Although Jerry Lewis announced months ago that he would relinquish his tux and microphone and retire as host of the MDA Labor Day Telethon, I still expected him to make a final appearance on this year’s broadcast. I imagined Jerry would show up, thank everyone for decades of support, and exit gracefully. He said publicly that he would return for one last go around. He said he would be there to perform his signature exit song, ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’. But apparently MDA would have nothing of it. Obviously, this was a forced retirement by the board members of the very organization that Jerry Lewis made famous. Jerry didn’t just retire as host. Jerry didn’t just step down as National Chairman. Jerry didn’t just pass the baton or hand over the reigns to the future of the cause. He wasn’t even given the opportunity! Unfortunately, Jerry Lewis was fired, axed, canned, handed his walking papers and shown the door. A lifetime of dedication and success, and he gets dumped and swept under the carpet? Sorry, but a man who devoted more than half of his life to a noble cause did not deserve to be phased out in such a cut-and-dry fashion. An American Institution like Lewis deserved a final bow, a curtain call, a swan song and a ride off into the proverbial sunset. But MDA didn’t even have the decency of putting him on stage for one last hurrah. That would have been the right thing to do, the absolute least they could do.

Years of faithful – and highly successful – service were encapsulated in some scripted gracious words and a little video tribute. No song. No grand exit. No bow. No wave good-bye.

Poor form, MDA, very poor form.

Yes, Jerry Lewis lost his relevance. Yes, the act became exhausted and Jerry got old. Change was inevitable, and MDA finally elected to sever ties. Of course, his retirement was actually about twenty years overdue. Yeah, it was time. It was time a long time ago! The folks at MDA knew it was time. Patients and families knew it was time. Donors and sponsors knew it was time. Even Jerry knew it was time. Still, MDA executives handled things badly by not allowing him back on the air for a finale.

Jerry put muscular dystrophy on the map and raised a ton of awareness and cash. Everybody knew Jerry Lewis as the celebrity force behind the Muscular Dystrophy Association. Jerry was totally cool then. He was a star, a member of the famed Rat Pack and hung out with Sinatra and Dean and Sammy. When the Telethon gig started in 1966, you couldn’t find a better person to host than Jerry Lewis. He was perfect for the job! He was a master showman, a movie actor and beloved comedian. And with his connections and network of well-known entertainer friends, he was a lock to rake in the big bucks! At one point, all Lewis had to do was simply ask for money to help his sick Kids, and he would get it, no questions asked. However, as the years passed and his spotlight dimmed, Jerry was forced to pull out every emotional ploy in the book to get people to dip into their wallets and give. I liken Jerry to an aging baseball pitcher whose fastball disappeared and then must rely on junk to get hitters out. His fastball was his star power and popularity and ability to infuse laughter into such a tragic and seemingly hopeless reality. “Smile though your heart is aching,” indeed. And it worked, and the money poured in. Then came the junk pitches. Pity rose to the forefront, eyes welled non-stop, asking became begging, laughter diminished and sadness and despair took over. Sure there was the entertainment and the humor and the shtick, but drama prevailed on the annual Labor Day Telethons, and the money continued to roll in. Jerry was the holder of heartstrings, the monarch of melodrama, the prince of pity, the wizard of wallets. And his efforts paid off. During his 45 years as host, he scored $1.66 billion for MDA and Jerry’s Kids, a magnificent achievement in itself.

Research still has not produced a cure, even after all these years and all of this loot, but hey, it’s not like you can just drive on over to the Terminal Disease Depot, go to the neuromuscular disease aisle, grab a cure off the rack, plunk down a few hundred million and take it home. If a cure ain’t there, it ain’t there. I get it. I dig it. I totally understand and I do not blame Jerry. My beef with Jerry Lewis was that he always promised what he could not possibly deliver – the elusive cure for muscular dystrophy – and with his do-whatever-it-takes fundraising mentality, he made those of us with the disease look needy and pathetic in the process. But as we know, it’s all about the drama and getting the money. And the show must go on somehow, right?

