August 24, 2025 • 36 mins
Peek behind the slapstick facade of America's most controversial comedian as we expose Jerry Lewis's troubled legacy. Through interviews with former co-stars, family members, and industry insiders, we reveal the complex darkness that lurked beneath the King of Comedy's public persona. From his volatile relationship with Dean Martin to accusations of abusive behavior on set, discover how this comedy icon's private demons shaped his complicated legacy. This episode unveils Lewis's notorious temper, controversial methods, and the shocking stories that the entertainment industry kept hidden during his reign as Hollywood's comedy giant.
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💬 Share your thoughts, theories, and favorite scandals with us online.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
I like to kill you, That's what I would say.
Or if anybody tried to touch me, I'd probably kicked
them right between the legs. I'll punch him.
Speaker 2 (00:11):
For decades, Jerry Lewis was revered as a comedic genius,
a Hollywood powerhouse, and a tireless humanitarian whose annual telethons
raised billions for children with muscular dystrophy. With his elastic face,
wild energy, and groundbreaking filmmaking techniques met every day, and
(00:34):
their questions to me were related to why I have
no anonymity. He became a fixture of American pop culture,
but behind the laughter and bright lights lay a far
more troubling reality. Today we'll unveil the dark side of
Hollywood icon Jerry Lewis that no one talks about. Let's
(00:58):
get started, public fame and cultural impact. Jerry Lewis's rise
to stardom began in the post Second World War era
when he teamed up with singer Dean Martin in nineteen
forty six. The duo quickly became a national sensation, launching
their career at the five hundred Club in Atlantic City
(01:21):
before taking over nightclubs, radio, and eventually film. Their unique
chemistry Martin as the smooth, romantic straight man and Lewis
as the mannic, unpredictable clown struck a chord with post
war American audiences hungry for laughter. By nineteen forty nine,
(01:41):
they were starring in a series of successful films for
Paramount Pictures, including My Friend Irma At War with the Army,
and The Stooge. Their act redefined American comedy for the
television age, blending vaudeville style slapstick with sharp timing and
fast paced improvisation. By the time they ended their partnership
(02:03):
in nineteen fifty six, the pair had appeared in sixteen
movies and were among the highest paid entertainers in the
United States. This was the start of something big and
something dark, Very dark. Lewis transitioned almost immediately into a
remarkably successful solo career. His first major solo hit, nineteen
(02:27):
fifty seven's The Delicate Delinquent, marked his debut as both
lead actor and executive producer. Over the next decade, he
would star in a string of box office hits, including
The Bell Boy, The Errand Boy, The Nutty Professor, and
The Disorderly Orderly. These films not only showcased Lewis's slapstick prowess,
(02:50):
but also highlighted his growing control behind the camera. He wrote, directed,
and often edited his own work, asserting creative authority at
a level rarely afforded to comedians of the time. By
nineteen sixty five, his earnings reportedly exceeded ten million dollars annually.
A key innovation that cemented Lewis's legacy in the film
(03:13):
industry was his pioneering use of the video assist system.
Invented by Lewis and first implemented on the set of
The Bell Boy, this technology allowed directors to review scenes
immediately after filming using video playback synchronized with film cameras.
This invention revolutionized filmmaking workflows, allowing for more precise directing
(03:40):
and faster correction of performance or technical errors. The system
would become a standard part of Hollywood production and earned
Lewis admiration from the likes of Francis Ford, Coppola, and
Steven Spielberg. While Lewis was building his Hollywood empire, he
was also becoming the face of one of America's most
(04:01):
prominent charitable efforts. In nineteen fifty two, he became involved
with the Muscular Dystrophy Association MDA, and by nineteen sixty
six he was hosting the first national MDA Labor Day telethon,
broadcast annually for more than four decades. The event became
a cultural institution, with Lewis at its helm for forty
(04:25):
four years. His marathon, hosting gigs often lasting over twenty
one hours, helped raise more than two and a half
billion dollars for research and patient care. Known for his
tearful appeals and passionate delivery, Lewis positioned himself as both
entertainer and advocate, making the fight against muscular dystrophy a
(04:46):
household cause. Though his methods would later face criticism, particularly
from disability rights activists, his influence in the world of
charity fundraising was undeniably massive. Beyond American shores, Lewis achieved
a level of artistic reverence that often eluded him in
his home country. In France, particularly, he was celebrated not
(05:11):
just as a performer, but as an auteur. The influential
French film journal Callers Dussinema praised his mastery of visual
comedy and structural innovation, comparing him to directors like Charlie
Chaplin and Buster Keaton. French critics highlighted his control over
every aspect of filmmaking, writing, directing, performing and editing as
(05:37):
a sign of true cinematic artistry. This admiration led to
Lewis receiving France's prestigious Legion of Honor in nineteen eighty
four and being regularly invited to European film festivals as
a guest of honor. At a time when American critics
often dismissed him as juvenile or slapstick heavy, Lewis's films
(05:59):
were being taught in French film schools as examples of
high concept comedic cinema. By the nineteen seventies, Lewis's fame
had become deeply embedded in global pop culture. He was
referenced in television shows, impersonated by comedians, and parodied in cartoons.
His influence extended to future generations of performers, from Jim
(06:21):
Carrey to Robin Williams, both of whom cited him as
an early inspiration. Lewis's face, voice, and exaggerated body language
became synonymous with mid century American comedy. His image was
instantly recognizable, bow tie exaggerated expressions and a voice that
could swing from childlike wine to explosive outburst in a
(06:45):
split second. But years later, the myth of the perfect
performer was shattered the dark side of the Hollywood icon.
Despite Jerry Lewis's status as a comedic icon, his its
public and private comments about women consistently reflected a pattern
of entrenched misogyny. As early as the nineteen fifties, Lewis
(07:09):
was known among colleagues for exhibiting dismissive and often hostile
attitudes toward women in the entertainment industry. On multiple film sets,
actresses and crew members recalled being marginalized, underdirected, or subjected
to controlling and demeaning treatment. One of the most infamous
(07:29):
aspects of Lewis's public persona was his unwavering belief that
women did not belong in comedy. In a nineteen ninety
eight interview with Entertainment Weekly, he stated plainly, I don't
like any female comedians. He went on to say, a
woman doing comedy doesn't offend me, but sets me back
(07:49):
a bit. I cannot sit and watch a lady diminish
her qualities to the lowest common denominator. His comments drew
swift backlash from female comedians and critics alike, particularly as
they came at a time when women such as Whoopie Goldberg,
Joan Rivers, and Roseanne Barr were leading some of the
most successful comedy acts in the country. Lewis refused to backtrack,
(08:15):
later reiterating similar views in subsequent interviews. In twenty eleven,
during a press conference at the cann Formidate Film Festival,
he was asked whether he still believed women weren't funny.
