How to Talk Dirty and Influence People

synopsis:In Part IV of his autobiography, last month, Lenny Bruce told the story of his first obscenity arrest, in San Francisco, and the subsequent trial in which he was found not guilty. He quoted from the trial transcript to show the manner in which the state set about arresting him for standing at a microphone and talking to a night-club audience of adults, while down the street other clubs were featuring female impersonators and amateur strippers whose actions apparently did not speak as loudly as Lenny's. He also quoted from some of the routines he had used – routines developed over the years to express the observations and impressions formed from the childhood incidents and later adventures described in the first chapters of his story. More than any comparable performer today, Lenny had built an act which was not a series of age routines but a consistent reflection of an honest, clamorous point of view on the less-than-perfect aspects of the world. But no sooner had he matured as a voice with an enthusiastic and growing audience than those same qualities began to attract persistent attention from the "guardians of public morality." Beginning Part V, Lenny describes the effect on him of an unfolding pattern of hostile treatment, and the introduction of a different arrest charge – illegal possession of narcotics.

San Francisco hadn't been my first arrest as a performer. It was just typical of the way the whole world was going for me. All of a sudden, I couldn't turn around without being Dirty Lenny – in the newspapers, in saloon conversations, in courtrooms from coast to coast and, for all I know, out of the mouths of babes.

Where it had really started closing in on me was in Philadelphia, which we all know is the Cradle of Liberty. The first time I ever played there, in 1960, the hostess at the club was arrested for having been at a party in a home where a safe disappeared, leaving only four holes in the floor where it had been bolted down. The safe had contained either $240 or half-a-million dollars, depending on whether you were listening to the head of the household or to the son who had thrown the party and subsequently called the police. None of this had anything to do with me, except I must have missed a swinging party, but now I sometimes wonder whether God wasn't just tuning up Philadelphia for the surrealistic ironies that were lying in wait for me.

That was one hint. Then, the second time I played Philadelphia, it was uneventful. An uneventful Philadelphia is so trite I should have known something was up.

The third and fourth times, I wasn't in Philadelphia – I was in Pennsauken, across the Delaware River in New Jersey. But in show business you never play Pennsauken, you play Philadelphia, just like playing Newark is playing New York.

I was being plagued by spells of lethargy that third time. Some of the spells could be described as attacks.

This lethargy was more than a drowsiness. I would find myself dictating and sleeping, and since I speak in a stream-of-conscious, unrelated pattern, secretaries would be typing into eight-ten minutes of mumbling and abstraction, such as one might expect from a half-awake, half-asleep reporter.

Once, while driving a disc-jockey friend of mine into town about one in the afternoon, I fell asleep at the wheel. I woke up in a rut.

The name of a good doctor was suggested to me. He asked me if I had any history of narcolepsy – that's a sleeping sickness. I said no. And he prescribed an amphetamine, which I believe is the generic term for Dexedrine, Benzedrine, Byphetamine, and the base for all diet pills, mood elevators, pep pills, thrill pills – depending on how far you went in school and what your religious background was.

The religious factor enters (as opposed to the scientific) because the scientists ask for prima-facie evidence and the religionists ask for circumstantial evidence. The argument that medicine is not an exact science and is therefore circumstantial, is merely a wish posed by those who know that "When all else fails, prayer will be answered."

Query: "Doctor, I'm sorry to wake you in the middle of the night like this, but I have a serious question about opinion versus fact. In your opinion, can my wife and I use the same hypodermic syringe to inject insulin for our diabetic conditions? Because I'm almost in shock. Oooops, here I go. Take it, Sadie."

"Hello, Doctor, this is Tim's wife. Listen, it's serious. Should we share the syringe? I've got Staphylococcus septicemia, he's got infectious hepatitis. You do remember me, don't you? You told me it was all right to marry my first husband, the one who died of syphilis. I never regretted it. We have a lovely son who, incidentally, would like your address – he wants to send you some things he's making at The Lighthouse, a broom and a pot holder."

