“Goffman Sent Me,” featuring Muhammad Ali, Rocky Graziano, Tony Zale, Norman Mailer and … uh … Joey from South Philly, Part 2

Posted 6/21/16

Joey Giardello by Hugh Gilmore My boss down at Penn, Erving Goffman, had told me to get out into the real world and spy on people and then come back and report to him what I noticed. This was part of …

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“Goffman Sent Me,” featuring Muhammad Ali, Rocky Graziano, Tony Zale, Norman Mailer and … uh … Joey from South Philly, Part 2

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Joey Giardello Joey Giardello

by Hugh Gilmore

My boss down at Penn, Erving Goffman, had told me to get out into the real world and spy on people and then come back and report to him what I noticed. This was part of his grand scheme to take over the world of socio-anthropology. He was out to prove that everybody created a "self" for public consumption in order to protect his or her true selves from prying eyes.

To impress Goffman, I managed to get backstage at a TV talk show ("The Mike Douglas Show," broadcast from Philadelphia) by pretending to be a sort of fringe employee. I hung around the Green Room before, during, and after as many shows as I could for four months. I looked and listened all I could as the staff and the talk-show guests put together little performance pieces called "conversations," which purported to present the celebrities’ actual selves.

During this time some famous entertainers, writers, political figures and athletes came by. For example: Bob Hope, Graham Kerr (the Galloping Gourmet), Robert Goulet, Louis Nye, Kerry Ann Wells (Miss Universe 1972), Bruce Dern, William F. Buckley and Bob Keeshan (Captain Kangaroo).

Meeting celebrities was awe-inspiring at first, but soon became part of the daily grind. For months I went about my spying work like the graduate-school grudge I'd been trained to be. One night, however, I had an adventure I hope never to repeat.

Each week the show's star, Mike Douglas, had a co-host for the five daily broadcasts. Part of this gimmick was to invite on other guests from the co-host's world of endeavor. On this particular week that still rings a bell for me the co-host was Rocky Graziano, a retired middleweight boxing champion. Rocky had been a popular boxer who enhanced his celebrity in retirement by writing an autobiography titled "Somebody Up There Likes Me."

It told how Rocky grew up in the harsh world of Brooklyn street life. His father beat him. He joined street gangs and committed crimes. He went to prison. Afterward he got drafted and went AWOL, serving some Army prison time. He turned out to be a good boxer. He met a woman who helped him clean up his life. Turning pro, he fought his way up to a championship fight with the then-champ, Tony Zale, but lost. Later there were mobster-inspired incidents about maybe throwing a fight, for which Graziano lost his boxing license. Later on he refought Tony Zale and won the middleweight championship.

That's where the movie version of his life ends – with Rocky the champ played by Paul Newman in his first starring role. (In real life, Graziano and Zale fought again and Zale got his champ's belt back – but that's not where an American movie would end.)

As the talk show's co-host, Graziano was charming. He was lively, funny, interesting and modest. To jazz up the week, the producers decided to have a boxing-themed show. When the guest list was announced, everyone was excited that Muhammad Ali would be on, along with Rocky's former opponent, Tony Zale, and the tough-guy novelist/boxing-writer Norman Mailer.

Long a Mailer fan, I bought a copy of his book "Existential Errands," hoping for an autograph. I got to the show early that day, enjoying the energy as everyone awaited the arrival of Muhammad Ali. I hung around the empty Green Room, writing notes, talking to the staff and writing more notes. I was generally trying to adhere to Goffman's, dictum that I should watch every little detail. At some point Rocky Graziano came through the Green Room and went into his dressing room. With him was his former-boxer buddy, Joey Giardello. Joey gave me and my notebook a quick scan, like I was a picture that needed straightening, but he followed Rocky into his room.

Joey Giardello – I hate to break this news since he's a South Philly hero– was born in Brooklyn. Later he moved to South Philadelphia – East Passyunk, to be precise – and grew up to be a middleweight boxing champion. Like Graziano, he'd had skirmishes with the law, done prison time, had his license removed, regained it, and fought his way up through the ranks to become the middleweight champ.

For the rest of the afternoon these two guys came and went through the Green Room, sometimes talking normally, most times in a hush. There was something conspiratorial about them as they appeared and disappeared. Giardello would not be an on-camera guest, but he was there to be supportive of Graziano. The hush-hush they engaged in was either funny or scary, given their past reputations as street toughs. I was in between. I sure didn't want to cross them, but Joey made me nervous because I think I was making him nervous.

That's how I took his frequent glances at me and my notebook. I made it a point to say something out loud to George, the make-up man, about how my study would soon be done. "There, Joey," I tried to imply, "I'm not from the FBI, the State Gambling Commission, the Fuzz, Confidential magazine, The National Enquirer, or anything remotely like that. I'm not even a journalist."

But I did not notice Joey breathe a sigh of relief when I said that to a third party for his benefit. He probably thought, Everybody's got a cover, right? Anybody can say he's just a schoolboy, you understand? A notebook and a ballpoint pen are not the tools of an honest trade. He knew more Goffman than I did – without ever having to read the guy!

I decided to get away from the Green Room and go watch a rising young singer named Julie Budd rehearse. She was billed as the next Barbara Streisand. That took about a half hour. When I came back to the Green Room I put notebook in my book bag and went to the men's room. A few minutes later, freshened up and ready for the imminent arrival of Ali and Norman Mailer, I went to my bag to get my notebook. It was gone. Just then Joey Giardello came scooting out of Rocky Graziano's dressing room, heading for the door that lead to the exit.

Good grief, how was I going to get back my notebook from the former middleweight champ?

-- Conclusion next week.

Hugh Gilmore is the author of "Scenes from A Bookshop," a collection of stories from the days when he ran a bookshop at 32 East Chestnut Hill Avenue in Chestnut Hill. It's a funny and touching look at what goes on behind the scenes in an old and rare bookshop.

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