Without hesitation, he said yes. Lewis's rejection of female talent
was not limited to offhand remarks. It also extended to
(08:38):
his casting decisions and behind the scenes practices. In the
films he directed and starred in, female roles were often secondary, ornamental,
or written with little depth. For example, in nineteen sixty
three's The Nutty Professor, widely considered his most iconic work,
(08:58):
the female lead, played by Stella Stevens, served almost entirely
as a love interest and plot device rather than a
fully developed character. Similarly, in The Ladies Man, a film
set in a boarding house filled with women, the script
reduced most female characters to stereotypes or romantic foils. Lewis's
(09:22):
creative decisions rarely afforded actress's meaningful screen time or complexity.
This exclusionary stance contributed directly to reinforcing the male dominated
culture of Hollywood during the twentieth century, particularly in comedy,
at a time when trailblazing women like Lucille ou Ball,
(09:43):
Phyllis Diller, and Carol Burnett were fighting for recognition. Lewis's
open disdain for female comedians lent legitimacy to the systemic
sidelining of women in comedic writing rooms, casting offices, and
director chairs. His immense clout, both in front of and
behind the camera, meant that his views carried weight far
(10:06):
beyond his own projects. His misogyny set a precedent for
male entitlement and dominance in comedy circles. His views were
not unique, but they were vocalized and defended with a
brazenness that made them particularly visible. His long standing relationship
with Paramount Pictures gave him license to operate with impunity
(10:30):
during his peak years, and his reputation as a genius
often shielded him from accountability within industry circles. He was
sometimes described as a difficult genius, a phrase that while
romanticized at the time, increasingly came to be associated with
domineering and discriminatory behavior. But that's not all accusations of
(10:54):
harassment and assault. In early twenty twenty two, decades after
Jerry Lewis had retired from The Spotlight, multiple women who
had worked with him during the height of his fame
came forward with allegations of harassment and assault. These revelations
were published in a detailed expose by Vanity Fair in
(11:16):
February twenty twenty two, part of a broader reckoning within
Hollywood to revisit the misconduct of powerful men during the
mid twentieth century. Two veteran actresses, Karen Sharp and Hope Holiday,
offered first hand accounts of deeply disturbing experiences they said
took place in the nineteen sixties, when Lewis was among
(11:40):
the most influential figures in the film industry. Their stories
shared chilling similarities. Karen Sharp, a former Miss Texas and
Golden Globe winner for Most Promising Newcomer, recalled being hired
to co star alongside Lewis in the nineteen sixty four
film The Disorderly Orderly. According to her, Lewis summoned her
(12:04):
to his dressing room under the pretense of discussing her role.
Once alone, he allegedly locked the door and approached her
aggressively against her will. Sharp said she pushed him away
and firmly told him to stop, at which point Louis
became furious and warned her that refusing him would cost
(12:24):
her the role. She walked out, fully expecting to be fired,
but continued working on the film. However, Lewis never spoke
to her again on set. This was the calculated manner
in which Louis allegedly used his power to create situations
where actresses felt trapped and vulnerable. Hope Holliday, another actress
(12:47):
who had appeared in well known films like The Apartment,
recounted a similar incident that she claimed occurred when Lewis
was casting for a new project. In her interview with
Vanity Fair, she described be being lured into his office
at Paramount, where he allegedly acted inappropriately. Holiday stated that
she immediately left the office and told her agent what
(13:09):
had happened, but no formal complaint was filed and the
incident was quickly buried. The underlying pattern in these accounts
was the imbalance of power that allowed Lewis to allegedly
behave with impunity. By the early nineteen sixties, Lewis was
not just a major star. He was also a producer, writer,
(13:31):
and director, with full creative control over his projects. His
films were consistently successful at the box office, and studios
like Paramount Pictures were eager to maintain his productivity. That
level of influence made it extremely risky for young actresses
to report any inappropriate behavior. Fear of losing work, being blacklisted,
(13:55):
or having their reputations smeared kept many women from speaking up.
In some cases, agents and managers actively discouraged them from
filing complaints, arguing that the professional cost would be too high.
The broader studio system of the time also played a
central role in protecting stars like Lewis. Hollywood's Golden Age
(14:18):
was dominated by a tightly controlled ecosystem in which studios
managed their actors public images, and handled potential scandals behind
closed doors. Contracts with morality clauses were often used to
discipline less powerful performers, while major stars were shielded by
publicists and legal teams. Incidents of misconduct were routinely covered
(14:40):
up or dismissed as rumors, and in many cases, studios
quietly paid off victims or simply removed them from upcoming
projects without explanation. This system enabled a culture of silence,
allowing abuse to fester unchecked for decades. These revelations of
Lewis came at a moment when the entertainment industry was
(15:03):
already undergoing a cultural shift in the wake of the
Me Too movement. The women who stepped forward in twenty
twenty two did so not just to share their personal experiences,
but also to challenge a long standing narrative that had
cast Lewis solely as a brilliant, if eccentric entertainer controlling
(15:24):
and abusive behavior on set. As early as the nineteen sixties,
during the production of films such as The Bell Boy,
The Ladies Man, and The Nutty Professor, Lewis's directorial style
was described by colleagues as intensely controlling. He demanded total
(15:44):
authority over every aspect of production, scripts, lighting, camera angles, blocking,
and even the wardrobe choices of minor characters. While such
involvement reflected his creative ambition, it also created a working
environment where collaborators, including seasoned crew members found themselves micromanaged
(16:08):
and undermined. According to film historian Sean Levy's biography King
of Comedy, The Life and Art of Jerry Lewis, Lewis
frequently alienated co stars and technical staff with his aggressive
outbursts and degrading remarks. On the set of The Nutty Professor,
several crew members recalled incidents where Lewis would fly into
(16:30):
rages over minor issues, berating lighting technicians, make up artists,
or even extras in front of the full cast. One gaffer,
who worked on multiple Lewis productions, told Levy that the
comedian would scream like a madman if cues were even
a few seconds off. Many collaborators felt they had to
(16:50):
walk on eggshells, fearing that even small mistakes could provoke
his wrath. Actresses in particular, faced additional challenges when working
under Lewis's direction. In a two thousand and six interview
with Premiere magazine, Stella Stevens, who co starred in The
Nutty Professor, noted that Lewis not only gave her little
(17:11):
creative guidance, but also regularly belittled her in front of
the crew. She described the atmosphere as toxic, saying she
had never worked with someone so erratic and condescending. Similar
accounts came from other women who acted in his films
during the nineteen sixties and nineteen seventies, many of whom
recounted being yelled at, ridiculed, or excluded from important creative discussions.