• • •

Actually, I sympathize with doctors, because they perform a devilish job, and I certainly admire anyone with the stick-to-itiveness to spend that much time in school. They are actually underpaid in relation to the amount of time invested in training, no matter how much they make. A specialist may have nearly 20 years of no income at all to make up for. But people evaluate their time with his, and they figure his fees are exorbitant.

That's why they have no moral compunction about hanging the doctor up with his bills while they'll pay the TV repairman right off. Besides, they rationalize the doctor is in it because of his desire to serve humanity.

But they also say: "If you haven't got your health, money isn't worth anything." Oh, yeah? If you're deathly ill, money means a hell of a lot. Especially to the doctor. One illness I had, started out with a rash on my face. I received all the sage advice of my friends:

"Don't pick it."

"That's the worst thing you can do, is pick it."

"If you pick it, it will take twice as long to heal."

I heeded them. I didn't pick it – and there were times I could have. Times when I was alone and had the door locked. I could have just picked it to my heart's content. And I even schemed that if anyone were to ask me later, "Have you been picking your face?" I would look very hurt and say, "Do I look like a moron? What am I, deaf or something? I'm not going to do the worst thing in the world!"

I didn't pick it, though, and it got worse.

Finally I decided to see a skin specialist. He laid me down on a cold leather couch and the first thing he did was pick it.

He didn't even use tweezers. He picked it – with his fingers.

That's the secret. The doctors are the ones who start the "Don't pick it" campaigns, because they want to have exclusive pickings.

"What is it?" I asked, as he washed his hands and smeared gook on my face.

"It's going around," he said, intently.

"What do you mean, 'It's going around'?" I demanded. "You haven't got it."

"It'll go away," he assured me.

Those are the two things all doctors must learn, just before they graduate. After they've spent years and years learning all the scientific knowledge accumulated by the medical profession, just as they are handed their diplomas, the Chief Surgeon General whispers in their ears: "It's going around, and it'll go away."

It did go away. Just the way colds "go away" and headaches "go away." Did you ever wonder where all the colds and headaches and rashes go when they go away? Back to some central clearing area, I suppose, to wait their turn to "go around" again.

• • •

Anyway, my third time in Philadelphia I was working in Pennsauken, at the Red Hill Inn, a 600-seater at five dollars per person, cover, minimum. It was Thursday and I had a terrible seizure of uncontrollable, teeth-chattering chills. When I have the chills, I always like to talk while my teeth clack together and go. "Ja-ja-ja-ja-ja-Jeezus, I'm freezing ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-myassoff."

My doctor came and said not to get out of bed. I had a fever of 102 degrees. Next day it was 103 degrees. He came to my hotel twice that day.

Friday night was six hours away. That's the one correct thing about show business. The nighttime is specifically defined. "I'll see you tonight" means 9:30. Although, actually, that's evening. Night is 10:30.

In six hours I would be on the stage or the boss would be guaranteed a loss of $6000. Now, what would you do if you had a 103-degree fever, knowing that if you didn't get on the stage, you wouldn't be paid the $1800 that was yours from that gross? Having a conscience and realizing that $1800 is a lot of friggin' money—the show must go on; a trouper to the end – I worked, and came home with a fever of 105 degrees.

My doctor called in a consultant. The consultant called a nurse to try to bring my fever down. The fever subsided and the Staph bug lay dormant – it woke up six months later nice and strong, and almost killed me for a month and a half; for six days I was on the critical list at Mount Sinai, in Miami Beach.

A year later, in September 1961, while playing Philadelphia – again, Pennsauken, to be exact – I was staying at the John Bartram Hotel in Philadelphia, across the street from Evans Pharmacy, six blocks away from my doctor's office, and several miles away from the Red Hill Inn.

I started to get chills and, fearing a recurrence of Staph, I telephoned my doctor. He was away for the weekend. But his consultant put me into Haverford Hospital. I was there four days and then back to the hotel; at ten minutes after twelve noon on September 29th I heard a knock on my door at the hotel. Which was indeed disturbing, because I had left an adamant request that I not be disturbed.

"It's the manager." Bam! Bam! Bam!

"Can you manage to refrain from knocking at my door?"

"It's the manager." Bam! Bam! Bam! "You better open up – it's for your own good."

