Queer as folk

Is there a comic actor who's famous for doing less? In a sense, Paul always played himself. Whether he was a warlock or an animated rat he was always the same character: "Paul Lynde." He didn't exactly stretch his acting chops.

J.F.: But isn't that the case with most movie and TV actors, no matter how famous they are? Also, Paul's persona had much more dimension to it, not just the tight grin and the weird asthmatic laugh and the nasally voice, but also a poignant vulnerability underneath all the anger. You always felt sympathy for this raging ineffectual. He based it on people he grew up with in Ohio, and he spent so many years perfecting it that you can't blame him for clinging to it. Plus, it worked for him. It really hit a chord with audiences, and other entertainers ripped off different elements of it -- Charles Nelson Reilly is a big one; he took the laugh.

Most comedians and comic actors are angry, and if they're not, they're usually Paul Reiser. But Paul Lynde seemed to be a special case. Where do you think this rage came from and how did it fuel his comedy?

S.W.: He had a lot stacked against him, especially growing up. He was a fat kid. Classmates, as well as his brothers, picked on him. His mother was loving, but his father not so much. Meanwhile, everybody in town thought he was a freak for putting on backyard shows and marching around in the dresses he found in the attics of friends' houses. He made the best of it by becoming a class clown, but when comedy is a defense mechanism like that, it's bound to be mean. After college, he didn't get any decent parts for years, and the stress and frustration of that just made matters worse.

You interviewed a lot of his friends for the book, but not too many family members. Were they uncooperative?

J.F.: In a sense. His direct relatives died by the time we started the book, and they likely wouldn't have been too helpful anyway. An "A&E Biography" special that we helped out with apparently miffed Paul's sister just before she died. She wrote a letter taking the producers to task for purporting -- gasp! -- that Paul was gay. The extended family seemed to have the same qualms when we tried to talk to them, so it didn't work out.

At the end of his life, Paul seemed to be getting his act together. And yet he became something of a loner. He kicked booze and drugs, but would spend his days filling out crossword puzzles, and most of his social interaction was hosting dinner parties for his close friends during which he would apologize for his past offenses.

S.W.: He hinted to a few friends about some event that finally pushed him over the edge and made him realize he had to kick his habits, but he wouldn't say specifically what it was. It could have been the time he got banned from Northwestern, his alma mater, for spouting incredibly racist comments at a black man standing behind him at a local Burger King. The man turned out to be a Northwestern professor. Or it could have been maybe something much quieter. Whatever the case, he gave up booze, but going cold turkey may have been too much of a shock to the system, because he died about a year later.

Did he ever officially come out, even to friends near the end?

J.F.: To his friends, sure he did. But he kept a fairly rigid line between his gay friends and his celebrity friends, rarely mixing the two except when he might bring a fling along on a "Squares" junket or the like. Publicly, he still kept himself in the closet, but just barely by the end. A 1976 article in People came the closest of any mainstream media in outing him. It featured pics of him with Stan Finesmith, his "chauffeur-bodyguard," who, according to the article's photo caption, also doubled as his "hair stylist and suite mate."

I suppose it's only fair to ask if he could ever really be considered a gay hero if he never officially came out.

J.F.: I've personally never considered Paul a gay hero. True, in his own way, he played a part in gay liberation, but it's not like he led the Stonewall Riots. Had he lived longer, maybe he'd have outed himself on the cover of a magazine. But if he had come out, it would probably have meant the further end of his career, as in putting the nail in its coffin. That would have been that.

Rumors have circulated about Paul's death for years. Your book puts an end to them.

J.F.: People have said things like a hustler left the vicinity the night of Paul's death with a big stash of loot, leaving Paul dead and naked. But the more we looked into it, the more it all adds up to a heart attack, just like the coroner's report says. He died at almost the same age as his father and for the same reason. With the way he lived, it's kind of surprising he didn't have a heart attack sooner.

How do you think Paul would have fared today? Although he complained about not achieving more fame through movies and leading roles, he was lucky to be around during the zenith of game shows and variety shows, the last vestiges of vaudeville. He was able to shine in both settings.

J.F.: If he'd survived the '80s, he could have easily cashed in on the celebrity cookbook craze or become a game show host. I could see him with his own daytime talk show in the '90s, when that was big.

S.W.: Yes, and these days he'd be great in a reality show. He could host a dinner party each week and tell everybody off. And, of course, as an elder statesman of gay TV, he could easily get a supporting or recurring role on any one of the many gay-themed shows out there today. Maybe as the DJ on "The Ellen DeGeneres Show."

And his legacy?

J.F.: For most people Paul is just a funny footnote of TV history. Like a character in the new "Bewitched" movie or as the butt of jokes on cartoons like "The Simpsons," "SpongeBob SquarePants," and "American Dad." But it's not a stretch to say "Will & Grace," "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" and other gay television shows are Paul's legacy. Way before any of them, Paul was getting away with being gay on a daily basis on TV -- an unheard of feat back then.

S.W.: But here's something sad: The sign proclaiming Mount Vernon, Ohio, as the birthplace of Paul Lynde was recently changed to read: "Home of Daniel Decatur Emmett, Author of [the song] 'Dixie.'" Maybe we can start a petition to get the old sign back. Or, at the very least, to hold a Paul Lynde day.

With the Paul Lynde impersonator as honorary mayor?

S.W.: The town would never be the same!

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