We had the pleasure of taking some friends to see Bill Cosby the other night at the Paramount Theater in Oakland. Dr Mrs My Wife and I had seen him once before, at the SF Jazz Center, where he’d done a two hour set for a fund raiser. I had been seeing him make more appearances on television, and it seemed like he was building up towards something bigger. And now here we were in front of the Paramount, watching the fruits of all this set building.
The Paramount itself is one of the old movie palaces that are scattered around the Bay Area. It’s a relic of a bygone era, all gilt edges and Art Deco flourishes. It’s a beautiful venue for a show, and that night it was filled to the rafters for the man, himself. Half the crowd were young folks, “Cos-playing” in Cosby sweaters (to quote my friend Andrew); the other half were older folks, who’d no doubt followed Bill Cosby since he was playing Vegas in the 60’s. It was kind of heartwarming to see so many different kinds of people gathered together (I think this is a symptom of my own advancing age, but speculation on that will have to wait for another post).
Cosby himself is not quite the man he was, though he is still funny. He reminds me of footage I have seen of Groucho Marx in his later years, doing interviews (in this case on Bill Cobsy’s talk show). He’s bemused, slightly bored, and incredibly sharp beneath it all, as he rambles seemingly aimlessly. He also reminds me of my old man, who, it turns out, has been lifting material from Cosby for as long as I have been alive. He sat heavily in his folding chair, in a hoody and sweat cargo pants, holding court like a man in his own living room, occasionally breaking out of his stories to heckle the crowd. Just another evening in our living room.