"Hello, desk? There's some kind of nut outside my door who says he's the manager. I'd like the police."

Crunch! Crack! Plaster fell, and the door walked in wearing size-12 shoes.

"It's the police."

"Christ, what service. I just called for you guys."

"Never mind the shit, where's the shit?"

Now is that weird – these guys say "Where's the shit?" knowing that I'll do a bit. If I copped out to it – that is, if there were any shit – "The shit, sir, if you're referring to the products of Parke Davis, is scattered on my dresser. And if you will kindly remove that do not Disturb sign from my arm ... I cannot do (continued on page 132)

how to talk dirty(continued from page 128) so with your handcuffs restraining me."

• • •

Officer Perry of the Philadelphia Narcotics Unit testified the next day: "Armed with a search and seizure warrant signed by Magistrate Keiser, we went to the John Bartram Hotel, room 616. Upon gaining entrance to the room, we did conduct a search of the defendant's room and found in a bureau drawer the following paraphernalia: one green box containing thirty-six ampules labeled Methedrine, and also one plastic vial containing eleven white tablets, not labeled, one glass bottle containing – –"

And the court interposed in the person of Der Keiser himself (the magistrate who had issued the warrant and was now passing on the validity of his procedures): "Identified then as what?"

"We don't know, sir. It hasn't been analyzed yet."

The District Attorney: "Does it contain liquids, or powder, or pills?"

"I stated eleven tablets in plastic vial, not labeled; one plastic bottle containing a clear liquid with George Evans Pharmacy label, narcotic No. 4102, No. 98351; one plastic vial containing six orange capsules, labeled George Evans Pharmacy; one plastic vial containing thirteen white tablets, labeled antihistamine; five glass syringes; twenty plastic syringes; four needles.

"We interrogated the defendant pertaining to the paraphernalia, sir. The defendant stated to me, in company with the other officers, that he had gotten these legitimately.

"I then told the defendant to dress himself, he would come down to Narcotics Headquarters.

"The defendant stated he was too ill to be moved. The procedure was to call the police surgeon .... Lenny Bruce refused to let this doctor examine him."

I had said, "He's your doctor, schmuck. I want my doctor."

The transcript, by the way, is incorrectly punctuated on this point. It comes out reading, "He's your Doctor Schmuck ..."

• • •

My doctor's consultant's name was on my prescription, and the officer contacted him because, as he explained to the court, he had wanted to check with the doctor to see whether I could be moved. The consultant supposedly told him I could be.

I was just out of the hospital and he gave this diagnosis over the phone!

The officer continued his testimony: "At that time Lenny still refused to be moved. I called for a police wagon and a stretcher. The defendant was taken out of the John Bartram Hotel on a stretcher – –"

And where do you think they sent me, boys and girls? Where would you send anyone who is on your stretcher? Why, to police headquarters, of course.

They got me on the stretcher, and everybody was sullen and quiet, including "Dr. Schmuck," until we got to the elevator. Now, stretchers are made for hospital elevators. They are seven feet long, and most elevators fall several feet short of that. The dialog ran as follows:

Stretcher-bearer number one: "How the hell are we gonna get this thing in the elevator? [To patient] Hey, Bruce, why don't you cooperate and get out of this thing till we get to the street, and then you can get back in it."

"I'd like to oblige you, Mr. Ayres, but as noble as your intentions are, some old cum laude district attorney will pervert your words on cross-examination: 'So he said he was too ill to be moved, but he got out of the stretcher before getting into the elevator ...' "

How they resolved the problem was to put the stretcher in the way it fit: up and down. Feet up, head down.

Because I didn't cooperate, a slantboard position was my reward. People getting into the elevator – "Hello, Mr. Bruce." I was looking up everybody's bloomers.