(17:37):
As Lewis aged and his career slowed, his on set
behavior worsened by the nineteen eighties and nineteen nineties, when
he attempted various comebacks and side projects. He was often
seen as a relic of a bygone era, unwilling to
adapt to the more collaborative culture that had taken root
(17:57):
in Hollywood. In nineteen eighty one, during the troubled production
of Hardly Working, which he directed and starred in, production
was halted multiple times due to Lewis's erratic conduct. Crew
Members claimed he would appear late, change scripts without notice,
and lash out at assistance and line producers. The film itself,
(18:19):
completed on a three point five million dollar budget, received
scathing reviews and was described by The New York Times
as a disorganized mess, though it grossed over twenty five
million dollars in North America, largely due to Lewis's name recognition,
the working experience left many disillusioned. Another stark example of
(18:42):
his contentious behavior occurred during the production of The Day
the Clown Cried, a film Lewis shot in nineteen seventy
two but never released. The film, which dealt with a
clown imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp, was a passion
project that he both directed and starred in. However, the
(19:03):
production was riddled with delays, rewrites, and behind the scenes turmoil.
European actors and crew members reportedly struggled with Lewis's insistence
on total control and his dismissive attitude toward feedback. His
behavior on this set was so difficult that the film's
co producer, Nat Waksberger eventually clashed with Lewis over financing
(19:28):
and creative decisions, leading to lawsuits and the film's permanent shelving.
Lewis himself later admitted the project was a failure, calling
it bad, bad, bad in a twenty thirteen interview, but
many close to the production believed the chaos behind the
scenes played just as significant a role in the film's demise.
(19:50):
Even in his later years, Lewis continued to draw criticism
for his abrasiveness. In a twenty sixteen interview with The
Hollywood Reporter, conduct when he was ninety years old, Lewis
was asked routine questions about his career and upcoming projects.
Rather than offering insights, he responded with kurt one word
(20:11):
answers and glared silently at the interviewer for long stretches.
The footage of this encounter went viral. Many viewers rightfully
called it bizarre or disrespectful. But the disrespect does not
end here racist and offensive remarks. Lewis also repeatedly used
(20:32):
racially offensive language and stereotypical portrayals in public performances. One
of the most infamous examples came in two thousand seven
during a live broadcast of the Muscular Dystrophy Association Telethon,
an annual event Lewis had hosted for over four decades.
During the broadcast, Lewis referred to his camera assistant using
(20:54):
a racial slur that was widely condemned. Just hours later,
facing back lab Esh, Lewis issued a public apology, calling
the comment improper and stating I regret saying it. Anyone
who knows me understands I hold no prejudice in my heart. However,
this wasn't the first time Lewis had used offensive language
(21:16):
in public. In two thousand and six, just a year prior,
he had also been criticized for describing someone as illiterate
and using a slur during an earlier MDA event. He
later apologized for this too. However, these incidents, coming at
a time when public sensitivity to such language was already heightened,
(21:38):
led many to question how much of Lewis's humor and
public persona had been shaped by prejudice masked as edginus.
Going back further in his career, Lewis's comedic routines frequently
relied on exaggerated ethnic stereotypes for laughs during the nineteen
fifties and nineteen sixties, particularly in his solo performances after
(22:01):
parting ways with Dean Martin in nineteen fifty six, he
often employed broad, cartoonish accents that mocked various nationalities, including Italians, Asians,
and African Americans. A recurring gag involved Lewis squinting his
eyes and adopting a faux Chinese accent to impersonate Asian characters,
(22:24):
especially in nightclubs and variety shows. In television appearances such
as The Colgate Comedy Hour or The Jerry Lewis Show,
Lewis's portrayal of ethnic characters often reduced them to caricatures,
complete with over the top mannerisms, broken English, and physical
gestures that today would be considered racist. In one notorious
(22:47):
example from a nineteen seventies television appearance, Lewis donned a
turban and performed a skit mocking South Asian speech patterns.
Critics have also highlighted Lewis's head handling of race in
his films. While he rarely included non white characters in
major roles, when he did, they were often framed through
(23:09):
stereotypical tropes. In nineteen sixty five's The Family Jewels, for instance,
Lewis played multiple characters, one of which was styled with
heavily exaggerated mannerisms intended to mock effeminate men and racial
minorities simultaneously. More significantly, the absence of black or Hispanic
(23:31):
actors in speaking roles across Lewis's entire filmography stands out,
especially given the changing racial dynamics of America during the
Civil Rights era and afterward. Unlike some of his contemporaries
such as Sidney Poitier or even Dick Van Dyck, Lewis
made little effort to engage with diverse casting or inclusive storytelling.
(23:53):
As societal standards began to shift more dramatically in the
nineteen eighties and nineteen nineties, Lewis's style of humor, once
embraced by white mainstream audiences, came under sharper scrutiny. Younger
comedians and cultural critics increasingly rejected the notion that offensive
impressions were ever truly harmless or merely of their time. Instead,
(24:18):
they pointed to the real harm caused by normalizing dehumanizing depictions,
particularly when presented by figures as prominent as Lewis. In
a twenty ten New York Times editorial, critic Frank Rich
noted that the damage of racial mockery lingers when it's
performed by someone who shaped the comic sensibilities of a generation. Lewis, however,
(24:41):
remained largely defensive when asked about changing attitudes toward racial sensitivity.
In one interview from the early two thousands, he dismissed
the idea of political correctness as nonsense and claimed comedians
should never apologize for their jokes. While his impact on
American entertainment is undeniable, the other side of his legacy,
(25:05):
marked by racial insensitivity, offensive portrayals, and repeated public gaffes,
not be erased from the conversation. But we're not done
just yet. Fallout with Dean Martin. In nineteen fifty six,
at the height of their fame, the wildly popular comedy
(25:26):
duo of Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis shocked the entertainment
world by abruptly splitting after a decade of unprecedented success.
Their professional partnership, which began in July nineteen forty six
at the five hundred Club in Atlantic City, had evolved
from live nightclub performances into a national phenomenon. Together, they
(25:49):
starred in sixteen films for Paramount Pictures, beginning with My
Friend Irma in nineteen forty nine and ending with Hollywood
or Bust in nineteen fifty six. They also dominated television, radio,
and live venues, becoming household names and the highest paid
act in show business by the early nineteen fifties. But
(26:11):
behind the scenes, their partnership was fracturing under the weight
of competing egos. Diverging artistic ambitions and simmering personal resentment.
