After Larry had his stroke I really felt that the time had finally come for retirement, as far as being a Stooge was concerned. I signed up with an agent on the chance that there might be some character roles available, but I guess the producers were afraid that the Stooge in me might show through.
Then a letter came asking if I would appear at Salem College in West Virginia. It seemed that the nostalgia craze, where the Stooges were concerned, had hit hard. I went only because it was an excuse to go east and visit my son. I didn’t know what I would do, though. How does one lecture at a university? I felt if I asked the students what they wanted to know about the Stooges, there would be bedlam, with everyone yelling their questions at once. I decided that I would just talk briefly and express my pleasure at their wonderful reception. I told them, “I know what you fellows want to know about us, so I’m going to give you the answers before you ask the questions.” I went through, in detail, all that I thought they would like to know. The idea went over well. I showed two of our comedies and told them a series of anecdotes, and they were delighted.
It was in September that I was asked to appear at the State University of New York at Buffalo. This time I had the audience fill out questions on cards and I would answer them from the stage.
The college auditorium was jammed. It had a 1,600-seat capacity and there were about 400 standing. The performance was broadcast on closed-circuit TV to all parts of the campus.
Moe Howard does a solo personal appearance in 1972.
Moe clowns with Helen and singer Sergio Franchi in 1973.
Moe and his older brother Jack, a retired insurance salesman, discuss the possibility of reviving the Stooges.
Never one to let a good pie go to waste, Moe takes up a familiar pose in 1973.
The last Moe Howard film appearance: Cinerama’s Doctor Death (1973), with Sivi Aberg.
I remember that they showed a couple of our two-reel comedies, and then I did our whole vaudeville routine, doing Curly and Larry’s parts, too. During the question-and-answer period, one of the cards read: “Would you do me the honor of throwing a pie at me?” A young fellow came up onstage with his pie. Instead of the light whipped-cream or shaving-cream pies that we throw, this was the real thing, heavy with fruit and backed with a tin liner (ours were always backed with lightweight cardboard). I frowned and explained the problem, but the young fellow wouldn’t be deterred. I threw, the pie exploded, and the young man fell back a good five feet. He came up all smiles, and he thanked me.
I must say here that never in my career in show business, with or without the other Stooges, have I ever enjoyed such a standing ovation.
I’d come a long way from Moses Horwitz, high school dropout, to Moe Howard, Stooge, at New York University.
I continued on the college circuit, and occasionally on the TV talk shows in and around Los Angeles.
For years I had envied the famous film scene where James Cagney smashed a grapefruit into his sweetheart’s face. Finally, in 1974, my chance came. I was on national television doing a guest shot on The Mike Douglas Show. At the tail end of the show, after an especially gooey pie fight, almost everyone was covered with whipped cream. I wound up holding the only remaining pie. I walked off the stage and into the audience, where my wife, Helen, was sitting in the front row. The cameras followed me. I put my face affectionately close to hers, she leaned forward, and I kissed her. Then, pie in hand, I walked back a few steps toward the stage, turned, and slammed the pie into the face of Soupy Sales, who was cohost for that week.
Several months later I did the third Mike Douglas show, and this time we again wound up in a pie fight, and again I had possession of the last pie. Again I walked toward my wife in the front row and pie in hand, stuck my face out for a kiss. She leaned toward me with a pleased grin, but instead of the kiss, she got the pie smashed right into her surprised face. The look was worth a million dollars. She began laughing, and on national TV she kissed me, smearing my face with her—and my—pie.
When I performed on a fourth Mike Douglas show, Mike asked me to bring Helen up onstage to sit with him. I walked downstage and extended my hand to help my wife up. As I leaned over, she reached down for a concealed cream pie and slammed it right in my face, really clobbering me. A bull’s-eye with the first pie she’d ever thrown—and one of the high points of our long life together.
Helen and Moe in 1974.