• • •

Yes, I got the whole police treatment which, I go on record to state before any committee, is like being dealt with by the monitors that we used to have in school. Police brutality is a myth, no doubt propagated by felons ashamed of having finked out eagerly at their first sight of bars. Anticipating continual sly references by mother and older brother, they will grasp for a method of selfserving. All of which gives rise to the following ironic fantasy:

Oh, how they beat meRubber hosed and Sam Levened meAnd Brian Donlevy'd meIn their back rooms."Give us names, Bruce,Give us the names and youCan walk out a free man.Give us the names of aFew of your friends."But I, Spartan-sired,Would do ten years in prisonBefore I would giveThe name of one friend –Or is that a little bullshit?I would give names upon namesOf those yet unbornRather than do a 50th birthdayIn some maximum security.The halls of justice.The only placeYou see the justice,Is in the halls.

"The rotten D. A., how about that son of a bitch wantinta send those two poor babies to the gas chamber, two poor kids barely out of their teens, who just shot and killed their way across the country – 48 gas-station attendants who just missed supper and their lives. And the kids only got 18 cents and a couple of packs of cigarettes and a blown-out tire. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the District Attorney wants to send those two poor kids to the gas chamber for a pack of smokes and 18 cents and a no-good tire."

The halls of justice.The only placeYou see the justice,Is in the hallsWhere the felon hearsA judge at recess talkingTo that guy from the Capitol:"You sure it's all right?""Would I tell you it wasAll right if it wasn'tAll right? You just tell herYou're a friend of the judge's."Call Crestview 4, Franklin 7,Michigan 8, Circle 5, Republic 3,They're all her answering services,Those unseen pimps whoWork for Madam Bell.

"I'm sorry, but Miss Kim Pat doesn't answer her telephone. And I did try one ring and hang up, then three rings."

"Well, operator, I'll be truthful with you, I wanna get laid, and if she's busy, how about you? I'm blind, you see, no one will ever know unless you should identify me at some line-up that you might be participating in."

Police brutality. Think about it. Think about the time it happened to you. If your frame of reference is the South, that's not police brutality, it's Southern revolution. That's a separate country down there.

"They beat the crap out of me, but I proved I was a man. They kept beating me, but I didn't give them no names."

"What names, schmuck? You were arrested for exposing yourself."

• • •

As I look at the transcript of my Philadelphia hearing, I see a crystallization of the argument that the Judicial and the Executive are one, lessening the check and balance effect that was intended by Ben Franklin and those other revolutionaries who got together in Philadelphia.

Cross-examination by my attorney, Malcolm Berkowitz, elicited the following from the cop who made the pinch:

Q. Do you have your search and seizure warrant?

A. Yes, sir.

Q. May we see it?

A. Positively. (Search and seizure warrant is examined by Mr. Berkowitz.)

The court: I'll attest to the fact it's my signature thereon.

Q. Now, in this search and seizure warrant the signature of the person requesting the warrant is Policeman Albert T. Perry, a member of the Narcotics Unit. Person to be searched, Lenny Bruce, white male, John Bartram Hotel, Broad and Locust, room 616. Property to be seized: opium, heroin, Demerol, morphine, codeine, Dilaudid, cocaine, marijuana, and any and all other tablets, powders or liquids. Now of those articles to be seized, Officer Perry, did you seize any opium?

A. No, sir.

Q. Did you seize any heroin?

A. No, sir.

Q. Did you seize any Demerol?

A. No, sir.

Q. Did you seize any morphine?

A. No, sir.

Q. Did you seize any cocaine?

A. No, sir.

The Court (Interposing): Wait; are you saying no to generalize?

A. Your Honor, they are derivatives, sir, of opium. It contains the opium base.

The Court: You can't say no.

Mr. Berkowitz: I object to this conversation, for the record.

The Court: I asked the question of the police officer to be more alert as to his answer in relationship to this situation when––

District Attorney Harris (Interposing): He was being truthful, sir. He said he did not confiscate heroin, or morphine, or opium. They haven't been mentioned in the warrant.

Mr. Berkowitz: Of five of the things to be seized in this search and seizure warrant, he said he took none of them. (Addressing witness) Now, Dilaudid, do you know if you confiscated any Dilaudid?

A. I do not know.

Q. Codeine?

A. I do not know.

Q. Marijuana?

A. I know there's no marijuana there.

Q. In other words, you found nothing in this man's apartment that's listed on this search and seizure warrant, did you?

Mr. Harris: Objection, sir. That's not true. The warrant calls for any other tablets, powders or liquids.

