
Jerry Lewis Do You Remember . . .
Do you remember the year 1946 in Atlantic City? You told the manager of Club 500 that you had a friend who was a singer, also a riot. He said he’d give you a chance and you and your friend stayed up till dawn putting an act together. By showtime you’d thrown the script away; you didn’t need it. From midnight to 6 a.m. everybody in the place got sick from laughing and by morning you and Dean were a team. Pretty soon you were one of the greatest teams in the history of show business. Do you remember how it felt back then. . . .? It wasn’t only money, it wasn’t only fantastic success that had you spinning, it was something you’d been looking for all your life with the part of you that had nothing to do with show business. You’ve said it yourself many times. “Dean’s like my brother. He’s all the friends I never had when I was young . . .”

Jerry, do you remember 1952 in Minneapolis? You hit the floor the wrong way in one of your acrobatic bits and they rushed you to a hospital. The theatre manager decided to close shop for the night, but Dean said he’d go on, sing a few songs. He got a big hand when he stepped into the spotlight, but halfway through the song his voice broke. There were tears in his eyes as he ran off stage. Did anyone ever tell you the way he cried when the doctor said you’d be okay. . .? Maybe no one had to tell you. “I know Dean so well,” you used to say, “I can see him coming three blocks off, and can tell if he’s feeling lousy by the way he walks.” What was important enough to break up a team like that? Maybe you don’t want to face it; maybe you both figure you can make millions without each other, maybe you can. But don’t kid yourself into thinking you’ll have that special glow alone. And don’t think it’s only laughs that fill a theatre. There are people who roared at you and Dean who wouldn’t crack a smile at the same lines coming from two other guys. You put something into those lines that no gagwriter could ever dream up; you put in yourselves and the delight you felt in clowning together. You had the rarest thing in the entertainment world—a friendship that didn’t depend on the box-office take, and everybody knew it. Now you’re fighting like a couple of prima donnas. In the old days you used to laugh when Dean headed for the golf course. “If he’s happy, I’m happy,” you said. In the old days you’d threaten to walk out on a movie if Dean didn’t like his part. You never had to walk out, because nobody ignores that kind of loyalty.
Make trouble with anybody else and it doesn’t really matter. Turn against each other and every single one of your millions of fans feels betrayed. They don’t want you slick, Jerry; they don’t want you perfect; they don’t even mind if you take a vacation. They just want you and Dean together. That’s the only charm that works. We’re not trying to fix the blame on you, Jerry, not by a long shot. But maybe we think you’re the one who can heal the breach if you want to.
Can’t you try? Can’t a couple of guys who were so close for so long go out of their way to find what they lost? Jerry, do you remember when you said, “If anyone hurts my partner, he’s my enemy?” Don’t be your own worst enemy now. Nothing is bigger than the warmth you and Dean brought into every home in the country. Nothing should be allowed to take that warmth away.
It is a quote. MODERN SCREEN MAGAZINE SEPTEMBER 1955