Watching Richard Belzer on TV, you would think he was as acerbic, conspiratorial and dark as his character Detective John Munch, a role that spanned decades and a dozen different television series. In real life, he was so much more – wise, kind, thoughtful and profound. To me, he was a protective Jewish guy of nearly 60 looking out for a naïve, young Jewish girl.
I was a kid in my 20s in 2003 when I started my run as senior assistant district attorney Casey Novak on the television series Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. I had no idea what I was doing, what the set politics and pecking orders were, and I was extremely nervous to be joining an already popular series with a tight-knit cast.
On my first day of work, I was shown to my new dressing room on the set which, at the time, was in the swamplands of New Jersey just across the Hudson River from Manhattan. Suddenly a door down the hall opened and a thick cloud of cannabis smoke wafted out.
The other side of Richard Belzer
Appearing from the dense, white haze was the black-clad Jewish icon, Richard Belzer. He greeted me with “Baruch habo” (Hebrew for “welcome”) and a kiss on each cheek. Anticipating my question, he held my shoulders, cocked his head, and said, “I always know one of my own.” Instantly relaxing, I knew I would be all right.
Uncle Belz, The Belz, Richard (if I was being jokingly stern), Tricky Dicky (as a nod to his, at the time, least favorite US president, Richard Nixon). Belz and I had fun all the time, no matter what we were doing. At work he would matter-of-factly run down the evidence for various conspiracy theories, noting that each one left was a “shande,” (scandal) and I would shoot them down.
At events we messed around, dancing in a group and laughing, feeding off the vibes. Outside of work, often at his home, we laughed as he would regale me with stories of the comedy scene in the ’80s. And once, on an award show red carpet in Monte Carlo, we even told naughty jokes to HRH Prince Albert of Monaco. His Highness’s face clearly showing the discomfort that Richard and I delighted in.
He was so lanky; hugging him was like holding a human shin – or at least that’s what I’d tell him. And he would chuckle as his bright eyes squinted behind his perpetually shaded eyes, ones that lived behind his dark sunglasses that rested low on his nose day and night.
Belz laughed so easily, and as funny as he was – a legitimate comedy legend – he never needed to be the funniest person in the room. Richard had no ego that way. He was consistently attentive and generous in the extreme. Belz existed for the love of his gorgeous, gracious wife, Harlee, and the two daughters that came with Harlee whom he loved as his own. And of course, his dogs.
HIS FRIENDS were lifelong – comedic heroes like Robin Williams, Jerry Lewis and Gilbert Gottfried – all of whom he shared freely and loved to have together in one place whenever he could. Belz, kindly, always included me, even long after my tenure on that particular show ended.
When Belz would perform one-off stand-up gigs at places with huge audiences, my job was to “learn from the master,” as he would joke, and hold Bebe, the wee mixed breed pup he and Harlee rescued while I was visiting him in France. He loved Bebe like he loved marijuana. And based on the number of times Richard graced the cover of High Times magazine (and the number of times I saw him appearing from those clouds of smoke), you can imagine it was an awful lot.
One night, just before he went on stage at the now-closed New York comedy club Comix, he asked, “How’s my material?”
“Dated,” I smirked.
“Well then, how about the crowd?”
“Geriatric.” I shot back.
He grinned. It was our schtick.
Uncle Belz and I were always supporters at events where either the great Chris Meloni or stellar Mariska Hargitay were receiving awards. At one such gala, the main ceremony was over, most of the crowd was now cutting a rug, but Belz was by the distant buffet, alone. He was moving to a slow rhythm entirely different than the one being blasted on the dance floor. His lips moved slightly. I wandered over, always wanting to be near him and know what was on his mind.
I asked, “Hey, Tricky Dicky, what are you doing?”
He took a moment and then said, looking over his shoulder and flashing a big smile, “Oh Diane, you know, just humming like an old Jew.” He wandered off. Still smiling.
Belzer was always moving to his own beat in life. Always grinning. Always funny. He turned a lifetime of challenges and hardships into one of wisdom and laughter. Is there any better triumph?
Now that I am the “old Jew.” I am so grateful for the original, Uncle Belzer who included me, looked after me, and showed me how to be. He was a man who loved his family deeply, and his friends endlessly, yet always had enough affection to spare. I will feel forever fortunate that some of that love was given to me.
The writer was an actor on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit from 2003-2013 before moving on to many other popular TV series.