Garry was heading off to Hawaii a couple of years ago and a few of us were hanging at his house. He loved Hawaii. As he got in to the car, he turned and said, “If anything happens, the “A” jokes are in the kitchen!” Damn he was funny.
I had met Garry over twenty years earlier when I moved to Los Angeles. I was a struggling writer – probably less than struggling - no money, no job, no job prospects. But by chance, a close friend invited me to hang out with him. Garry was my comedy hero. After a couple meetings, he invited me to the house to write monologue jokes. It was a moment that changed my life. That was Garry. He was so fucking kind and generous. More than a handful of writers have this same story. And that began twenty years of friendship. Twenty years of going to his house to write jokes, hang out, talk, yellow stickies with jokes, ideas. And as funny as he was, he was deeply sensitive. He would check in with all of us “Are you good? You look good. Look at me, how great do I look.” I will miss Garry terribly. I tear up writing those words, like I have since I heard the news. I will miss playing basketball, boxing, just hanging out. He was a deeply loved friend. And yeah, there are a lot of yellow stickies filled with A jokes in that kitchen.