George Carlin dies at 71, and this one really hurts

My heart is feeling heavy in my chest, and the tears are streaming down my face, at the news tonight that George Carlin is dead of a heart attack at 71. This just feels hugely unfair and devastating. Truly devastating. I'm sure George would say, "Hey, I had a good run, don't mourn too much. I put a lot of hard miles on this body. The heart gave out at 71. Not so bad, all things considered. You know?" My answer to that: "Yeah, maybe. But you still had way too many stories left to tell, too much truth-telling comedy to write and deliver. So it still sucks really badly."

I'm not going to claim a lot of journalistic detachment here. I loved George Carlin. He happened to be a hero of mine. Bold. Fearless. Brilliant. Revolutionary. He was the finest stand-up comedian and social commentator who ever lived. Period. This is why it was one of the true thrills of my life when the Paley Center for Media asked me (at the suggestion of his master publicist Jeff Abraham) to moderate a tribute to Carlin at its Beverly Hills digs on May 8 -- a scant six weeks ago. It turned out to be a magical evening, one when the guest of honor was in top form, tripping down memory lane with passion and candor to a rapt audience and looking optimistically to a future that will now never come.

What sticks with me most from that night, however, isn't how funny Carlin was, or how sharp and charismatic he remained. It was the sweetness and gentleness and grace with which he carried himself -- not only with the assembled fans but also backstage outside of everyone's gaze. Because he remained so raw and cynical and hard-nosed in his stage style, it was easy to assume that the act and the man were interchangeable -- that Carlin had to be an in-your-face force of nature after stepping away from the spotlight and the microphone. Yet nothing could have been further from the truth.

When addressing people privately, or myself in the green room, Carlin was the consummate gentleman, low-key and easygoing and just a regular guy without a shred of pretense. This didn't render his stage persona fraudulent but, indeed, demonstrated the man's refusal to be defined by an image. He well recognized the difference between a media-created facade and a living, breathing person, and he never got the two mixed up.

That night at the Paley Center, Carlin discussed his hope of becoming the 11th recipient of the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor that was to be handed out this November. He found out last week that he'd been chosen, and some may see poetry in his passing so soon after learning of an honor that -- as he admitted on May 8 -- meant so much to him. But I see it instead as somewhat tragic that he won't be able to revel in a tribute, and hold a prize, that Carlin so utterly deserved. That I was able, personally, to tell Carlin to his face how much he meant to me obviously now feels all the more significant.

Where's Carlin now? Not heaven. Not hell. Not with God. He didn't much believe in any of the above. So I choose to think he's kicking back somewhere in the musty ether, pounding away at his computer keyboard and perplexed as to why his name's suddenly all over the news -- genuinely humble even after taking his permanent leave of absence.

I'll be back to share more of my thoughts about Carlin's life and career after gathering myself overnight. But I clearly can't pretend that this one's just another showbiz death to me. This one's personal. This one hurts. And it leaves me grasping at the empty reality of how fleeting life is. One day you're still packing 'em in, a living legend -- and the next, it's over. A pretty lousy system, if you ask me.

ADD 12:46 P.M.: Here's a video clip from the Paley Center tribute to Carlin on May 8 that I was privileged to moderate: http://www.paleycenter.org/insidemedia/video/webcast-carlin.htm

-- See what other THR.com bloggers have to say about Carlin's passing: Gold Rush and Reel Pop --