The Court: Sustain your objection.

Mr. Berkowitz: Your Honor, the question I've asked – if you have sustained the objection, he can't answer – but the question I've asked is a question relating to a material matter of fact in this case. I asked the officer who made an affidavit that he was going there to seize those listed articles and others of like kind whether he had found any marijuana, as was on that list, or anything like it, and his answer to that question should be made. There's nothing improper about that question. It is material.

The Court: You're asking this man, this police officer, to make a statement on certain things that were found in that room that have not been analyzed as of yet.

Mr. Berkowitz: Your Honor, he made an affidavit that he was going there to pick up things of that nature.

The Court: He eventually will be able to prover or disprove that.

Mr. Harris: I think Mr. Berkowitz is overlooking the entire section – the line "Any other tablets, powders or liquids" – and they were confiscated.

Mr. Berkowitz: Your Honor, if he had aspirin in his apartment or any other powders or liquids of that type, there would be no violation of the law involved. It's only if he possesses something which he has no right to possession under any of our laws that this man could be guilty of crime, and Detective Perry, who made the affidavit and who signed an oath that he was going to this man's apartment to find those things named in that warrant, that search and seizure warrant––

The Court (Interposing): That's what he expected to find.

Mr. Berkowitz: But I have to ask him, because he's the one placing the charge and we have a hearing this morning. Did he find any of them? And I have a right to an answer of that question.

The Court: He did answer those questions.

Mr. Berkowitz: He said "No."

The Court: Where he was specifically certain – for instance, in marijuana, sir, he found no marijuana. There are certain prescriptions here, certain bottles and vials that have not been analyzed as yet.

Mr. Berkowitz: Your Honor, he went further than that. He said: "No, I found no opium." "No, I found no heroin ..."

The Court (Interposing): Right.

Mr. Berkowitz (Continuing): "No, I found no Demerol." "No, I found no morphine." "No, I found no codeine." "No, I found no Dilaudid." "No, I found no cocaine." "No, I found no marijuana."

District Attorney Harris: As far as he knows.

Mr. Berkowitz: Well, who else knows if he doesn't?

Mr. Harris: The police chemist.

Mr. Berkowitz: Where is the police chemist?

Mr. Harris: He's home sleeping. You know that, Mr. Berkowitz.

Mr. Berkowitz: Didn't he know he had a hearing this morning?

The court: The hearing would not make any difference. He has not had the opportunity of analyzing it. If you're raising a request for analysis, I'll have to give a further hearing for that analysis, if you're pressing for the analysis.

Mr. Berkowitz: I'm pressing for an analysis. I want an analysis now, this morning of our hearing. What are the police doing making arrests without being interested in finding out if they have a case; and take a man never arrested before and stand him up before the bar of the court and hold him in custody. If they have evidence, let them produce it. Give us a hearing this afternoon. Let them tell us if there is anything ––

The Court (Interposing): This court, nor the District Attorney's office, nor the police department, are they in control of the city chemist to force him to give an immediate analysis at the convenience of the defendant.

Mr. Berkowitz: I'm not asking for convenience.

The Court: That's what you're asking for an analysis. I'll be glad to order an analysis and hold this defendant in proper or appropriate bail pending that analysis.

Mr. Berkowitz: On what charge, your Honor?

The Court: On the charge of violation of the narcotics laws and the illegal use of drugs as so stipulated as of this warrant.

Mr. Berkowitz: Where is there any evidence to entitle you to hold him on a further hearing on any charge?

The Court: We will produce it ...

Mr. Berkowitz (Continuing cross-examination): Now, let me ask you this: Was the city chemist off duty between the time you confiscated it in that apartment at ten minutes after noon yesterday and the end of the normal business day yesterday?

A. No, sir.

The Court: I don't think the witness has to answer this, because he described earlier that this defendant was the one who probably deprived the police department of getting this to a chemist at an appropriate time by his own actions and refusal to be apprehended, to be checked, to be examined, and to have this sent to the city chemist in sufficient time to have an analysis for this day.

Mr. Berkowitz: How many officers went with you to the hotel room where Lenny Bruce was staying?

