Joe Morris: May His Memory Be a Blessing

Joe Morris died this weekend, and so I felt like talking about him a little bit, here, where I haven't talked in so long. Uncle Joey is the ringleader in my "band of honorary uncles," the stand up comics who befriended my parents when they first moved to LA in the late 70s, and who were always around, eating Sharon's food and testing lines on each other. Joe was one of my parents' first friends in LA, and he has been in my life the whole time I've been alive. So I thought I'd tell you some things. 

 The All My Sons quote, "If you want to know, ask Joe" was a constant refrain in our house. Joe was both smart and knowledgeable. Smart because he was well-read and argumentative and intelligent. I learned about music and authors and journalism from him, especially mysteries and true crime, and he was pleased for me when I got hired at Murder Ink after I moved to New York. He and Greg could go back and forth for decades about history and movie business and sports trivia. 

Knowledgeable because Joe always knew the best places to eat and the coolest places to visit in every American city I've ever visited. I don't even know how, if this was from years of going on tour for stand up, or if he just got around, but this was before Yelp and blogs. I would always check with him before going on a trip or moving somewhere. He told me where to get a muffuletta in New Orleans and where to find breakfast in New York and where to get deli food in LA. He advised me where to stop between LA and Vegas when I was old enough to go with my boyfriend but not old enough to gamble. Years ago we went to Tijuana to buy silver and then we ate in this tiny spot where I ordered enchiladas, and they came in a bowl looking like nothing I knew of Mexican food, and they were delicious. Joe specialized in hole-in-the-wall hidden gems, and probably lots of people know those places now, or know how to find out about them, but Joe knew first, and without the internet. 

Joe was also so good at gifts. When I was very little, he'd get bizarre, noisy, colorful toys from Downtown Toy Mart. I was stupid in love with this penguin ladder thing where they would go click-clacking up and around this ice mountain, and then come sliding down and start over. There were also musical toys and banging toys and windup toys. Greg did not like Joe's toys as much as I did, haha. When I was a little older, the Fred Segal sale was the same month as my birthday so he would take me there and we would find an ENTIRE BIRTHDAY OUTFIT. This was the 80s, so the best one of course was a rainbow lycra bicycle shorts and top combination that I wore out. When I was older than that, I became obsessed with the Rocky Horror Picture Show and got all dressed up for my birthday and he took me and my friends to a midnight show at the Nuart, and stood in the back so we could pretend we were there by ourselves but he could still keep an eye on us. At the end of high school when I was obsessed with everything vintage, he picked me up one morning and we started in the valley and ended up in Ktown on an epic thrifting hunt for dresses. My favorite one from that day was covered in strawberries; the shop was so tiny and had a garage door instead of a storefront, so he stood outside on the sidewalk while I looked. What I'm trying to say, is that Joe's gifts were an experience unto themselves in addition to stuff.  

Here are some more things that didn't fit anywhere else but that I want to share;

• I saw Killer Klowns from Outer Space because of Joe, and that was a disaster. But I also saw Bugsy Malone because of Joe, and that was a success, so I guess they cancel each other out
• Joey's house is where we saw all the pay-per-view boxing matches, everyone crammed into a small apartment with huge pizzas. Sharon was the first one to notice: " He bit Holyfield!" 
• He had a cat named Mushnik who was my enemy
• Joe was a regular at Dillon's birthday parties at El Coyote, at Thanksgiving, at St. Patrick's Day. He always brought green bagels and the first thing I would do when he got there is hide one for the morning after the party 
• He directed me to a mechanic in Ventura ("If you want to know, ask Joe") when I finally started driving and bought an old, unreliable Jetta
• He could tolerate the spiciest food I've ever seen a white person eat

When Greg died, I wrote the obituary for his hometown paper- people needed to know. A separate notice also appeared in Variety, which I was grateful for even though to this day I don't know why or how or if someone had to pay for it or if it was a matter of notifying them, which I wouldn't have thought to do. Then I started this blog, and it was a huge factor in processing my grief. Even though I don't really write here anymore, I decided to write this. 

Joe was a constant in my life from before I was born. Constant in both senses of the word, that he was always around AND that he was steady. Our family could count on him. 

This post is personal and disorganized, not an obituary, but a memorial to my Uncle Joey. May his memory be a blessing.