Birthday of Herb Edelman

When I imagine the day Herb Edelman celebrates his day of honor, it could be in a small, unassuming back room of a former off-Broadway theater. There, where the floorboards creak softly as he walks, where the spirit of past performances can be felt between the old velvet curtains and slightly stained wallpaper, he could pause for a moment to reflect on the rich diversity of his career. He was once a young man from Brooklyn who found his way into acting via a circuitous route. He served in the army as a radio man and was initially unsure whether the path to the limelight would really be his. But then the theater, the camera and finally the role of the lovable, sly Stan Zbornak, with which he repeatedly gave the Golden Girls a pinch of down-to-earth humor, lured him in. On this commemorated birthday, he might remember what it was like to play alongside other greats whose names are still whispered with respect today. He would be well aware that his talent lay above all in making the quiet, slightly stooped male characters seem so unmistakably human that you might think you were meeting them right next door in the stairwell.

It's easy to think only of Stan, but Herb Edelman's career extended far beyond that. His appearances in films such as “The Odd Couple” and “California Suite” showed that he could do more than just play the sad ex-husband with a broad smile. He knew how to use pointed dialog and fleeting glances to open up a small world even in inconspicuous supporting roles. If you look at the scattered traces of his career today, you might think that every director saw him as a reliable partner, someone who promoted the humorous core of a story without ever pushing himself to the fore. Perhaps on his birthday there would be time to recall the quiet moments of rehearsals when he read a script with a concentrated gaze and honed every punch line to perfection. If an old prop or a handwritten program booklet now turns up in the back room of this theater, it may be that the memory of his fine sense of timing lives on in these silent witnesses.

You could imagine him with his head slightly tilted, smiling quietly. Not at his successes alone, but at the way he achieved them: always professional, never intrusive, and yet so present that you couldn't help but notice him. On his 91st birthday, we would probably sense that there is something everlasting in his work. It is this warmth with which he illuminated even simple scenes that still gives him a place of honor in the hearts of those who have experienced his art. Without fuss, but with a touch of Brooklyn in his tone, he remains proof that true greatness is often found in understatement.