I decided to tune into the Telethon the other evening for two hours – probably longer than I have in the past twenty years combined – for mere nostalgia’s sake and to catch a final glimpse of Jerry Lewis in action, which never happened due to MDA’s lack of class. I was also curious to see for myself if things on the Telethon were indeed changing for the better without Lewis. Was this the end a stagnant era for MDA and perhaps the start of a fresh new one? Or should we expect much of the same old same old? Well, I did notice a tad less sobbing, but I guess that was because they could only cram so many tears into a shortened, 6-hour broadcast. And it wasn’t as pleady as usual, for the same reason I imagine. The entertainment seemed a little beyond tolerable this time, but do you seriously believe that people gave money because they got to watch Billy Ray Cyrus sing? Pity will always remain the key to bringing in the green, and MDA will continue with the do-whatever-it-takes tactic. That part will never change, Jerry or no Jerry. But even without Jerry, I somehow still gagged when two mediocre singers and a quartet of celebrity hosts pulled a painfully lame Salute To America out of their butts, complete with an infernal scat by Maureen McGovern, some marching, and red, white and blue confetti. This was MDA’s idea of a grand finale? Even Jerry couldn’t do anything that dumb in his day! Regardless, MDA managed a huge haul once again. Yes, MDA will score just fine without Jerry at the Telethon helm, but they are only building on the foundation that he laid eons ago.

Lewis was arguably the best campaigner and fundraiser the public world has ever seen, I’ll give him that for sure. I couldn’t stand his methods, but they sure were effective. I know that I have been tough on Jerry Lewis in the past, but I certainly will not deny the man his rightful props. Over a billion dollars raised. Dues paid. Purpose served. Legacy left. Forty-five years was quite the run. Thanks for everything, Jerry. Now let’s see MDA flex some muscle of its own.

Yes, we killed the bad guy! We finally took out Osama bin Laden, the terrorist responsible for perhaps the worst nightmare in American history! Well, I join my fellow citizens in saying: “Later, dude! See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya! Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come back no more! Sayonara, sucker! Buh-bye! Good riddance!” This was clearly a victory for America, no doubt. We nailed Public Enemy Number One! We knocked off the devil in a turban! Justice was rightfully served, and we should feel proud!

But must we party in the streets like drunken, barbaric imbeciles to be able to revel in it? Come on, this ain’t the freaking Superbowl championship, for crying out loud!

The annihilation of bin Laden is a somber reminder of senseless tragedy, pain, anger and heartbreak. There is no room for cheer here. In my opinion, the rallies at Pennsylvania Avenue and Ground Zero were ugly, shameless, disgraceful, downright embarrassing, and served as nothing more than ego-boosting gloat-fests! And about closure, what closure? There can never be true closure on an open-ended subject. Terrorism wasn’t abolished. Al-Qaeda ain’t dead just yet, as a new leader will surely grab the reigns. With or without bin Laden, this war is still far from over, and our military still cannot rest easily. More soldiers will inevitably fall in the name of our freedom. And retaliation may very well come.

Although I am glad we crushed bin Laden’s filthy, rotten existence, I’m not exactly jumping for joy. Call me crazy, but celebrating the murder of a mass murderer is quite the paradox, don’t you think? And instead of dignifying the death of this evil bastard by calling so much attention to him, we should be holding vigil for the innocent lives lost on 911.

As usual, I shall refrain from watching the Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon on Labor Day. I refuse to sit here rolling my eyes at the drama and lame entertainment. I refuse to sit here laughing my crippled ass off while the suckers…I mean, other viewers at home are crying their eyes out and forking over the cash. Do I think the whole thing is a sham? Of course not! Muscular dystrophy is definitely a killer. It is real and hard and heartbreaking. Now, do I disagree with some of the methods being used to elicit contributions? Yes! But am I going to get angry and berate the system again this year? Not really…simply because I am removing myself from the situation. I don’t need the stress.

Let Jerry Lewis put on his little show. Let him yank out heartstrings and prey upon emotion. Let him dupe the public into believing that his Muscular Dystrophy Association provides his Kids with way more than just research. Let him make promises he knows he may never be able to keep. Let him sacrifice the dignity of muscular dystrophy patients everywhere. Let the man do all that he does so well. Jerry’s sole purpose is to get the money, so let him play!

