The Profound Influence of Maynard G. Krebs and Lenny Bruce

A non-conformist in Baby Boomer Suburbia

As a thirteen-year-old insurgent confined within the monotonous conformity of suburban landscapes, the rhythmic rebellion of Maynard G. Krebs' bongos pulsated against the silence, while Lenny Bruce's incisive satire sliced through the still air, challenging the complacency with a sense of urgent vitality. These were the first cats who taught me to see, really see, not just look the ways others wanted.

At the tail end of the '50s, when TV was still a black-and-white novelty and not everyone's perpetual third wheel at dinner, CBS rolled the dice on "The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis." Enter stage left: Maynard G. Krebs, the beatnik with a bongo heartbeat. This guy was the walking jazz riff of rebellion, sporting a goatee and spouting poetry in coffee-scented verses. With his thrift-shop chic and a lexicon borrowed from Bird and Diz, Maynard turned prime time into a weekly beatnik bash. Suddenly, every teenager with an identity crisis and a craving for nonconformity was aping Maynard's bebop babble. Words like "cool," "hip," and the gendered "cats" and "chicks" weren't just part of the lingo—they were badges of honor, woven into the fabric of Maynard's very being, spreading like linguistic wildfire across the tongues of the American youth.

Maynard was my window into an alternative culture totally at odds the conformity of the 1950s. While portrayed humorously, he mirrored the generational shifts and societal evolution of the time. Maynard was a beacon guiding many, myself included, away from conventional role models towards something edgier. He popularized the "beatnik" stereotype in media, obviously because of the growing impact of television, most notably on young people.

Maynard G. Kreb’s widespread appeal set the stage for the counterculture movements of the 1960s, including the hippies, another group I eventually joined. With Maynard, my budding love for jazz resonated with his character's immersion in the genre. Emulating Maynard became about more than just adopting a persona; it was a journey into the depths of jazz.

The Beatnik's dalliance with society's underbelly led them to experiment with various drugs, from marijuana to hallucinogens. These substances were also prevalent in African American jazz and blues circles. The innovative spirit of African American culture, especially its musical expressions, resonated with the Beats. Jazz, a distinctly African American genre, evolving in American cities, profoundly impacted Beat literature. Icons like Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Burroughs often mingled with African American musicians in jazz clubs, although jazz wasn't confined to these venues.

Greenwich Village in New York, with its racial diversity shaped by figures like Kerouac, offered a unique perspective on African Americans for the Beats. Unlike the broader racially divided nation, Greenwich Village was a haven of tolerance.  That’s why the Village was my first New York home.

Maynard G. Krebs wasn't just a character; he was a symbol of an era, inspiring countless youths, including me, to challenge societal norms.  A hipster, he represented a new type of American, one who was able to transcend race and appreciates humanity.

There were precious few other beatniks on television at the time. The way that beatniks were portrayed on television was quite negative. They were often shown as being lazy and irresponsible but it is important to note that the beatniks were a diverse group of people with a wide range of beliefs and values. The way that they were portrayed on television often did not reflect this diversity.

Steve Allen hosted Jazz musicians like Miles Davis and John Coltrane, on the original Tonight Show, and also put Jack Kerouac on national television.

Steve was also an ardent admirer of Lenny Bruce, the jazz-adjacent comedian who had a fearless knack for speaking uncomfortable truths, a dedication that ultimately led to his demise.

Back in the 1950s, Lenny broke onto the scene as the embodiment of cool in the comedy world. Much like his comedic descendant, George Carlin, he morphed from a mere purveyor of punchlines to a herald of hard truths. Rooted in the Borscht Belt's comedic traditions, he danced across and eventually leapt over the boundaries of societal decency, plummeting into a legal abyss. A string of obscenity charges and drug-related arrests slowly chipped away at him. In a twist of tragic irony, the very provocations he was persecuted for now populate our television screens and digital platforms without a second thought.

Discovering Lenny was a revelation for me. I hunted down his albums on Fantasy Records and devoured his written words in Playboy and The Realist. Pre-internet, finding his work was a treasure hunt of sorts, an old-school quest for enlightenment.

One of Lenny Bruce's quotes I live by: "What is, is. And what will be is bullshit."

Lenny was a beacon of brilliance, suffering greatly for his uncompromising and outspoken spirit—a cocktail that doesn't mix well with the congenial nature of showbiz.

In my early teens, I found Lenny side-splittingly funny. Skits like “The Palladium” and “How to Relax Your Colored Friends at Parties” weren’t just comedy routines; they were vignettes brimming with unfettered creativity.

Lenny's identity as a Jew and a jazz aficionado resonated with me deeply. To this day, his routines still speak volumes, still draw a chuckle. The truths he laid bare about politics, institutional hypocrisy, and the delicate dance of relationships are, if anything, more piercing in today's world.