I was logged on yesterday afternoon when I got an email from my oldest daughter Nancy asking me why didn't I write a blog about Regis. I really didn't put two and two together, but I responded that I would if there was an obituary to read.
I was busy evaluating the results and entries at Saratoga and wasn't absorbing the instantaneous news that can fly your way when you're connected to the Internet. Nancy responded that he did pass away. I promised a blog posting.
My daughter Nancy remembered how I used to love to tune into his show when we were on vacation at a summer house we rented for several years in the late '80s and '90s. The rabbit ear reception was pretty bad, but the sound was okay, and the picture was good enough to see distinguishing features.
Those were the years with Kathy Lee Gifford as his co-host. And even with her almost annoying laugh, I loved the show.
Regis always had a long lead-in. He and Kathy would yap for about 15-18 minutes without commercial. In a different era they would have been a couple on the radio doing a breakfast show from a living room. The two of them were known for being able to talk about absolutely nothing and entertain you.
Regis usually held up a morning tabloid, the Daily News or the New York Post and react to the headline, whatever it was. Thinking about that now maybe that's what created my habit of handing the Daily News off to my wife through the window of the car when my wife dropped me off at the station. I always had a quip to say about the headline. My younger daughter Susan was in the car at the time, being driven to grammar school. She's reminded me of the habit I had.
Regis was the New York boy who made good. Very good. The NYT obituary today tells us he might have been worth $150 million. Never a bad amount for someone coming from the Bronx who went to Cardinal Hays High School and graduated the year I was born.
His parentage was Irish and Italian, but the Irish half came through the strongest. Regis had that leprechaun face; freckles and a glint in his eyes that relayed that he was probably a bit of a cut-up for the nuns and brothers to handle. My guess is he didn't sit very still in class.
He graduated from University of Notre Dame, so the Irish connection was complete. His father went to Regis High School, a selective Catholic all-boys high school on 84th Street just east of Fifth Avenue in Manhattan that is tuition free. It is extremely hard to get into.
The upshot to the Regis High School story and Regis's father is that Regis tells the story of his father going to school there, but being expelled in the 1920s for fighting with a priest or brother. The father always felt bad about getting expelled, so when he and his wife had their first born and it was a boy, they named him Regis. If my father followed the same logic when I was born, he would have named me Stuyvesant. (A difference however being my father didn't get thrown out.)
Regis was always well dressed, pocket square ever showing. I might have imitated him a bit without realizing it when I adopted wearing a pocket square with my jacket when I went to work. I felt it compensated for the tie I was discouraged from wearing at the last job I had, working with significantly younger people in an IT environment. Ties were only for the first day. The owner sometimes wore shorts.
I remember Donald Trump was in the front row on the aisle for Regis's last show with Kelly Ripa, a co-host I really didn't tolerate too well. In Mr. McFadden's NYT obit he tells us of President Trump's Tweet calling Regis, "one of the greats in the history of television. He kept telling me to run for president."
It's not his fault. No one should stay mad at Regis for that one.
My guess is Regis had a time-share table at Rao's, the East Harlem Italian eatery that is still harder to get a table at than admission to Regis High School. When the gatekeeper, owner/maitre d' Frankie No was alive, he didn't say "no" to Regis.
He was a man about town, a regular at Elaine's and was depicted as being himself with his wife Joy drinking wine at Elaine's in a De Niro movie. I forget which one. He was friends enough with
De Niro that he referred to him as "Bobby."
With a different mayoral administration Regis should have been declared a Living NYC Landmark years ago—like Tony Bennett. Someone dropped the ball on that one.
As good as the NYT obit is, pre-written by Robert McFadden, with an update credited to Christina Morales, there is absolutely no mention of the last show Regis was involved with, The Crowd Goes Wild, a Fox Sport channel mishmash of sport news and very silly sports commentary that did not last long.
Regis shared the spotlight with a British journalist, Georgie Thompson, the WSJ sportswriter Jason Gay, (fresh from writing for GQ men's magazine), an ex-football player Trevor Pryce, and a young comedian Michael Kosta. Katie Nolan quickly advanced from an off-camera Twitter feed reader to a regular spot on the dais.
The show was pretty silly and struggled to gain traction in the ratings. But in 2014 I was already retired, so I decided to try and go to the show that was televised from Chelsea Pier studios. The show was live, and it wasn't hard to get to be in the audience, a small bunch assembled on bleacher-style seating that I don't believe ever was shown on camera. Maybe it was.
The show's interns spent morning hours handing out leaflets in Times Square, trying to encourage tourists to come to the afternoon show. I just went straight to the Piers.
It was the first TV show I ever got into since I gained admission to be in the audience at a Johnny Carson show in 1966. Presence at a Carson show was much harder than a Regis show. You generally needed tickets mailed to you way in advance.
But in January 1, 1966 there was a subway strike in NYC. The head of the TWU, Michael Quill, famously defied Mayor Lindsay and called a strike. It lasted 12 days.
At that time, I correctly figured there would ticket holders who wouldn't bother trying to get to the show, and I might be able to gain entry from the stand-by, provisional line. I did. The strike lasted long enough that I did that twice. The second time, even then, Johnny took the evening off and was replaced by the comedian Corbett Monica. Simon and Garfunkel were introduced and sang 'Sounds of Silence' at the first show I saw. Johnny made a little fun of their names by opening his jacket and flashing a label that he said could be Simon and Garfunkel, as if they manufactured clothing.
'The Crowd Goes Wild' disappeared into TV's cyberspace. I remember watching the last show and Regis showed his disappointment at bowing out on a bit of a low note. He said, "I always wanted to do a sports show. I still do."
He may have bowed out, but he's certainly not forgotten.
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