys,” he said, “thanks, but I’d rather drink alone. You see, I just got a wire that my mother died. You understand?” Williams nodded his head and said, “Oh, Mr. McKie, of course we understand how you feel. We just learned that our trunk is missing.” And that is show business. The only thing as important as losing your mother is having your trunk misplaced.
I’ll tell you one person in show business who had his priorities straight — Jack Benny. Here was a man who knew what was important. He had signed a contract with one of the networks for millions of dollars. I ran in to him at the country club and Jack was very excited. I went over to him and said, “Jack, you’re really thrilled about that contract.” He looked puzzled and said, “No, no, George. I just found out something after all these years living out here. I was just downtown and learned that if you go 27 miles an hour, you can reach Beverly Hills without stopping for one red light.” That was Jack Benny. He signs a contract for millions of dollars, but he’s excited over missing a couple of red lights.
Listen, I got to leave now. It’s time for the rest of my day. Lunch at the country club, a few hands of cards and home for a nap, and then a couple of martinis. So I’m going to volunteer what everyone likes to ask me. “What’s life at 95 all about, George?”
You should fall in love with what you are doing for a living. For me, at my age, to get out of bed every morning and come here to talk to the readers of Penthouse is very, very wonderful. You will all learn when you get to be my age that you must get out of bed every morning, because you can’t make money in bed. My sister Goldie tried it and it didn’t work.
Before Mr. Burns went off to meet and pose with Brandy, this year’s Penthouse Pet of the Year, for our cover, he asked that we give our readers a reminder. For more insights from the remarkable George Burns, pick up Wisdom of the 90s (Putnam), for $12.95. For those keeping count, it’s George’s ninth book and, as he says, “Pretty good for a guy who has only read two books in his life.” …
[Here some 30 years later as of this writing, we checked, and you can still buy that book. It only comes actually printed on paper made from trees, though, so Kindle people will be sad. As a final addendum, we will add that every human being should watch “Oh, God!” (the movie) at least every couple of years. You will always be able to check your place in reality when you come to grips with the fact again that at one point in our history, John Denver was a major star in both Nashville and Hollywood. Honest to George. -Ed.]
