Interesting that most of the obits now appearing for Paul Winchell are headlined something like, "Paul Winchell, voice of Tigger in 'Winnie the Pooh,' dies at 82" and then the fact that he was a pioneer of early television, the most admired ventriloquist of his time and the inventor of the artificial heart are kind of like bonus, "oh, by the way…" details. I know reporters are supposed to look at every story and ask themselves what about it will relate most directly to the readers, and I agree that Tigger was better known today than most of Paul's other accomplishments. Still, it does seem to trivialize his more important achievements to rank them that way. Paul was a genuine superstar of 1950's TV and his artificial heart hastened the invention of a more advanced one that has saved lives. Somehow, the priorities seem a bit askew to me.
But then again, Paul himself often seemed like one of those folks who's perpetually baffled as to what to put on their tax form under "occupation." The times I was with him, the conversation could be a bit schizoid because he'd be in the mood to talk about the latest medical breakthroughs and it would seem like a silly diversion to ask him about his early TV work. Or he'd get to talking about that end of his life and he wouldn't want to discuss anything else…except, of course, if he suddenly recalled a good dirty joke.
We hired him a few times to perform voices on the Garfield cartoon show. Once, it was on the same day that Buddy Hackett was in, and Buddy had spent about five minutes telling us a particularly filthy (but funny) story about a stutterer who visits a brothel. Later, after Mr. Hackett had departed, Paul arrived. When he realized he had an all-male audience, he told us the latest joke he'd heard. That's right. The exact same joke, almost verbatim. We all had to stand there and laugh and make like we hadn't heard it an hour earlier. Paul's performance of it, by the way, was better than Buddy's.
I think that was the same recording session where I said one of the stupidest things I've ever said in my life…and there's no small list of examples from which to choose. Paul was assigned two different roles — the elderly operator of a small, mom-and-pop market…and the evil corporate supermarket mogul who was trying to buy him out. At one point in the script, there was a scene of the two men arguing with each other and usually when that occurs, you try to assign the parts to two different actors. This time, it wasn't practical so I had Paul play both and I actually said to him, "I'm sorry, Paul, but I've got you talking to yourself here on page three. You think you can handle it?"
There was a pause and everyone in the studio looked at me like I was full-goose crazy, which I guess I was. I had just said that to Paul Winchell, the undisputed heavyweight champ at having public conversations with yourself. Everyone laughed and Paul said something like, "So, who's working your head today?" Needless to say, his dual performances were flawless.
I always felt a little in awe of Paul, and unable to properly communicate to him what his presence on TV had meant to me as a child. I told him how I'd treasured my Jerry Mahoney ventriloquist figure and practiced endlessly to try and do what he did. I was not the first person to say this to him — not even the hundredth, I'm sure — but he never seemed to know how to respond to it. I'm not sure he understood how valuable his example had been to so many in my generation, even though most of us Winchell fans hadn't grown up to become voice-tossers or even performers. He had his own great reverence and debt to Edgar Bergen and rather fiercely resisted the compliment that he was at least as great as — if not greater than — Bergen. Whether it was true or not — and Paul sure seemed to think it wasn't — he just didn't want to hear it or deal with it. Which is not to say he wasn't proud of things he'd accomplished. It's just that you could never gauge where that pride might lie at any given moment and when you might venture near some sore spot.
On her weblog today, Paul's daughter April (from his second of three marriages) writes, "My father was a very troubled and unhappy man. If there is another place after this one, it is my hope that he now has the peace that eluded him on earth." Based on my admittedly-limited encounters with Paul, I'd say that's a valid assessment and a truly appropriate wish.