Mr. Warmth (no, not me)

Had my annual professional checkup/job review the other day. I think it's terminal, lasting until I croak.

One line in the review caught my eye later, amid references to some good things accomplished in the past year. My editor wrote: "When Don Rickles wrote a book, Steve was the natural person to review it."

Wonder what she meant by that?

Actually, I take it as a compliment, since Rickles is one of my favorite star-crossings in a career o'plenty. Coincidentally, HBO premiered a very cool documentary last night titled Mr. Warmth, the acidly ironic nickname Rickles earned from Johnny Carson. Check it out to appreciate one of insult comedy's kings.

The first time I met Rickles was over the phone, doing a 1991 advance interview for his Ruth Eckerd Hall performance, fully five years before mouthing Mr. Potatohead in Toy Story jump-started his career. Lots of fun to talk to, and I crammed everything I could into our alloted time, explaining that I was a fan since seeing his early movies in my father's theaters. When I brought up Kelly's Heroes and X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes, Rickles paused and said: "Jeez, Steve, you really do know my career." At that time, he really seemed to appreciate it.

An after-show meeting backstage was arranged. Rickles was still "on." He politely signed a photo for my Dad: "Hello Les, Steve's the best!, Love, Don Rickles." It's still framed in my parents' living room.

A couple years ago, Rickles returned to Ruth Eckerd Hall. He was famous again and I had this job. My buddy Bobby Rossi, Ruth Eckerd Hall's director of entertainment, asked if I'd handle the pre-show announcements, which would have me hanging around backstage for a while. Rickles hadn't arrived when I went onstage.

A few minutes later, I'm walking through the dressing rooms hallway and see Bobby sitting in a greeting room. He waves and motions me in the door. On the couch is Rickles, frailer than I remember, wearing a plush bathrobe over his tuxedo. As soon as I step inside he complains: "Oh, so people just walk into my dressing room? Who is this guy?"

Before Bobby answers, I say to the little bulldog: "I'm just saying hi to my friend Bobby Rossi." I stick out my hand and add: "And you are...?"

"I'M BOBBY ROSSI'S SON!," he bellows, grinning. And a temporary kinship among wiseacres is born.

We spent 10 minutes or so talking about comedy, some movie I saw that day, some he wanted to see that I had, and my Dad still displaying that 15-year-old photo. Rickles was gracious as anyone could be, especially when I mentioned that Princess Di formerly was a stand-up comedian. Then he met her.

"I've heard about you," Rickles says, pointing a stubby finger in her blushing face. "Say something funny."

Princess Di's response: "Ah..bah...ah."

Rickles: "Oh, I'm laughing already."

Then he grinned, hugged her, and waddled off to catch a few minutes of the opening act from the wings. That "Mr. Warmth" nickname isn't as ironic as it seems.