A. Three; Officers Miller and Zawackis.

Q. How many of you had to carry him on the stretcher, or did you carry him on the stretcher?

A. We called a wagon.

Q. You didn't carry him?

A. I helped carry him, yes, sir.

Q. Did the other two officers with you help carry him?

A. I think Officer Zawackis assisted the other policemen at that time.

Q. How many officers carried him down on the stretcher?

A. Four.

(They carried me to the police station and set me down none too gently.)

Q. How many officers were present?

A. Five.

Q. Now, who had control of the various things that are displayed before his Honor?

A. I had that in my custody.

Q. What prevented you from taking it to the city chemist that afternoon for analysis?

The Court (Interposing): Let me answer for the police officer. The police officer could not get anything there to the chemist until he had been apprehended properly and an arrest report made, and these reports that must accompany this to the city chemist.

Mr. Berkowitz: Is that your answer, Officer Perry, under oath?

A. That's my answer. That's the correct answer ...

Q. Because you were the one who didn't go to the chemist?

A. My answer is by the time we got done with the defendant – he wanted to be looked at by a medical doctor, and we made a call to the surgeon, and by the time I contacted the doctor to see if he could be moved, it was late. I got into my office and prepared the paper work and it was too late to deliver to the chemist. The chemist is closed at five o'clock ...

Q. What made you go look up Lenny Bruce, other than the fact he was a big-name headliner?

Mr. Harris: Objection, sir. They don't have to reveal the source of their information.

The Court: I sustain the objection.

Mr. Berkowitz: You ever see him use any drugs yourself?

A. No, sir.

Q. Did you ever see him buying anything that he shouldn't have bought?

A. I didn't even know the defendant, sir.

Q. You never heard of him, either?

A. Never heard of him.

Q. Never knew he was a headliner?

A. Never heard of him. And he's supposed to be top notch? I never heard of him.

Q. How about Mort Sahl, do you know who he is?

A. Yes, he reads a book or something.

• • •

Since I was scheduled to open in San Francisco the next week – where, you recall, I was to be arrested for obscenity – I was let go on $1500 bail. In the end, the Philadelphia grand jury refused to accept the bill, and they stamped across it: Bill Ignored.

For self-protection, I now carry with me at all times a small bound booklet consisting of photostats of statements made by physicians and prescriptions and bottle labels. For example, there is a letter written by Dr. Norman Rotenberg of Beverly Hills, dated December 29, 1961.

To Whom It May Concern:

Mr. Lenny Bruce has been under my professional care for the past two years for various minor orthopedic conditions. In addition, Mr. Bruce suffers from episodes of severe depression and lethargy.

His response to oral amphetamine has not been particularly satisfactory, so he has been instructed in the proper use of intravenous injections of Methedrine (methamphetamine hydrochloride). This has given a satisfactory response.

Methedrine in ampules of 10c (20mg), together with disposable syringes, has been prescribed for intravenous use as needed.

Mr. Bruce has asked that I write this letter in order that any peace officer observing fresh needle marks on Mr. Bruce's arm may be assured that they are the result of Methedrine injections for therapeutic reasons.

Norman P. Rotenberg, M.D.

I might add that historically there was quite a problem in England where the king's men were stopping people on the street to see if they were fit for burning – i.e., if they had rejected the Anglican church. So these malcontents, later known as the Pilgrim Fathers, cowards that they were, fled to escape persecution.

Upon arriving here, they entered into their illegal beliefs, these Protestants, and formed their sinister doctrine that is at this late date still interfering with law-enforcement agencies, still obstructing justice throughout our land, because of technicalities such as the 13th Amendment to the Constitution, which guarantees that persons will be safe in their houses against unreasonable searches and seizures.

• • •

Meanwhile, I guess what happens is, you get arrested in town A (Philadelphia); then town B (San Francisco); then town C (Chicago); and when you get to town D they have to arrest you or what kind of outhouse town are they running?

It's a pattern of unintentional harassment.

I wasn't arrested in England, but I certainly was rejected. In 1963, that is. The previous year – the first time I went to England – I did very well there, I got good reviews, and I had a lot of fun.

