R.I.P., Larry “Bud” Melman

Calvert DeForest, who played cackling twit Larry “Bud” Melman on David Letterman’s late-night NBC series and, when Letterman moved to CBS, played cackling twit Calvert DeForest (his stage name lost in the networks’ “intellectual property” feud), died Monday at age 85.

I spent the better part of a day with DeForest back in the ’80s, at the height of Larry “Bud” Melmania. Larry’s brand of thoroughgoing incompetence is commonplace today, but was something that hadn’t been seen on mainstream TV in those days, and fans of Letterman’s anti-TV aesthetic loved him. DeForest was touring the country with a purported “comedy” show cooked up somewhat cynically by his manager.

Backstage, in preparation for the show, there was rampant chaos – props were lost, the cue cards (DeForest always read off cue cards, and even then, he struggled mightily) were out of order (so that the jokes made even less sense) and the young women hired that night to accessorize Larry’s stage presence were balking at some of the more sexist trappings of the act (“Don’t worry, it’ll be great,” Larry’s manager assured them). Once the cue cards were in order, DeForest stumbled through them in characteristic blunderbuss fashion, even asking for explanations for some of the jokes, even though he ostensibly would have had performed them at other stops along the tour (“Don’t worry, it’ll be funny,” Larry’s manager assured him).

Through the mayhem, DeForest sat in the corner like a Buddha as everything was sussed out. I asked him, was it always like this before a show? “Always,” he replied placidly. He admitted to being taken aback at all the hoopla, but seemed to enjoy it with the proper attitude.

The show itself proceeded pretty much as you’d expect from a production aimed at drunken frat guys. Larry blew the joke he asked to have explained: “Marriage is a three-ring circus – first, there’s the engagement ring, then the wedding ring, then the suffering;” Larry read it, “the suffering-ring.” Genius.

Earlier in the day, Larry had appeared at an ice-cream shop to sign autographs, pose for photographs with fans and sit for a bit of a chat with me, but what he was most interested in was the big bowl of ice cream set before him. After interacting with dozens of fans and enjoying perhaps one spoonful of ice cream, his manager tugged at him, telling him it was time to go. It was the only time all day I saw DeForest unhappy, pining for his dessert like a child: “But I was supposed to have the ice cream,” he mewled. “That was the whole point.”

In a statement issued today, Letterman said, “Everyone always wondered if Calvert was an actor playing a character, but in reality he was just himself - a genuine, modest and nice man.” And, indeed, that’s how I always remembered him – as a friendly fellow utterly unfazed by his stardom. All he needed to make him happy was a bowl of ice cream. That was the whole point.