Tensions between the two began as early as the late
nineteen forties, when audiences and critics increasingly focused on Jerry
Lewis's over the top, slapstick persona, often crediting him alone
(26:35):
for the duo's success. Lewis's manic energy, exaggerated facial expressions,
and physical comedy drew widespread acclaim, sometimes eclipsing Martin's smoother,
krooner style performance. While Martin played the straight man in
their routines, his contributions were essential to the act's balance,
(26:56):
but he grew frustrated with constantly being portrayed as the
lesser half. According to Sean Levy's biography King of Comedy,
The Life and Art of Jerry Lewis, Martin once confided
to a friend, all I am is a straight man.
I could get a dog to do that. This sense
(27:16):
of being undervalued planted seeds of resentment that only deepened
over time. Creative differences further strained their relationship. Lewis was
obsessed with filmmaking and began taking a more active role
in shaping the direction of their movies, often offering input
on scripts, camera angles, and comedic setups. Martin, on the
(27:41):
other hand, had little interest in the technical aspects of
production and resented Lewis's increasing control. Lewis, ambitious and perfectionist,
often rewrote scenes to give himself more screen time or
comic moments, which led Martin to feel marginalized. Their last
few few films together were marked by a noticeable tension.
(28:03):
While audiences still responded enthusiastically, insiders noted that the pair
barely spoke off camera. Director Hal Walker, who helmed several
of their films, later recalled that by nineteen fifty five,
you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Their final
performance as a duo took place on July twenty fourth,
(28:25):
nineteen fifty six, exactly ten years after their first show
at the Copacabana in New York City. Despite the applause,
both men were emotionally and physically distant from one another.
The next day, their professional partnership ended. For years, the
two men didn't speak publicly. Lewis expressed sadness over the split,
(28:49):
even telling interviewers he would cry listening to Martin's records Privately,
though he harbored his own bitterness Martin meanwhile, moved quickly
to distance himself from the duo's legacy, stating there's nothing
worse than two grown men acting like fools. The estrangement
lasted for two decades, during which both men enjoyed considerable
(29:13):
solo success. Martin built a flourishing career as a solo
performer and actor, hosting The Dean Martin Show on NBC
from nineteen sixty five to nineteen seventy four and becoming
a member of the rat Pack alongside Frank Sinatra and
Sammy Davis Junior. Lewis, for his part, took control of
(29:35):
his film career, writing and directing hits like The Bellboy
and The Nutty Professor. Yet, despite their separate paths, public
interest in a reunion never waned, and attempts were occasionally
made to reconcile them. A surprising turning point came on
September fifth, nineteen seventy six, during Lewis's annual Labor Day
(29:57):
telethon for the Muscular District the Association. Frank Sinatra, who
had remained close to both men, orchestrated an on air
reunion by bringing Martin out as a surprise guest. The
moment was brief but historic. The two men embraced, exchanged
a few words, and smiled for the cameras. It was
(30:20):
the first time they had spoken in twenty years. Although
they did not resume their professional partnership, the reunion opened
the door to limited cordial contact in the years that followed.
Lewis later attended Martin's son, Dean Paul Martin Junior's funeral
in nineteen eighty seven and was visibly emotional at the service.
(30:42):
Their final public interaction came in the nineteen nineties, when
Lewis reached out to Martin during his declining health, and
the two spoke by phone several times before Martin's death
on December twenty fifth, nineteen ninety five. Despite this later reconciliation,
their journey had seen started as one of the most
successful collaborations in American comedy, but ended in a cold,
(31:06):
decades long silence that mirrored Jerry Lewis's broader struggle with
maintaining long term personal and professional relationships. The controversies don't
end here, though controversial tenure with the Muscular Dystrophe Association.
For more than four decades, Jerry Lewis was the public
(31:26):
face of the Muscular Dystrophy Association MDA, helping raise around
two point six billion dollars through his annual Labor Day Telethons,
which aired from nineteen sixty six to twenty ten. These
broadcasts became landmark American TV events, spanning over twenty hours
at times, featuring celebrities, musical acts, comedy segments, and tearful
(31:52):
appeals for donations. At their peak in the nineteen seventies
and eighties, the telethons drew tens of millions of view
making Lewis a household name not only for his comedic legacy,
but also for his philanthropy. His role as host was
so central that children featured on the show were affectionately
dubbed Jerry's Kids, a phrase that came to define both
(32:16):
the event and Lewis's humanitarian brand. While the financial success
of these telethons was undeniable, the portrayal of people with
disabilities drew increasing criticism from the disability rights movement. Starting
in the late nineteen seventies, activists challenged the telethon's tone
(32:37):
and imagery, accusing Lewis and the MDA of promoting a
narrative that framed disabled individuals as helpless and pitiable. Rather
than emphasizing autonomy, strength, and inclusion, the telethon leaned heavily
on emotional appeals that painted life with muscular dystrophy as
(32:57):
a tragedy requiring salvation, usually in the form of public charity.
Disability advocates argued that these portrayals undermined efforts to advance
civil rights, accessibility, and self determination, favoring instead a patronizing
depiction of disability. A turning point came in nineteen ninety
(33:20):
when activists from organizations like Adapt and the National Council
on Independent Living or NCIL, organized national protests against the
m DA Telethon. That same year, the essay Jerry Lewis
and His Kids the Telethon as a case study in
charitable stereotyping, gained traction, accusing Lewis of perpetuating outdated, damaging ideas.
(33:46):
Activists emphasized that their goal was not to oppose fundraising,
but to challenge how it was done. Rejecting the use
of pity to manipulate audiences, they sought an approach that
elev the voices of disabled people themselves and reframed disability
as a natural part of human diversity not a condition
(34:08):
to be fixed for the comfort of the able bodied public.
The backlash reached new intensity in nineteen ninety two when
Lewis published a controversial op ed in The Los Angeles
Times titled if you don't want to be pitied, stay
in your house. In it, he referred to people with
muscular dystrophy as half a person and suggested that those
(34:31):
in wheelchairs who didn't want pity should simply avoid being seen.
The piece was widely condemned, with disabled writer and activist
Laura Hershey penning a powerful response titled piss on Pity,
which became a rallying cry for disability rights movements. Lewis
never meaningfully apologized for these remarks. Instead, he doubled down
(34:55):
on his tactics, stating in interviews throughout the nineteen nineties
and two thousand that if guilt moved people to donate,
then it was a legitimate tool. In one interview, he
asserted that his fundraising approach was real, insisting that the
public needed to understand the gravity of muscular dystrophy. Though
he maintained strong support among some segments of the public,
(35:18):
the cultural tide was shifting. The passage of the Americans
with Disabilities Act or ADA in nineteen ninety helped reframe
disability as a civil rights issue. In August twenty ten,
the MDA could he abruptly announced that Lewis would no
longer host the telethon. Lewis later told reporters he was
(35:41):
heartbroken by how the relationship ended. Following Lewis's departure, the
telethon was dramatically scaled down and officially ended in twenty fourteen.
