Q+A: ROBERT SCHIMMEL

Friday, Dec. 7, 2007 | 7:30 a.m.

It isn't by chance that comedian Robert Schimmel has engagements at the Monte Carlo every year during the weeks of June 5 and Dec. 12.

The dates relate to 2000: On June 5, he was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, two days after finishing an engagement at the Las Vegas resort, and on Dec. 12, about the time of another engagement, tests came back showing his cancer was in remission.

"It's a place to celebrate survival," Schimmel said from his home in Los Angeles.

He returns to the Monte Carlo for his biannual pilgrimage Dec. 14 and 15.

"That weekend I'm celebrating my seventh year in a new life," Schimmel said.

He's also celebrating the completion of a book about surviving cancer. The tentative title is "Cancer on $5 a Day (*Chemo Not Included)," and it's scheduled to be released in February.

He wrote the book with Alan Eisenstock, whose works include "Just a Guy" with blue-collar comedian Bill Engvall, "The Kindergarten Wars: The Battle to Get Into America's Private Schools" and "The Holy Thief: A Con Man's Journey from Darkness to Light."

Schimmel is noted for his adult humor and his honesty, which can be brutal and is often turned against himself.

His cancer, although it almost killed him, became a mother lode for humor. Cancer is a subject with which he is intimately familiar. His son Derek died of leukemia in 1992 at the age of 11.

Schimmel talked about the book, the cancer and his favorite comedian, Jerry Lewis.

Q: Will this book make people laugh or cry?

This is not a joke book. I didn't want it to be like a bunch of chemo jokes, funeral home jokes. That's not what this is. But for somebody who is a fan of mine, a real fan, I think they will like it because it's the real me in there. But if it's someone looking for a lot of scatological humor, they're going to be in for a disappointment. The thing that made me passionate about doing this is that I know the impact it has on other people. When somebody says, "My son just got diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma," I tell them, "You know what? I had the same thing six years ago." I really know what that means. I'm not guessing.

Is it R-rated?

There was some cursing in it because it went with the jokes I was telling. But I want kids to be able to read the book too - not necessarily every kid, but if some kid's got cancer and if there's something a kid can read or see in my book to give him inspiration to fight harder on the next treatment, how can you say it's wrong?

What's your message?

Part of the message is, I didn't want to completely clean up my act. I didn't become a born again - not that there's anything wrong with that if that's what you believe in. But part of my thing is you can go through all of that and still have a real life. It might take your hair away and your eyebrows and eyelashes and you might lose weight and you might not be able to go to work for a while, but it can't touch who you are. It can't take away who you are inside. It couldn't touch my sense of humor. I didn't become a softer comic because of going through that.

Did you write it or did Alan Eisenstock write it?

We both wrote it. After we worked everything out on tape it was transcribed and then the typing started. And then we would get together and I would read everything that was written out loud. Some things look great on paper but they don't sound right. We went through all those things. I took out about 20 or 30 (expletive deleted). It took about four months to write.

Why did you choose Eisenstock?

The reason I picked this guy was because he lost a kid, too. I figured if there was anybody who was going to really know what I was saying and would be able to help me express myself in a way that I might not be able to because of my limited vocabulary, it was him.

Was writing the book difficult?

Yeah, it was tough. I didn't think it would be. I'm so accustomed to joking about it onstage that I don't really think about it. But when we were working on the book I had to go back and start thinking about the day that I found out and what that day was like and what the following days were like and about going to treatment the first time. It was pretty tough. It didn't dawn on me till I was diagnosed with cancer that there's no cure.

I didn't know that when they say there's a 51 percent survival rate, that survival to them means five years, it's not like 50 years. If you make it five they consider it a success. My doctor would never tell me I was cured, only that I was in remission. He said, "The only way I'll say you're cured of cancer is if you get hit by a car on the way out of here and get killed, then I can say you were cured of cancer and killed in a car crash." I found some humor in that, and humor helps healing.

I don't know what you think about Jerry Lewis, but he has that same philosophy. Humor has medicinal value.

What do I think about Jerry Lewis? I was in love with this guy from the first moment I saw him. Nobody made me laugh like him. When I was 13 years old I sent him a fan letter and he sent me an 8-by-10 photograph and it was signed. Two years ago a friend of mine said, "Did you read the New Yorker magazine? There's an interview in it with Jerry Lewis and he said you're one of his favorite comedians."

My manager told me I should call him up and thank him. I said no way. He said, "He's a fan of yours. He mentioned you in the New Yorker." So I call up Jerry Lewis Films in Vegas - I'm in Los Angeles - and I tell the secretary that Jerry mentioned me in an article and would she tell him I appreciate it, that he has no idea what it meant to me.

Well, 15 minutes later my cell phone rings - I remember exactly where I was, on Montana and Santa Monica Boulevard, ready to go into a restaurant call Babalu's. My phone rings and he says, "This is Jerry Lewis. What can I do for you, Kid?" I couldn't talk. I knew what it was like to be paralyzed. He said, "I saw your HBO special when I was in the hospital and you really made me laugh, Kid, so are you going to say anything?" Then he said, "You know, I don't like phone calls. What are you doing today?" I said, "Nothing." He said, "Why don't you hop on a plane. I'll have somebody pick you up and we'll hang out for the day?" I said, "Are you serious?"

So I flew to Vegas, had lunch with him and spent six or seven hours with him in his office. While we were talking I asked if there was anything about my act he would change. He said, "Absolutely nothing." I said, "I got to tell you something, but I'll probably start crying, so I just got to warn you." He was smiling. He said, "Come here. You want to sit in my lap?" I said, "I've been in love with you ever since I can remember. I love comedians - Ernie Kovacs and Sid Caesar and Carl Reiner - but you are in a different class. I mimicked you. I wanted to be as funny as you and I can't believe it. In my wildest imagination never would I have dreamed that Jerry Lewis would even know my name."

For me to be sitting in his house and him to be talking to me about comedy ... I mean they could have said, "You know, Robert, we didn't want to tell you but this is the last thing you get to do before you die." I would have said, "I'm ready."

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