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By Michael A. Gonzales
Not long after R&B star Chris Brown made headlines in 2009 for beating up his then-girlfriend, Rihanna, I was contacted by his press department and asked to interview Brown and write the official bio to accompany his then-upcoming album Graffiti. When I explained to the publicist that I’d rather not work with a man who physically assaulted women, her reply was: “You’re going to let his bad behavior stand in the way of getting a check?”
There are always people willing to ignore unpleasant truth, if paying attention to it would make their lives harder or sadder.
Which brings us, this week, to Bill Cosby.
Most of us have had that moment when we’ve learned something awful about a person we’d looked up to. When that’s a loved one, it can be life-changingly terrible—but sometimes we’re almost as shocked when it’s a hero we’ve idolized from afar. It’s ironic: We teach our children that predators come in all forms and can often be the most charming person they know, but when it comes to people who live their lives in the public eye, contributing tremendously to the cultural milieu, we have trouble remembering our own wisdom.
We heard about acclaimed director Roman Polanski fleeing for France before sentencing in his statutory rape case involving a 13 year old. We heard the allegations that pop star R. Kelly cruised his old Chicago high school to find underage girls he could convince to come back to his mansion. We heard allegations that filmmaker Woody Allen, who married his former partner Mia Farrow’s young adopted daughter Soon-Yi Previn, molested Farrow’s other daughter Dylan. And for years we heard about Michael Jackson settling lawsuits in which he was accused of molesting young boys. In each case, the public dialog showed that a large number of us resisted believing the worst. Surely, folks thought, this must be some misunderstanding.
This time around, Philadelphia native son Bill Cosby is being accused by multiple women of having drugged and sexually abused them years ago. The most recent to speak out publicly is Joan Tarshis, who claimed this week, in an account published on the blog Hollywood Elsewhere, that the now 77 year old Cosby raped her twice in 1969. Her accusation comes on the heels of another from actress Barbara Bowman, who wrote an essay last week in the Washington Post alleging that, in 1985, the comic actor “brainwashed me into viewing him as a father figure, and then assaulted me multiple times.”
Bowman is just one of the 13 women who’d been cited as possible witnesses in a 2005 civil case that former Temple University basketball official Andrea Constand filed against Cosby, who settled the case out of court. Which is to say: This ugliness has been a matter of public record for years now. Yet it wasn’t until a few weeks ago, when a video of comedian Hannibal Buress, firmly declaring Cosby “a rapist” during a performance at the Trocadero, began circulating on the Internet, that the sordid stories finally went viral and captured the public’s attention. “Most people don’t believe [it],” Buress said.
Later in his performance, he apologized—for “making it weird for you to watch The Cosby Show now.”
Indeed. We never want to hear allegations that a loved one might have a dark side. Even given that Cosby has never been criminally charged, listening to the public allegations forces us to add another layer to all our precious memories—forces us to question things in our lives that we’d always thought we could trust.
It’s why no one ever wants to believe that, maybe, their Uncle might have abused someone. Or their Grandfather. Or their Dad.
Or America’s Dad.
Bill Cosby is someone with whom many of us—regardless of race or class—have had a TV-based relationship since we were kids. We consider him part of the family.
From his pioneering work on I-Spy, the 60's series that made him a star, to The Electric Company and the groundbreaking cartoon classic Fat Albert, based on Cosby’s childhood stories on the streets of Philly, he was always in our lives with a cheery mixture of whimsy, sage advice and a bowl of Jell-O pudding. More so than most of the faces we saw in the media, Bill Cosby seemed to really care about us little people out there in television land as he gave us life lessons about education, bullying and the importance of friendship on Fat Albert.
And just when it seemed as though his star was fading, Cosby hit the mother lode of good vibes when he played everyone’s favorite father Cliff Huxtable on The Cosby Show from 1984 to 1993. He became a daddy to us all—and not just any daddy, but the daddy we always wanted. The one who took time with his kids, showed love to his wife and played John Coltrane records.
Bill Cosby was the last person I ever thought would go out all Hollywood Babylon. But then—in real life, Cosby isn’t actually Dr. Huxtable, is he? In real life, Cosby is a professional entertainer who spent lots of time living on the road, admitted to cheating on his wife and wasn’t always the perfect dad. He’s human. He’s flawed.
Two days after Barbara Bowman’s story appeared in the Post, Cosby and his wife Camille were being interviewed on NPR about their art collection, currently on display at the Smithsonian, when reporter Scott Simon dared to skirt off-topic — a Hollywood publicist’s nightmare — and asked about the rape issue. In what I’ve come to think of as “The Head Shake Heard ’Round the World,” Cos remained silent.