Though Lewis raised enormous sums and heightened awareness of muscular dystrophy,
his legacy remain means polarizing, and the same is true
(36:02):
for the rest of his story. Well that's it for now.
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(36:23):
It's truly unbelievable.
I like to kill you, That's what I would say.
Or if anybody tried to touch me, I'd probably kicked
them right between the legs. I'll punch him.
Speaker 2 (00:11):
For decades, Jerry Lewis was revered as a comedic genius,
a Hollywood powerhouse, and a tireless humanitarian whose annual telethons
raised billions for children with muscular dystrophy. With his elastic face,
wild energy, and groundbreaking filmmaking techniques met every day, and
(00:34):
their questions to me were related to why I have
no anonymity. He became a fixture of American pop culture,
but behind the laughter and bright lights lay a far
more troubling reality. Today we'll unveil the dark side of
Hollywood icon Jerry Lewis that no one talks about. Let's
(00:58):
get started, public fame and cultural impact. Jerry Lewis's rise
to stardom began in the post Second World War era
when he teamed up with singer Dean Martin in nineteen
forty six. The duo quickly became a national sensation, launching
their career at the five hundred Club in Atlantic City
(01:21):
before taking over nightclubs, radio, and eventually film. Their unique
chemistry Martin as the smooth, romantic straight man and Lewis
as the mannic, unpredictable clown struck a chord with post
war American audiences hungry for laughter. By nineteen forty nine,
(01:41):
they were starring in a series of successful films for
Paramount Pictures, including My Friend Irma At War with the Army,
and The Stooge. Their act redefined American comedy for the
television age, blending vaudeville style slapstick with sharp timing and
fast paced improvisation. By the time they ended their partnership
(02:03):
in nineteen fifty six, the pair had appeared in sixteen
movies and were among the highest paid entertainers in the
United States. This was the start of something big and
something dark, Very dark. Lewis transitioned almost immediately into a
remarkably successful solo career. His first major solo hit, nineteen
(02:27):
fifty seven's The Delicate Delinquent, marked his debut as both
lead actor and executive producer. Over the next decade, he
would star in a string of box office hits, including
The Bell Boy, The Errand Boy, The Nutty Professor, and
The Disorderly Orderly. These films not only showcased Lewis's slapstick prowess,
(02:50):
but also highlighted his growing control behind the camera. He wrote, directed,
and often edited his own work, asserting creative authority at
a level rarely afforded to comedians of the time. By
nineteen sixty five, his earnings reportedly exceeded ten million dollars annually.
A key innovation that cemented Lewis's legacy in the film
(03:13):
industry was his pioneering use of the video assist system.
Invented by Lewis and first implemented on the set of
The Bell Boy, this technology allowed directors to review scenes
immediately after filming using video playback synchronized with film cameras.
This invention revolutionized filmmaking workflows, allowing for more precise directing
(03:40):
and faster correction of performance or technical errors. The system
would become a standard part of Hollywood production and earned
Lewis admiration from the likes of Francis Ford, Coppola, and
Steven Spielberg. While Lewis was building his Hollywood empire, he
was also becoming the face of one of America's most
(04:01):
prominent charitable efforts. In nineteen fifty two, he became involved
with the Muscular Dystrophy Association MDA, and by nineteen sixty
six he was hosting the first national MDA Labor Day telethon,
broadcast annually for more than four decades. The event became
a cultural institution, with Lewis at its helm for forty
(04:25):
four years. His marathon, hosting gigs often lasting over twenty
one hours, helped raise more than two and a half
billion dollars for research and patient care. Known for his
tearful appeals and passionate delivery, Lewis positioned himself as both
entertainer and advocate, making the fight against muscular dystrophy a
(04:46):
household cause. Though his methods would later face criticism, particularly
from disability rights activists, his influence in the world of
charity fundraising was undeniably massive. Beyond American shores, Lewis achieved
a level of artistic reverence that often eluded him in
his home country. In France, particularly, he was celebrated not
(05:11):
just as a performer, but as an auteur. The influential
French film journal Callers Dussinema praised his mastery of visual
comedy and structural innovation, comparing him to directors like Charlie
Chaplin and Buster Keaton. French critics highlighted his control over
every aspect of filmmaking, writing, directing, performing and editing as
(05:37):
a sign of true cinematic artistry. This admiration led to
Lewis receiving France's prestigious Legion of Honor in nineteen eighty
four and being regularly invited to European film festivals as
a guest of honor. At a time when American critics
often dismissed him as juvenile or slapstick heavy, Lewis's films
(05:59):
were being taught in French film schools as examples of
high concept comedic cinema. By the nineteen seventies, Lewis's fame
had become deeply embedded in global pop culture. He was
referenced in television shows, impersonated by comedians, and parodied in cartoons.
His influence extended to future generations of performers, from Jim
(06:21):
Carrey to Robin Williams, both of whom cited him as
an early inspiration. Lewis's face, voice, and exaggerated body language
became synonymous with mid century American comedy. His image was
instantly recognizable, bow tie exaggerated expressions and a voice that
could swing from childlike wine to explosive outburst in a
(06:45):
split second. But years later, the myth of the perfect
performer was shattered the dark side of the Hollywood icon.
Despite Jerry Lewis's status as a comedic icon, his its
public and private comments about women consistently reflected a pattern
of entrenched misogyny. As early as the nineteen fifties, Lewis
(07:09):
was known among colleagues for exhibiting dismissive and often hostile
attitudes toward women in the entertainment industry. On multiple film sets,
actresses and crew members recalled being marginalized, underdirected, or subjected
to controlling and demeaning treatment. One of the most infamous
(07:29):
aspects of Lewis's public persona was his unwavering belief that
women did not belong in comedy. In a nineteen ninety
eight interview with Entertainment Weekly, he stated plainly, I don't
like any female comedians. He went on to say, a
woman doing comedy doesn't offend me, but sets me back
(07:49):
a bit. I cannot sit and watch a lady diminish
her qualities to the lowest common denominator. His comments drew
swift backlash from female comedians and critics alike, particularly as
they came at a time when women such as Whoopie Goldberg,
Joan Rivers, and Roseanne Barr were leading some of the
most successful comedy acts in the country. Lewis refused to backtrack,
(08:15):
later reiterating similar views in subsequent interviews. In twenty eleven,
during a press conference at the cann Formidate Film Festival,
he was asked whether he still believed women weren't funny.
