Nassau Funeral Home — Great Neck, Long Island — May 19, 1984
The three of us stood outside the funeral home, the varnished faces of the beautifully carved wooden doors glistening in the warm midmorning sun. I stared at the wrought-iron handles. We were the first group to arrive; we paused before stepping inside. Lynne Margulies, Andy’s girlfriend, was on my right and Joe Troiani, a friend since childhood, was on my left.
In a ritual we had observed because Andy would have wanted it that way, Joe and I had gone out on the town the night before, taking in the live sex shows down on 42nd Street — just in case this whole thing was real. As we gazed at the entrance to the building that just might contain the earthly remains of my best friend, Andy Kaufman, I continued to pray that it was just a terrible joke Andy had managed to perpetrate on everyone, including me, the closest tie to the human race that he had. Maybe he would surprise us. We kept waiting for the punch line. I knew there was no limit to how far he’d take a joke. Denial was a very useful tool for the three of us at that moment.
Joe noticed my hesitation and blank expression and took it to mean that I was hiding something, perhaps holding back as I attempted to contain my laughter. Zmuda’s in on the joke, gotta be. Joe had known me for more than twenty years and normally his read would have been accurate, but this time he was witnessing something he’d never seen in me and therefore couldn’t identify: complete shock It affected my behavior by giving off false signs that not only was everything fine, it was cool. Nothing was further from the truth.
“Hey, let’s see a body,” cracked Joe. “I’m gonna go inside, see what’s up.”
Lynne patted his shoulder. “You go, Joe. Bob and I’ll wait.” Lynne was dealing with her own grief but intuitively knew my demeanor was indeed concealing deep pain and confusion.
Joe, like me, had been raised Catholic and, once inside, expected the mortuary to be abuzz with people flitting about. But the place was, well, dead. He wandered back and found the large room where Andy’s service would be held. At the front of the room sat a casket on a stand, its lid cocked open. Even though he assumed it would actually contain something, Joe still was surprised when he saw a body within, resting, its arms folded. It appeared to be Andy. Joe walked over and looked down at the waxen likeness, the head shaved, the features terminally peaceful.
This moment had come upon us so quickly we weren’t really sure how to behave. Joe had known Andy for years, but the notion that such a bright light could be snuffed out was not yet completely within the realm of possibility for him. He truly believed that Andy was still with us, and why not? Andy was the greatest practical joker the world had ever known, the Houdini of jokesters, the Elvis of put-on artists. This could be his biggest stunt ever.
“Andy,” he murmured to the prone form, anticipating that he might now be let in on Andy’s greatest prank. “Hey Andy, I’m here and we’re all alone, so c’mon man, you can tell me … this is a big fucking joke, isn’t it?” No reaction. Joe realized Andy wasn’t going to give this up easily. Stepping close and leaning over, Joe looked for a sign — a slight heave of the chest, a flicker of an eyelid, the tiny quiver of flesh over an artery — since this “dead” man was apparently not going to betray the gag without a fight.
“Andy?” he repeated softly, this time prodding the chest slightly. It didn’t seem to be wax, but then again he wasn’t sure. “Andy? It’s Joe. Open your eyes.”
Joe’s necktie brushed the hand of the “corpse.” Joe recoiled out of reflex, sensing Andy was about to grab the tie and pull Joe down, at which time Andy would furiously whisper, Don’t blow this for me understand? But Andy didn’t move. Joe stepped back, suspiciously eyeing the still form. Andy was good, really good, and Joe knew he was certainly capable of this. Wax or not? he wondered, then turned away.
The front doors parted a moment later as Joe returned to us, looking slightly confused. Our eyes met. “So,” I said, forcing a smile, “was it Andy or Memorex?”
Joe’s perplexed expression gave way to seriousness. “If anybody can pull this off, Zmuda, it’s you and Kaufman.”