Silence, of course, does not imply guilt. It does, however, remind us of just how many of our families have spent years avoiding any discussion of the skeletons in our closet. Most of us have them, don’t we? The drug-addicted cousin; the child born out of wedlock; the uncle with a violent temper— all those things we try not to talk about. As if that will make them not be there anymore.
Recently, the NFL was forced to terminate Baltimore Ravens player Ray Rice after he literally knocked out his girlfriend. But they didn’t do so until video of the brutal incident went viral courtesy of TMZ. It was hard not to be reminded of the Catholic Church’s priest-abuse cases: The institutional “family” wouldn’t truly confront the depth of the problem until it became unavoidably, publicly visible.
And even then, we still see commenters on every story eager to insist that the victims, no matter how credible, are just angling for money.
I have trouble believing that.
A few months back, I posted a picture of Cosby’s late friend Miles Davis on my Facebook page. A female friend wrote me a note asking how I could continue to celebrate a man who was an admitted woman-beater. “I try to separate the art from the man,” I answered. But it wasn’t an easy answer. Truthfully, I’ve struggled with that question in regards to many of my flawed artistic heroes, including James Brown and Steve McQueen.
It’s one thing for me to want to separate great art from flawed creators. I’m a man. But a lot of my friends are women, and I’ve heard them share many, many ugly stories over the years of men who seemed charming one minute and then attacked them the next. Men who’d claim to love women, showing off pictures of their daughters, but who, a few cocktails later, would be ranting about all the “bitches” and “hoes” who’d done them wrong. One friend told me how she was attacked in college by the school’s star football player, and even her parents doubted her. Another told her folks about a family friend who “touched her”; nothing was ever done, and the man continued to visit their home.
In the case of the allegations against Bill Cosby, the statute of limitations has expired; this is likely never going to go to trial. Still, the comedian’s trademarked fatherly warmth radiating from the television screen isn’t touching my heart the same way today.
Would the kind, gentle, loving man who we all watched help Theo with his homework and teach little Rudy how to ride a bike actually drug and rape a woman? That’s an easy question to answer: Of course not. Cliff Huxtable would never do these things. Because Cliff Huxtable is a pure joy. And fictional.
Bill Cosby is a real person. And answering that question is not so easy.
Cultural critic Michael A. Gonzales writes about pop culture for soulhead.com, Pitchfork Review and Wax Poetics. He blogs at Blackadelic Pop.
Not long after R&B star Chris Brown made headlines in 2009 for beating up his then-girlfriend, Rihanna, I was contacted by his press department and asked to interview Brown and write the official bio to accompany his then-upcoming album Graffiti. When I explained to the publicist that I’d rather not work with a man who physically assaulted women, her reply was: “You’re going to let his bad behavior stand in the way of getting a check?”
There are always people willing to ignore unpleasant truth, if paying attention to it would make their lives harder or sadder.
Which brings us, this week, to Bill Cosby.
Most of us have had that moment when we’ve learned something awful about a person we’d looked up to. When that’s a loved one, it can be life-changingly terrible—but sometimes we’re almost as shocked when it’s a hero we’ve idolized from afar. It’s ironic: We teach our children that predators come in all forms and can often be the most charming person they know, but when it comes to people who live their lives in the public eye, contributing tremendously to the cultural milieu, we have trouble remembering our own wisdom.
We heard about acclaimed director Roman Polanski fleeing for France before sentencing in his statutory rape case involving a 13 year old. We heard the allegations that pop star R. Kelly cruised his old Chicago high school to find underage girls he could convince to come back to his mansion. We heard allegations that filmmaker Woody Allen, who married his former partner Mia Farrow’s young adopted daughter Soon-Yi Previn, molested Farrow’s other daughter Dylan. And for years we heard about Michael Jackson settling lawsuits in which he was accused of molesting young boys. In each case, the public dialog showed that a large number of us resisted believing the worst. Surely, folks thought, this must be some misunderstanding.
This time around, Philadelphia native son Bill Cosby is being accused by multiple women of having drugged and sexually abused them years ago. The most recent to speak out publicly is Joan Tarshis, who claimed this week, in an account published on the blog Hollywood Elsewhere, that the now 77 year old Cosby raped her twice in 1969. Her accusation comes on the heels of another from actress Barbara Bowman, who wrote an essay last week in the Washington Post alleging that, in 1985, the comic actor “brainwashed me into viewing him as a father figure, and then assaulted me multiple times.”
Bowman is just one of the 13 women who’d been cited as possible witnesses in a 2005 civil case that former Temple University basketball official Andrea Constand filed against Cosby, who settled the case out of court. Which is to say: This ugliness has been a matter of public record for years now. Yet it wasn’t until a few weeks ago, when a video of comedian Hannibal Buress, firmly declaring Cosby “a rapist” during a performance at the Trocadero, began circulating on the Internet, that the sordid stories finally went viral and captured the public’s attention. “Most people don’t believe [it],” Buress said.