Without hesitation, he said yes. Lewis's rejection of female talent
was not limited to offhand remarks. It also extended to
(08:38):
his casting decisions and behind the scenes practices. In the
films he directed and starred in, female roles were often secondary, ornamental,
or written with little depth. For example, in nineteen sixty
three's The Nutty Professor, widely considered his most iconic work,
(08:58):
the female lead, played by Stella Stevens, served almost entirely
as a love interest and plot device rather than a
fully developed character. Similarly, in The Ladies Man, a film
set in a boarding house filled with women, the script
reduced most female characters to stereotypes or romantic foils. Lewis's
(09:22):
creative decisions rarely afforded actress's meaningful screen time or complexity.
This exclusionary stance contributed directly to reinforcing the male dominated
culture of Hollywood during the twentieth century, particularly in comedy,
at a time when trailblazing women like Lucille ou Ball,
(09:43):
Phyllis Diller, and Carol Burnett were fighting for recognition. Lewis's
open disdain for female comedians lent legitimacy to the systemic
sidelining of women in comedic writing rooms, casting offices, and
director chairs. His immense clout, both in front of and
behind the camera, meant that his views carried weight far
(10:06):
beyond his own projects. His misogyny set a precedent for
male entitlement and dominance in comedy circles. His views were
not unique, but they were vocalized and defended with a
brazenness that made them particularly visible. His long standing relationship
with Paramount Pictures gave him license to operate with impunity
(10:30):
during his peak years, and his reputation as a genius
often shielded him from accountability within industry circles. He was
sometimes described as a difficult genius, a phrase that while
romanticized at the time, increasingly came to be associated with
domineering and discriminatory behavior. But that's not all accusations of
(10:54):
harassment and assault. In early twenty twenty two, decades after
Jerry Lewis had retired from The Spotlight, multiple women who
had worked with him during the height of his fame
came forward with allegations of harassment and assault. These revelations
were published in a detailed expose by Vanity Fair in
(11:16):
February twenty twenty two, part of a broader reckoning within
Hollywood to revisit the misconduct of powerful men during the
mid twentieth century. Two veteran actresses, Karen Sharp and Hope Holiday,
offered first hand accounts of deeply disturbing experiences they said
took place in the nineteen sixties, when Lewis was among
(11:40):
the most influential figures in the film industry. Their stories
shared chilling similarities. Karen Sharp, a former Miss Texas and
Golden Globe winner for Most Promising Newcomer, recalled being hired
to co star alongside Lewis in the nineteen sixty four
film The Disorderly Orderly. According to her, Lewis summoned her
(12:04):
to his dressing room under the pretense of discussing her role.
Once alone, he allegedly locked the door and approached her
aggressively against her will. Sharp said she pushed him away
and firmly told him to stop, at which point Louis
became furious and warned her that refusing him would cost
(12:24):
her the role. She walked out, fully expecting to be fired,
but continued working on the film. However, Lewis never spoke
to her again on set. This was the calculated manner
in which Louis allegedly used his power to create situations
where actresses felt trapped and vulnerable. Hope Holliday, another actress
(12:47):
who had appeared in well known films like The Apartment,
recounted a similar incident that she claimed occurred when Lewis
was casting for a new project. In her interview with
Vanity Fair, she described be being lured into his office
at Paramount, where he allegedly acted inappropriately. Holiday stated that
she immediately left the office and told her agent what
(13:09):
had happened, but no formal complaint was filed and the
incident was quickly buried. The underlying pattern in these accounts
was the imbalance of power that allowed Lewis to allegedly
behave with impunity. By the early nineteen sixties, Lewis was
not just a major star. He was also a producer, writer,
(13:31):
and director, with full creative control over his projects. His
films were consistently successful at the box office, and studios
like Paramount Pictures were eager to maintain his productivity. That
level of influence made it extremely risky for young actresses
to report any inappropriate behavior. Fear of losing work, being blacklisted,
(13:55):
or having their reputations smeared kept many women from speaking up.
In some cases, agents and managers actively discouraged them from
filing complaints, arguing that the professional cost would be too high.
The broader studio system of the time also played a
central role in protecting stars like Lewis. Hollywood's Golden Age
(14:18):
was dominated by a tightly controlled ecosystem in which studios
managed their actors public images, and handled potential scandals behind
closed doors. Contracts with morality clauses were often used to
discipline less powerful performers, while major stars were shielded by
publicists and legal teams. Incidents of misconduct were routinely covered
(14:40):
up or dismissed as rumors, and in many cases, studios
quietly paid off victims or simply removed them from upcoming
projects without explanation. This system enabled a culture of silence,
allowing abuse to fester unchecked for decades. These revelations of
Lewis came at a moment when the entertainment industry was
(15:03):
already undergoing a cultural shift in the wake of the
Me Too movement. The women who stepped forward in twenty
twenty two did so not just to share their personal experiences,
but also to challenge a long standing narrative that had
cast Lewis solely as a brilliant, if eccentric entertainer controlling
(15:24):
and abusive behavior on set. As early as the nineteen sixties,
during the production of films such as The Bell Boy,
The Ladies Man, and The Nutty Professor, Lewis's directorial style
was described by colleagues as intensely controlling. He demanded total
(15:44):
authority over every aspect of production, scripts, lighting, camera angles, blocking,
and even the wardrobe choices of minor characters. While such
involvement reflected his creative ambition, it also created a working
environment where collaborators, including seasoned crew members found themselves micromanaged
(16:08):
and undermined. According to film historian Sean Levy's biography King
of Comedy, The Life and Art of Jerry Lewis, Lewis
frequently alienated co stars and technical staff with his aggressive
outbursts and degrading remarks. On the set of The Nutty Professor,
several crew members recalled incidents where Lewis would fly into
(16:30):
rages over minor issues, berating lighting technicians, make up artists,
or even extras in front of the full cast. One gaffer,
who worked on multiple Lewis productions, told Levy that the
comedian would scream like a madman if cues were even
a few seconds off. Many collaborators felt they had to
(16:50):
walk on eggshells, fearing that even small mistakes could provoke
his wrath. Actresses in particular, faced additional challenges when working
under Lewis's direction. In a two thousand and six interview
with Premiere magazine, Stella Stevens, who co starred in The
Nutty Professor, noted that Lewis not only gave her little
(17:11):
creative guidance, but also regularly belittled her in front of
the crew. She described the atmosphere as toxic, saying she
had never worked with someone so erratic and condescending. Similar
accounts came from other women who acted in his films
during the nineteen sixties and nineteen seventies, many of whom
recounted being yelled at, ridiculed, or excluded from important creative discussions.
