ABDUL-JABBARENCYCLOPEDIA OF POPULAR CULTURE
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the catch phrases, ‘‘Hey-y-y-y-y, Ab-bott!’’ and ‘‘Oh—I’m a ba-a-a-d
boy!’’ (For radio, Costello had adopted a childlike falsetto to
distinguish his voice from Abbott’s.)
Inevitably, Hollywood called, Abbott and Costello answered,
and the result was 1940’s One Night in the Tropics—‘‘An indiscre-
tion better overlooked,’’ as Costello later called it. The comedy team
was mere window dressing in this Jerome Kern operetta, but their
next film put the boys center stage. 1941’s Buck Privates had a bit of a
boy-meets-girl plot, and a few songs from the Andrews Sisters, but
this time the emphasis was clearly on Bud and Lou—and it was the
surprise hit of the year. The boys naturally sparkled in their patented
verbal routines, such as the ‘‘Clubhouse’’ dice game, while an army
drill-training routine demonstrated Lou’s gifts for slapstick and
improvisation. Lou was overjoyed when his idol, Chaplin, praised
him as the best clown since the silents. As for Universal, all they cared
about was the box-office, and they were overjoyed, too. The studio
rushed their new sensational comedy team into film after film
(sometimes as many as four a year), and the public flocked to all of
them: In the Navy, Hold That Ghost, Ride’Em, Cowboy, etc., etc....
Compared to Laurel and Hardy, there was something rough and
tumble about Abbott and Costello. It was like the difference between
a symphony orchestra and a brass band. But clearly, Bud and Lou
were playing the music the public wanted to hear. Once the war broke
out, the government took advantage of the team’s popularity to mount
a successful war bond drive which toured the country and took in
millions for defense.
As fast as Bud and Lou could earn their own money, they
couldn’t wait to spend it on lavish homes and dressing-room poker
games. Amid the gags, high spirits, and big spending, there were also
difficult times for the duo. They had a genuine affection for each
other, despite the occasional arguments, which were quick to flare up,
quick to be forgotten. But Lou inflicted a wound which Bud had a
hard time healing when the comic insisted, at the height of their
success, that their 50-50 split of the paycheck be switched to 60
percent for Costello and 40 percent for Abbott. Bud already had
private difficulties of which the public was unaware; he was epileptic,
and he had a drinking problem. As for Lou, he had a near-fatal bout of
rheumatic fever which kept him out of action for many months. His
greatest heartache, however, came on the day in 1943 when his infant
son, Lou ‘‘Butch,’’ Jr., drowned in the family swimming pool. When
the tragedy struck, Lou insisted on going on with the team’s radio
show that night. He performed the entire show, then went offstage and
collapsed. Costello subsequently started a charity in his son’s name,
but a certain sadness never left him.
On screen, Abbott and Costello were still riding high. No other
actor, with the possible exception of Deanna Durbin, did as much to
keep Universal Pictures solvent as Abbott and Costello. Eventually,
however, the team suffered from overexposure, and when the war was
over and the country’s mood was shifting, the Abbott and Costello
box office began to slip. Experimental films such as The Time of Their
Lives, which presented Bud and Lou more as comic actors than as a
comedy team per se, failed to halt the decline. But in the late forties,
they burst back into the top money-making ranks with Abbott and
Costello Meet Frankenstein, a film pairing the boys with such
Universal horror stalwarts as Bela Lugosi’s Dracula and Lon Chaney,
Jr.’s Wolf Man. The idea proved inspired, the execution delightful; to
this day, Meet Frankenstein is regarded as perhaps the best hor-
ror-spoof ever, with all due respect to Ghostbusters and Young
Frankenstein. Abbott and Costello went on to Meet the Mummy and
Meet the Invisible Man, and, when the team started running out of gas
again, they pitched their tent in front of the television cameras on The
Colgate Comedy Hour. These successful appearances led to two
seasons of The Abbott and Costello Show, a pull-out-the-stops sitcom
which positively bordered on the surrealistic in its madcap careening
from one old burlesque or vaudeville routine to another. On the show,
Bud and Lou had a different job every week, and they were so
unsuccessful at all of them that they were constantly trying to avoid
their landlord, played by veteran trouper Sid Fields (who contributed
to writing the show, in addition to playing assorted other characters).
Thanks to the program, a new generation of children was exposed to
such old chestnuts as the ‘‘Slowly I Turned. . . ’’ sketch and the ‘‘hide
the lemon’’ routine. One of those baby-boomers was Jerry Seinfeld,
who grew up to credit The Abbott and Costello Show as the inspiration
for his own NBC series, one of the phenomena of 1990s show business.
By the mid 1950s, however, the team finally broke up. It would
be nice to be able to report that their last years were happy ones, but
such was not the case. Both men were hounded by the IRS for back
taxes, which devastated their finances. Lou starred in a lackluster solo
comedy film, made some variety show guest appearances, and did a
sensitive acting turn on an episode of TV’s Wagon Train series, but in
1959 he suddenly died of a heart attack. Abbott lived for fifteen more
years, trying out a new comedy act with Candy Candido, contributing
his voice to an Abbott and Costello TV animation series, doing his
own ‘‘straight acting’’ bit on an episode of G.E. Theater. Before he
died of cancer in 1974, Abbott had the satisfaction of receiving many
letters from fans thanking him for the joy he and his partner had
brought to their lives.
In the 1940s, long before the animated TV show based on Bud
and Lou, the Warner Bros. Looney Toons people had caricatured the
boys as two cats out to devour Tweetie Bird. Already they had
become familiar signposts in the popular culture. The number of
comedians and other performers who have over the years paid
homage to Abbott and Costello’s most famous routine is impossible
to calculate. In the fifties, a recording of Abbott and Costello
performing ‘‘Who’s on First’’ was placed in the Baseball Hall of
Fame. This was a singular achievement, over and above the immor-
tality guaranteed by the films in which they starred. How many other
performers can claim to have made history in three fields—not only
show business, but also sports and linguistics?
—Preston Neal Jones
F
URTHER READING:
Costello, Chris. Lou’s on First. New York, St. Martin’s Press, 1981.
Cox, Stephen, and John Lofflin. The Official Abbott and Costello
Scrapbook. Chicago, Contemporary Books, 1990.
Furmanek, Bob, and Ron Palumbo. Abbott and Costello in Holly-
wood. New York, Perigree Books, 1991.
Mulholland, Jim. The Abbott and Costello Book. New York, Popular
Library, 1975.
Thomas, Bob. Bud and Lou. Philadelphia and New York,
Lippincott, 1977.
Abdul-Jabbar, Kareem (1947—)
With an intensity that disguised his shyness and a dancing jump
shot nicknamed the ‘‘sky hook,’’ Kareem Abdul-Jabbar dominated