Although I didn't get laid once. I had heard that, gee, in England you really get a lot of girls, but I was there a month and I never got laid.

The one time I almost scored was in this hotel. The chick came up to my room after she fell for what I call my innocuous come-on: "Hey, I gotta go upstairs for a minute, why don't you come up, I've gotta – –" And the rest is said on the car-door slam, and mumbled into the carpeting on the stairs.

"What'd you say?" is answered by, "We'll just be a minute," leaving the door open, keeping your topcoat on, and dashing for a bureau drawer as if to get something, throwing open the closet and grabbing a briefcase, rumbling through it while muttering, "Siddown, I'll be just a second."

All this is done very rapidly, with a feeling of urgency.

"Christ, where the hell did I put that?

Make yourself a drink. What time is it? We gotta get the hell outa here. Now where the hell did I put that damn – remind me to get a new maid. Hey, are you warm? Christ, it's hot in here..."

Well, I didn't even get to the second paragraph, when a knock came at the door, synchronized with the key turning in the lock.

"Mr. Bruce, I'm afraid we don't have any of that here."

(What a temptation to finish the joke: "And I'm not, either.")

To my amazement, the manager smirked knowingly as the girl looked up apprehensively, and I sat down gingerly as his thin lip curled snarlingly.

"Out, the both of you – out!"

Ask anyone who has been to England. They do not allow persons who come into hotels to bring members of the opposite sex with them, because they know what it's liable to lead to. It's a wonder the maids ever get into the rooms. That's a thought, though. Maybe it's the maids who instituted that action. God, what if all the maids in England were whores?

• • •

I think that the Profumo scandal was a beautiful commentary on the British image of an asexual people, puritanically moral.

The reason most men could indict those people when they themselves were probably guilty of the same crime which is not a crime, is that most men won't admit that they have ever been with whores. Not for the morality of it; the reason they don't cop out is because of the ego aspect. "What kind of guy has to give up money for it, man? I get it for nothing – the girls give me money!"

• • •

It was right before the Profumo scandal that they wouldn't permit me even to enter England for what was to be my second engagement at The Establishment. I actually flew to London and was rejected without anyone thinking any more about it than if I were to fly from Los Angeles to San Francisco.

When I got back to Idlewild – and for the first time in my life, after coming in and out of this country maybe 20 times – my luggage was thoroughly searched. I was taken into a private room where I was stripped and internally searched – and, goddamn, that is humiliating.

It sure bugs you to stand naked in front of five guys with suits and shoelaces and pens in their pockets.

What if you got an erection?

"All right, take your shoes off now and – what the hell's the matter with you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why don't you put that away?"

"In my shoes, sir?"

"I mean make it go down. A damn weirdo – getting an erection at Customs. All right, put your clothes on."

"I'd like to, sir, but I don't know if you noticed my pants – they're rather tight. I'll have to wait till this goes away."

"Come on, now, cut the silliness and get your pants on and get the hell out of here."

"I'll try, sir, but ... it's never done this before. I guess it's nerves."

"Well, try to pee."

"Where, sir?"

"Out there in the hall in the men's room."

"But I can't get my whatchamacallit, my oh-my, into may pants. do you know anyone who could make it go away? Or could you gentlemen go out while I make it go away, up and down ... Oh, here, I know what I'll do, I'll put it in the wine basket and I'll carry it."

• • •

Back to town C. Chicago. In December 1962, I was working at the Gate of Horn. During one of my performances, I was arrested for obscenity. I was released on bail and continued working there, but meanwhile one of Chicago's finest had made his point with the owner; if I ever used a four-letter word in there again, or "spoke against religion," the club and everybody in it were going to get pinched, he said. And there was going to be somebody in there watching every performance, and the club's license was in danger, and was that clear?

True, I had used a couple of routines in which I wondered what Christ would think if He came back and took a tour around the various organizations that used His name. I had been taking advantage of a thing we used to be famous for; it's called the right to worship as you please – and criticize as you please.

Of course, there'll always be Communists who will try to take that right away from you. And bureaucracy, where they tell you, "This is the way it is, don't question it, don't criticize it."