(17:37):
As Lewis aged and his career slowed, his on set
behavior worsened by the nineteen eighties and nineteen nineties, when
he attempted various comebacks and side projects. He was often
seen as a relic of a bygone era, unwilling to
adapt to the more collaborative culture that had taken root
(17:57):
in Hollywood. In nineteen eighty one, during the troubled production
of Hardly Working, which he directed and starred in, production
was halted multiple times due to Lewis's erratic conduct. Crew
Members claimed he would appear late, change scripts without notice,
and lash out at assistance and line producers. The film itself,
(18:19):
completed on a three point five million dollar budget, received
scathing reviews and was described by The New York Times
as a disorganized mess, though it grossed over twenty five
million dollars in North America, largely due to Lewis's name recognition,
the working experience left many disillusioned. Another stark example of
(18:42):
his contentious behavior occurred during the production of The Day
the Clown Cried, a film Lewis shot in nineteen seventy
two but never released. The film, which dealt with a
clown imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp, was a passion
project that he both directed and starred in. However, the
(19:03):
production was riddled with delays, rewrites, and behind the scenes turmoil.
European actors and crew members reportedly struggled with Lewis's insistence
on total control and his dismissive attitude toward feedback. His
behavior on this set was so difficult that the film's
co producer, Nat Waksberger eventually clashed with Lewis over financing
(19:28):
and creative decisions, leading to lawsuits and the film's permanent shelving.
Lewis himself later admitted the project was a failure, calling
it bad, bad, bad in a twenty thirteen interview, but
many close to the production believed the chaos behind the
scenes played just as significant a role in the film's demise.
(19:50):
Even in his later years, Lewis continued to draw criticism
for his abrasiveness. In a twenty sixteen interview with The
Hollywood Reporter, conduct when he was ninety years old, Lewis
was asked routine questions about his career and upcoming projects.
Rather than offering insights, he responded with kurt one word
(20:11):
answers and glared silently at the interviewer for long stretches.
The footage of this encounter went viral. Many viewers rightfully
called it bizarre or disrespectful. But the disrespect does not
end here racist and offensive remarks. Lewis also repeatedly used
(20:32):
racially offensive language and stereotypical portrayals in public performances. One
of the most infamous examples came in two thousand seven
during a live broadcast of the Muscular Dystrophy Association Telethon,
an annual event Lewis had hosted for over four decades.
During the broadcast, Lewis referred to his camera assistant using
(20:54):
a racial slur that was widely condemned. Just hours later,
facing back lab Esh, Lewis issued a public apology, calling
the comment improper and stating I regret saying it. Anyone
who knows me understands I hold no prejudice in my heart. However,
this wasn't the first time Lewis had used offensive language
(21:16):
in public. In two thousand and six, just a year prior,
he had also been criticized for describing someone as illiterate
and using a slur during an earlier MDA event. He
later apologized for this too. However, these incidents, coming at
a time when public sensitivity to such language was already heightened,
(21:38):
led many to question how much of Lewis's humor and
public persona had been shaped by prejudice masked as edginus.
Going back further in his career, Lewis's comedic routines frequently
relied on exaggerated ethnic stereotypes for laughs during the nineteen
fifties and nineteen sixties, particularly in his solo performances after
(22:01):
parting ways with Dean Martin in nineteen fifty six, he
often employed broad, cartoonish accents that mocked various nationalities, including Italians, Asians,
and African Americans. A recurring gag involved Lewis squinting his
eyes and adopting a faux Chinese accent to impersonate Asian characters,
(22:24):
especially in nightclubs and variety shows. In television appearances such
as The Colgate Comedy Hour or The Jerry Lewis Show,
Lewis's portrayal of ethnic characters often reduced them to caricatures,
complete with over the top mannerisms, broken English, and physical
gestures that today would be considered racist. In one notorious
(22:47):
example from a nineteen seventies television appearance, Lewis donned a
turban and performed a skit mocking South Asian speech patterns.
Critics have also highlighted Lewis's head handling of race in
his films. While he rarely included non white characters in
major roles, when he did, they were often framed through
(23:09):
stereotypical tropes. In nineteen sixty five's The Family Jewels, for instance,
Lewis played multiple characters, one of which was styled with
heavily exaggerated mannerisms intended to mock effeminate men and racial
minorities simultaneously. More significantly, the absence of black or Hispanic
(23:31):
actors in speaking roles across Lewis's entire filmography stands out,
especially given the changing racial dynamics of America during the
Civil Rights era and afterward. Unlike some of his contemporaries
such as Sidney Poitier or even Dick Van Dyck, Lewis
made little effort to engage with diverse casting or inclusive storytelling.
(23:53):
As societal standards began to shift more dramatically in the
nineteen eighties and nineteen nineties, Lewis's style of humor, once
embraced by white mainstream audiences, came under sharper scrutiny. Younger
comedians and cultural critics increasingly rejected the notion that offensive
impressions were ever truly harmless or merely of their time. Instead,
(24:18):
they pointed to the real harm caused by normalizing dehumanizing depictions,
particularly when presented by figures as prominent as Lewis. In
a twenty ten New York Times editorial, critic Frank Rich
noted that the damage of racial mockery lingers when it's
performed by someone who shaped the comic sensibilities of a generation. Lewis, however,
(24:41):
remained largely defensive when asked about changing attitudes toward racial sensitivity.
In one interview from the early two thousands, he dismissed
the idea of political correctness as nonsense and claimed comedians
should never apologize for their jokes. While his impact on
American entertainment is undeniable, the other side of his legacy,
(25:05):
marked by racial insensitivity, offensive portrayals, and repeated public gaffes,
not be erased from the conversation. But we're not done
just yet. Fallout with Dean Martin. In nineteen fifty six,
at the height of their fame, the wildly popular comedy
(25:26):
duo of Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis shocked the entertainment
world by abruptly splitting after a decade of unprecedented success.
Their professional partnership, which began in July nineteen forty six
at the five hundred Club in Atlantic City, had evolved
from live nightclub performances into a national phenomenon. Together, they
(25:49):
starred in sixteen films for Paramount Pictures, beginning with My
Friend Irma in nineteen forty nine and ending with Hollywood
or Bust in nineteen fifty six. They also dominated television, radio,
and live venues, becoming household names and the highest paid
act in show business by the early nineteen fifties. But
(26:11):
behind the scenes, their partnership was fracturing under the weight
of competing egos. Diverging artistic ambitions and simmering personal resentment.
Tensions between the two began as early as the late
nineteen forties, when audiences and critics increasingly focused on Jerry
Lewis's over the top, slapstick persona, often crediting him alone
(26:35):
for the duo's success. Lewis's manic energy, exaggerated facial expressions,
and physical comedy drew widespread acclaim, sometimes eclipsing Martin's smoother,
krooner style performance. While Martin played the straight man in
their routines, his contributions were essential to the act's balance,
(26:56):
but he grew frustrated with constantly being portrayed as the
lesser half. According to Sean Levy's biography King of Comedy,
The Life and Art of Jerry Lewis, Martin once confided
to a friend, all I am is a straight man.
