Uncle Floyd Dies
I think I end up owing him everything: My fascination with Vaudeville, my sense of entertainment history being the true history of this country. And some of the fondest memories of rough times, watching this show as a kid with my mother. Actual laughs. Pure foolishness. That sense of chaos about to unfold, everything ready to collapse at all times. The sets were so cheap, the jokes so fragile, that you spent the entire show rooting for him, for Oogie the puppet, just waiting for entropy to claim every victory.
In addition to his brother Jimmy, Mr. Vivino is survived by another brother, Jerome Jr., a saxophonist known as Jerry; a daughter, Lauren Vivino, two sons, Christopher and Eric, from his second marriage, to Lisa Vitale, which ended in divorce; three more sons, Gregory, Dante and Massimo, from his marriage to Jane Hillenbrand, which ended in divorce; and three grandchildren. His first marriage, to Debra Gallison, also ended in divorce.
Can't win 'em all. I was ten. I'd stare in awe, like other kids might watch a wrestler or a racecar driver. The cast, they'd always survive, to amuse another day. This is the miracle of entertainment—that they get through it! That is always the secret story of the concert, the talent show, the dog agility run, that it could, absolutely, collapse, and what have they done to manage this, to avoid it, to bring order to the creeping disaster that is always waiting? But in the case of this show they did almost nothing. Sometimes Cyndi Lauper would come on. David Bowie was a huge fan. But there was absolutely nothing between Uncle Floyd and the terrible void. The abyss was practically a guest host.
For all they trash the humanists out there, measure the tears when a guy who used to emcee events for the Knights of Columbus tanks it. Man that's us who kicked. We all know who gets the loudest funeral. All I personally ever wanted to be was someone who could give a good toast at a function. Everything else comes second. He gave us all of that. A beautiful model of lo-fi shenanigans, a debased and kitschy folly. We knew what a treasure he was. Those alimony payments must have been a trip. Then again they all knew exactly what they were marrying. Blessings upon Uncle Floyd forevermore. Thank you for showing me how much fun it could be sing into the void.