I’m one of Jerry’s Atrics, a muscular dystrophy old-timer. I’m wise to his shtick. I know his game. But there is nothing I can do to stop him, nothing I can do to influence the MDA or Telethon reform, so why waste my life trying? The Muscular Dystrophy Association will continue to care more about research than helping to improve quality of life. A free flu shot is no substitute for chipping in a few bucks towards a new wheelchair. And the annual Labor Day fundraising show will continue to go on just the way it has been long after I am dead and long after Jerry Lewis kicks the old donation bucket or fireman’s boot or whatever, or until a cure is found. Yeah, a cure – that’s the ticket!

Honestly, I would love nothing better than to see Jerry raise a billion trillion gazillion dollars for the MDA and his Kids. However, I am not going to waste what precious time I have left watching him stoop to new lows in order to do it. I have to focus on living now anyway, and not worry so much about Jerry Lewis’ quest for a cure that may never come. Let Jerry’s Kids have the money. I don’t need it because I am one of Uncle Sam’s Kids now, and he takes really good care of me!

The Telethon isn’t for us Atrics anymore, and neither is Jerry Lewis, and I can accept that fact. While I certainly wish the best for the younger generations and wish to see more beneficial treatments and ultimately a cure for the disease we all share, I still refuse to watch the show. I’m tired. I’m bored. I’m over it.

Over the years, I have certainly seen my share of Yankees – past and present – as well as famous broadcasters, sportswriters, and assorted celebrities adorning the private lobby at George M. Steinbrenner Field in Tampa, Florida during Spring Training. One day before a game, I entered this lobby – as all disabled guests are permitted to use the elevator inside to get to the seating level – and right in front of me stood the stadium’s namesake himself, the legendary owner of the New York Yankees, the man known as The Boss. I was seconds away from an encounter with George Steinbrenner himself! This happened several years ago, shortly before his health went into rapid decline and he was still large and in charge.

The elevator doors slid open and Steinbrenner darted in ahead of me. After all, it was his elevator and he should go first, right? Anyhow, he stepped to the rear and waited patiently for a few guests and me to hop in. We reached the upper level and I began my exit as The Boss looked on. As I was backing out my large power wheelchair, a small flock of stadium vendors, ushers and assorted personnel – all employed by Steinbrenner and the Yankees – ignored my struggle and began to plow into the elevator. Seeing that they were not giving me any room to move, The Boss emphatically ordered them to disperse. “Get out of the way”, he shouted angrily at one particularly rude employee, “Can’t you see the man’s in a wheelchair???” Fearing the owner’s wrath, everybody scampered hurriedly out of my path.

Through that single outburst in true Boss fashion, I got to witness two sides of George Steinbrenner first-hand. I saw the fiery, authoritative, hard-nosed, intolerant team owner whom I had always read about in the papers, as well as the big man with the soft heart who often went unpublicized. It was at that precise moment when I realized that a great man is not measured by wealth or power or championships or free-agent signings. He is not measured by newspaper headlines or dominance in sport and business or worldwide attention. The true mark of a great man is compassion. And The Boss had plenty of it, as evidenced by his crude, yet still compassionate, elevator tirade. George Steinbrenner was looking out for someone less fortunate in some respects, and that just raised his already high stature in my eyes.

When I heard the news of his passing this week, I totally ignored all the pomp and circumstance that was the public George Steinbrenner and simply remembered him fondly as the man who cleared the way. Thank you, Boss!