I could get a dog to do that. This sense
(27:16):
of being undervalued planted seeds of resentment that only deepened
over time. Creative differences further strained their relationship. Lewis was
obsessed with filmmaking and began taking a more active role
in shaping the direction of their movies, often offering input
on scripts, camera angles, and comedic setups. Martin, on the
(27:41):
other hand, had little interest in the technical aspects of
production and resented Lewis's increasing control. Lewis, ambitious and perfectionist,
often rewrote scenes to give himself more screen time or
comic moments, which led Martin to feel marginalized. Their last
few few films together were marked by a noticeable tension.
(28:03):
While audiences still responded enthusiastically, insiders noted that the pair
barely spoke off camera. Director Hal Walker, who helmed several
of their films, later recalled that by nineteen fifty five,
you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Their final
performance as a duo took place on July twenty fourth,
(28:25):
nineteen fifty six, exactly ten years after their first show
at the Copacabana in New York City. Despite the applause,
both men were emotionally and physically distant from one another.
The next day, their professional partnership ended. For years, the
two men didn't speak publicly. Lewis expressed sadness over the split,
(28:49):
even telling interviewers he would cry listening to Martin's records Privately,
though he harbored his own bitterness Martin meanwhile, moved quickly
to distance himself from the duo's legacy, stating there's nothing
worse than two grown men acting like fools. The estrangement
lasted for two decades, during which both men enjoyed considerable
(29:13):
solo success. Martin built a flourishing career as a solo
performer and actor, hosting The Dean Martin Show on NBC
from nineteen sixty five to nineteen seventy four and becoming
a member of the rat Pack alongside Frank Sinatra and
Sammy Davis Junior. Lewis, for his part, took control of
(29:35):
his film career, writing and directing hits like The Bellboy
and The Nutty Professor. Yet, despite their separate paths, public
interest in a reunion never waned, and attempts were occasionally
made to reconcile them. A surprising turning point came on
September fifth, nineteen seventy six, during Lewis's annual Labor Day
(29:57):
telethon for the Muscular District the Association. Frank Sinatra, who
had remained close to both men, orchestrated an on air
reunion by bringing Martin out as a surprise guest. The
moment was brief but historic. The two men embraced, exchanged
a few words, and smiled for the cameras. It was
(30:20):
the first time they had spoken in twenty years. Although
they did not resume their professional partnership, the reunion opened
the door to limited cordial contact in the years that followed.
Lewis later attended Martin's son, Dean Paul Martin Junior's funeral
in nineteen eighty seven and was visibly emotional at the service.
(30:42):
Their final public interaction came in the nineteen nineties, when
Lewis reached out to Martin during his declining health, and
the two spoke by phone several times before Martin's death
on December twenty fifth, nineteen ninety five. Despite this later reconciliation,
their journey had seen started as one of the most
successful collaborations in American comedy, but ended in a cold,
(31:06):
decades long silence that mirrored Jerry Lewis's broader struggle with
maintaining long term personal and professional relationships. The controversies don't
end here, though controversial tenure with the Muscular Dystrophe Association.
For more than four decades, Jerry Lewis was the public
(31:26):
face of the Muscular Dystrophy Association MDA, helping raise around
two point six billion dollars through his annual Labor Day Telethons,
which aired from nineteen sixty six to twenty ten. These
broadcasts became landmark American TV events, spanning over twenty hours
at times, featuring celebrities, musical acts, comedy segments, and tearful
(31:52):
appeals for donations. At their peak in the nineteen seventies
and eighties, the telethons drew tens of millions of view
making Lewis a household name not only for his comedic legacy,
but also for his philanthropy. His role as host was
so central that children featured on the show were affectionately
dubbed Jerry's Kids, a phrase that came to define both
(32:16):
the event and Lewis's humanitarian brand. While the financial success
of these telethons was undeniable, the portrayal of people with
disabilities drew increasing criticism from the disability rights movement. Starting
in the late nineteen seventies, activists challenged the telethon's tone
(32:37):
and imagery, accusing Lewis and the MDA of promoting a
narrative that framed disabled individuals as helpless and pitiable. Rather
than emphasizing autonomy, strength, and inclusion, the telethon leaned heavily
on emotional appeals that painted life with muscular dystrophy as
(32:57):
a tragedy requiring salvation, usually in the form of public charity.
Disability advocates argued that these portrayals undermined efforts to advance
civil rights, accessibility, and self determination, favoring instead a patronizing
depiction of disability. A turning point came in nineteen ninety
(33:20):
when activists from organizations like Adapt and the National Council
on Independent Living or NCIL, organized national protests against the
m DA Telethon. That same year, the essay Jerry Lewis
and His Kids the Telethon as a case study in
charitable stereotyping, gained traction, accusing Lewis of perpetuating outdated, damaging ideas.
(33:46):
Activists emphasized that their goal was not to oppose fundraising,
but to challenge how it was done. Rejecting the use
of pity to manipulate audiences, they sought an approach that
elev the voices of disabled people themselves and reframed disability
as a natural part of human diversity not a condition
(34:08):
to be fixed for the comfort of the able bodied public.
The backlash reached new intensity in nineteen ninety two when
Lewis published a controversial op ed in The Los Angeles
Times titled if you don't want to be pitied, stay
in your house. In it, he referred to people with
muscular dystrophy as half a person and suggested that those
(34:31):
in wheelchairs who didn't want pity should simply avoid being seen.
The piece was widely condemned, with disabled writer and activist
Laura Hershey penning a powerful response titled piss on Pity,
which became a rallying cry for disability rights movements. Lewis
never meaningfully apologized for these remarks. Instead, he doubled down
(34:55):
on his tactics, stating in interviews throughout the nineteen nineties
and two thousand that if guilt moved people to donate,
then it was a legitimate tool. In one interview, he
asserted that his fundraising approach was real, insisting that the
public needed to understand the gravity of muscular dystrophy. Though
he maintained strong support among some segments of the public,
(35:18):
the cultural tide was shifting. The passage of the Americans
with Disabilities Act or ADA in nineteen ninety helped reframe
disability as a civil rights issue. In August twenty ten,
the MDA could he abruptly announced that Lewis would no
longer host the telethon. Lewis later told reporters he was
(35:41):
heartbroken by how the relationship ended. Following Lewis's departure, the
telethon was dramatically scaled down and officially ended in twenty fourteen.
Though Lewis raised enormous sums and heightened awareness of muscular dystrophy,
his legacy remain means polarizing, and the same is true
(36:02):
for the rest of his story. Well that's it for now.
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(36:23):
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