I wonder if there's one good religious man who will protect me from all the Christians – Christians who are in God's image acting as Christians – Christians who may vent their hostilities against me to do me in, not openly, but nevertheless to do me in.

• • •

I finally got fed up with the "dirty word" thing – people think, Christ, I'm obsessed with that – but I just have to defend myself because people think it's unnatural. They don't know how much I'm attacked on that. Every new time I go on the road, the papers are filled with it.

Sometimes I'll do a bit, and people don't know whether to laugh or not – they seem so brazen and there's just silence until they know I'm kidding, and then they'll break through – like I'll

Say "a Jew," and just the word Jew sounds like a curse word.

In the dictionary, a Jew is one who is descended from the ancient tribe of Judea, but – I'll say to an audience – you and I know what a Jew is: one who killed our Lord. Now there's dead silence there after that.

When I did this in England, I said, "I don't know if you know that over here, but it got a lot of press in the States," Now the laughs start to break through. "We did it about two thousand years ago, and there should be a statute of limitations with that crime."Now they know – the laughter's all there – but I'm not kidding, because there should be a statute of limitations for that crime, and those who pose as Christians – paraphrasing Shakespeare – neither having the gait of Christians nor the actions of Christians – still make the Jews pay their dues.

I go from a pedantry (Shakespeare) to the hip argot (pay their dues) for another deuce.

Then I ask, why should Jews pay these dues? Granted that we killed Him and He was a nice guy; and there was even some talk that we didn't kill Christ, we killed Gesmas, the one on the left. (There were, you recall, three who got done in that day.) But I confess that we killed Him, despite those who said that Roman soldiers did it.

Yes, we did it. I did it. I found a note in my basement: "We killed Him – signed, Morty."

"Why did you kill Christ, Jew?"

"We killed him because he didn't want to become a doctor, that's why."

Now sometimes I'll get sort of philosophical with it and maybe a little maudlin: "We killed Him at His own request, because He was sad – He knew that people would use Him."

Or sometimes I will tag it with, "Not only did we kill Him, but we're gonna kill Him when He comes back."

• • •

I suppose that if I were Christlike, I would turn the other cheek and keep letting you punch me out and even kill me, because what the hell, I'm God's son, and it's not so bad dying when you know you've got a pass to come back definitely. All right, so you have to take a little crap when you come home ...

"Oh, you started again, you can't get along. Who was it this time? The Jews, eh? Why can't you stop preaching? Look, this is the last time I'm telling you, the next time you get killed, you're Staying there. I've had enough aggravation with your mother."

• • •

So I went to trial, in Chicago. At one point the trial was adjourned, and with the judge's knowledge I left for a booking in Los Angeles. My intention was to return to Chicago and bring the case to a stunning close. But not long after I landed in Los Angeles (hereafter called town D), I was arrested on a narcotics charge. It was my fifth arrest in that city, bringing the international grand total to fifteen. At this writing.

(Incidentally, shortly after I left Chicago, the Gate of Horn lost its liquor license and the owner had to sell out.)

While on bail in Los Angeles, I received the follwing communication from Celes Bail Bond, the local company which was standing my surety:

Sir: It has come to our attention through news media that you are to be in court in Chicago today. May I suggest to you that you are not to violate the conditions of your bail. You are not to leave the juris diction of Los Angeles County, considering all the other court appearances that you are to make here in Los Angeles.

So, if I left California, I would be arrested for jumping bond. I remained there. And in Chicago I was found guilty of obscenity – in absentia – and sentenced by Judge Ryan to the maximum penalty of one year in the county jail and a fine of $1000.

The case is on appeal.

• • •

If I am paranoiac, then I have reached the acute point of stress in my life. It's this bad:

Recently, while waking to the On Broadway, a night club in San Francisco, I observed a young couple in front of me. They were walking several feet ahead of me. They turned the corner that I was going to turn. And just before I got to the club, they turned into a hotel and went up the stairs.

My fear: I was afraid that they were afraid that I was following them.

This is the fifth in stallment of "How to Talk Dirty and Influence People," the autobiography of Lenny Bruce. Part VI will appear next month.