The Loved One

What with weddings, wars and wages on his mind, President Johnson can use a few laughs. That may be why he granted a few minutes to the visitor who had just returned to the U.S. after a 15-day U.S.O. tour in Viet Nam.

And so into the oval office one day recently strutted a dapper dandy in brownish-grey toupee, cake makeup, Kings Man cologne, suede-and-'gator shoes, jeweled cuff links in the shape of a Jewish Torah, and a wristwatch with the letters of his name in place of the numerals. The watch spelled GEORGE JESSEL. The old vaudevillian briskly filled the President in on the war, assured him that he would waste no time in telling the world about the great job the boys were doing out there, and perhaps even winked a few funny lines at L.B.J. It was darn near R minutes after L before he departed.

Kosher Causes. Even at 68, Georgie Jessel is as energetic as he was in the '20s when he hoofed, sang and gagged around the circuits with the Marx Brothers and Eddie Cantor. Nowadays, however, he sticks mainly to monologue, or rather oratory. He likes to think of himself as the "Toastmaster General of the U.S." Since he is essentially a Jewish comic, he specializes in Israel-bond and similar fund-raising functions. He is equally proud of the fact that he spoke at inaugural parties for Franklin Roosevelt, Harry Truman and John Kennedy.

In all, Jessel figures that in the past 40 years he has raised about $100 million for good works: $60 million for Israel bonds, $5 million for the City of Hope medical center, and the rest for other assorted worthy causes.

"I play God across the board, however," he adds, "and have always served Catholic organizations well." His reward: one box of cigars from Winston Churchill, 600 thank-you plaques, 200 City of Hope "torches," honorary membership in 188 synagogues and in the Society of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, to say nothing of the nourishment from three or four thousand kosher dinners.

He also works for money ($1,250 to $1,500 per appearance). One day it's the National Distillers Convention in Chicago, the next a small club date in New York State. The routines are generally just that. Working in his own custom-designed U.S.O. uniform, he bats out long, involved stories or one-liners ("I look at Jayne Mansfield and think, 'If only Nasser had them for tonsils'"). Then he winds up telling about his U.S.O. tours and plugs the Administration's Viet Nam policy.

Zionist Mason. Jessel's real specialty is funerals. Nobody in Hollywood gets buried properly unless Georgie is there to coax a few tears in remembrance. He has played 250 funerals so far, and the most cherished of his eulogies he has included in two of his anthologies. Who can ever forget what he said at Fanny Brice's bierside: "Now my hands fasten to my heart in lament for this all-too-soon exit from the scene. But the great Playwright of this ever-beginning, never-ending plot, the Master Director who so skillfully stages this tightly woven, disconnected spectacle of tragic nonsense, has planned it otherwise." Or at Jolson's (whom he disliked intensely): "I am proud to have basked in the sunlight of his greatness, to have been part of his time, and to have only a few days ago--this last Sunday night--hugged him and said, 'Good night, Asa, take care of yourself.' "

For the dear departed who devoted themselves especially to Jewish causes, Jessel always has a few extra words of praise. Jack Benny recalls that Jessel's "nicest eulogy was for one of James Mason's cats. You wouldn't believe what that cat had done for Israel."

When he is not eulogizing or rhapsodizing or getting married or divorced (four times each), Jessel is working on a novel, The Empty Side of the Bed. Considering that he spends so much time at other people's funerals, it is hard for his friends to avoid the obvious question: When That Great Agent Up Yonder Books Jessel's Last Act, who will deliver the eulogy? As it happens, Jessel is toying with plans for a four-star performance featuring two Los Angeles rabbis, a Roman Catholic archbishop, and Francis Cardinal Spellman of New York. Then again, Jessel may simply write his own and put it on tape. Nobody could do it better.

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