Later in his performance, he apologized—for “making it weird for you to watch The Cosby Show now.”
Indeed. We never want to hear allegations that a loved one might have a dark side. Even given that Cosby has never been criminally charged, listening to the public allegations forces us to add another layer to all our precious memories—forces us to question things in our lives that we’d always thought we could trust.
It’s why no one ever wants to believe that, maybe, their Uncle might have abused someone. Or their Grandfather. Or their Dad.
Or America’s Dad.
Bill Cosby is someone with whom many of us—regardless of race or class—have had a TV-based relationship since we were kids. We consider him part of the family.
From his pioneering work on I-Spy, the 60's series that made him a star, to The Electric Company and the groundbreaking cartoon classic Fat Albert, based on Cosby’s childhood stories on the streets of Philly, he was always in our lives with a cheery mixture of whimsy, sage advice and a bowl of Jell-O pudding. More so than most of the faces we saw in the media, Bill Cosby seemed to really care about us little people out there in television land as he gave us life lessons about education, bullying and the importance of friendship on Fat Albert.
And just when it seemed as though his star was fading, Cosby hit the mother lode of good vibes when he played everyone’s favorite father Cliff Huxtable on The Cosby Show from 1984 to 1993. He became a daddy to us all—and not just any daddy, but the daddy we always wanted. The one who took time with his kids, showed love to his wife and played John Coltrane records.
Bill Cosby was the last person I ever thought would go out all Hollywood Babylon. But then—in real life, Cosby isn’t actually Dr. Huxtable, is he? In real life, Cosby is a professional entertainer who spent lots of time living on the road, admitted to cheating on his wife and wasn’t always the perfect dad. He’s human. He’s flawed.
Two days after Barbara Bowman’s story appeared in the Post, Cosby and his wife Camille were being interviewed on NPR about their art collection, currently on display at the Smithsonian, when reporter Scott Simon dared to skirt off-topic — a Hollywood publicist’s nightmare — and asked about the rape issue. In what I’ve come to think of as “The Head Shake Heard ’Round the World,” Cos remained silent.
Silence, of course, does not imply guilt. It does, however, remind us of just how many of our families have spent years avoiding any discussion of the skeletons in our closet. Most of us have them, don’t we? The drug-addicted cousin; the child born out of wedlock; the uncle with a violent temper— all those things we try not to talk about. As if that will make them not be there anymore.
Recently, the NFL was forced to terminate Baltimore Ravens player Ray Rice after he literally knocked out his girlfriend. But they didn’t do so until video of the brutal incident went viral courtesy of TMZ. It was hard not to be reminded of the Catholic Church’s priest-abuse cases: The institutional “family” wouldn’t truly confront the depth of the problem until it became unavoidably, publicly visible.
And even then, we still see commenters on every story eager to insist that the victims, no matter how credible, are just angling for money.
I have trouble believing that.
A few months back, I posted a picture of Cosby’s late friend Miles Davis on my Facebook page. A female friend wrote me a note asking how I could continue to celebrate a man who was an admitted woman-beater. “I try to separate the art from the man,” I answered. But it wasn’t an easy answer. Truthfully, I’ve struggled with that question in regards to many of my flawed artistic heroes, including James Brown and Steve McQueen.
It’s one thing for me to want to separate great art from flawed creators. I’m a man. But a lot of my friends are women, and I’ve heard them share many, many ugly stories over the years of men who seemed charming one minute and then attacked them the next. Men who’d claim to love women, showing off pictures of their daughters, but who, a few cocktails later, would be ranting about all the “bitches” and “hoes” who’d done them wrong. One friend told me how she was attacked in college by the school’s star football player, and even her parents doubted her. Another told her folks about a family friend who “touched her”; nothing was ever done, and the man continued to visit their home.
In the case of the allegations against Bill Cosby, the statute of limitations has expired; this is likely never going to go to trial. Still, the comedian’s trademarked fatherly warmth radiating from the television screen isn’t touching my heart the same way today.
Would the kind, gentle, loving man who we all watched help Theo with his homework and teach little Rudy how to ride a bike actually drug and rape a woman? That’s an easy question to answer: Of course not. Cliff Huxtable would never do these things. Because Cliff Huxtable is a pure joy. And fictional.
Bill Cosby is a real person. And answering that question is not so easy.
Cultural critic Michael A. Gonzales writes about pop culture for soulhead.com, Pitchfork Review and Wax Poetics. He blogs at Blackadelic Pop.
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