I hate fakers! You know, those sick individuals who pretend to be disabled and steal our special parking spaces and designated seating areas at concerts, sporting and other events? In other words, those who commit what I call gimp fraud. Well, I spotted one of those fakers last Sunday at the Tampa Bay Buccaneers game. In fact, the phony was sitting in the wheelchair right beside of me! She didn’t look like a gimp or act like a gimp, but being a gimp myself, I know one when I see one, and this gal was definitely not a gimp. The perfect posture, the spry demeanor, and the generic drugstore wheelchair were all dead giveaways. If she could jump to her feet for every score, interception, fumble recovery, sack, penalty and controversial call, then she really didn’t need that wheelchair. Gimp fraud! If she could stand and cheer on the defense for an entire set or two of downs, then she really didn’t need that wheelchair. Gimp fraud! If she was able to walk effortlessly back and forth to the concession stand for beer countless times during the game, then she really didn’t qualify as a true wheelchair user. Major gimp fraud! And if she was not actually wheelchair-dependent, then she had absolutely no business buying a ticket in the wheelchair section of the stadium. Still, she impersonated a gimp to secure premium seats in the sold-out lower bowl. This despicable woman obviously borrowed Granny’s wheelchair for a few convenient hours. I bet she even took Granny’s handicapped parking placard to get a reserved spot closest to the stadium. Hey, if she can cure me of Duchenne muscular dystrophy and make it that I can walk and run and jump again, I will gladly give her my wheelchair and parking permit! I’ll even throw in my handicapped van for good measure. That way, she will really be able to pull off her little gimp scam!

Seriously, those who commit gimp fraud should be ashamed of themselves! Instead of swiping the privileges given to actual disabled individuals and exploiting a system designed to make our lives a little bit easier, these imposters should appreciate the fact that they are healthy enough not to need special accommodations. I just wish they could be stuck in a wheelchair for a day or two with the inability to perform even the simplest of tasks without assistance. Give them a taste of the struggles we face on a daily basis and see how they like it! Or we could just shoot the fakers.

It is that time again! The Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon is in full force! Tune in to witness an amazing spectacle of laughter and entertainment. And don’t forget to break out the Kleenex and your wallets for the tear-jerking parts!

Wait, I promised myself that I would not go off on the Telethon again this year. I wouldn’t want to ruffle any feathers.

I mean, sure, I could remind you all of how the Smell-A-Thon robs those of us with muscular dystrophy of our dignity. Of course, I could tell you again how the Smell-A-Thon falsely portrays us as sickly, needy, totally useless little kiddies and keeps us from getting proper respect as human beings. I could certainly go on about how much money is raised during the Smell-A-Thon year after year and how there is still no cure for this horrible disease. I could always rant over the fact that MDA executives continue to enjoy the good life with their luxurious homes and fancy cars while Jerry’s Kids continue to die in droves. However, I have chosen to refrain from making any sarcastic or derogatory remarks about Jerry Lewis, the Muscular Dystrophy Association or the Telethon. Instead, I would like to turn the tables and focus on those people who contribute their hard-earned cash to the Smell-A-Thon.

It is unfortunate that Jerry Lewis has to go out there before a national audience and shamelessly beg and plead and put on an entire Vaudevillian extravaganza just to raise money to help his Kids. All he really should have to do is lay out the facts about muscular dystrophy and explain that it is a killer, and ask viewers for money to fight it. Sounds rather elementary, huh? Too bad it doesn’t work that way in the real world. Fact is that the majority of those who send money expect something in return. They want a good show. They want to see celebrities, singers and dancers, comedians, jugglers and ventriloquists. They want to have their heartstrings manipulated, and let out a good cry. And don’t forget that big old tax write-off. After all, nothing says benevolence more than a nice, juicy government tax deduction! How many folks out there are much more inclined to drop a few coins into a beggar’s bucket if that beggar is playing a shiny harmonica? Most people will not part their cash unless they get a little something for their charity. Why must they seek some sort of compensation for kindness? Whatever happened to finding a good cause dear to your heart, and giving?

Problem is that there are so many worthy causes, and no one could possibly give to all of them. So they are forced to pick and choose specific ones to support. And it seems that the organizations with the tightest emotional hold and finest entertainment get the most carrots. Luckily for MDA, Jerry Lewis has always been a master showman on the Smell-A-Thon stage, and he recruits some of the best second-rate personalities and performers to join him.

I find it somewhat disheartening, though, to know that most people have such a difficult time with opening their hearts and checkbooks to help others. It is sad that so many people have to be coerced into supporting a worthy cause. Jerry Lewis has no choice but to put on a good show, because if he fails, MDA might just go broke. And if that happens, muscular dystrophy patients will have to pay for their own flu shots and MDA executives will have to start drinking club soda instead of Perrier.