Richard Kind tells me that on his first day in New York in October 1978, he actually was witness to the aftermath of a very famous murder. A few years later, he lived down the block from All State Café, where another famous murder took place. (Both were made into movies.) As one of the newest cast members on this season’s Only Murders in the Building, a show about murders in New York City, this all seems fitting, if maybe a little too fitting. I spoke to Kind about those early days in New York, when he worked as a singing waiter and rented his studio apartment out to Jon Stewart.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
I remember the very first night I moved into New York, when I moved into 321 West 21st Street, along with my new roommate, and Sid Vicious had allegedly killed Nancy Spungen at the Chelsea Hotel. So there were cop cars all over the place. I was part of the crowd in front and Spungen was being brought out in the body bag. Oh, it was awful. It was terrifying and exciting. I was like, Oh my God, things happen in this town.
Sid Vicious arrested on the night Richard Kind moved to the city.
Photo: Allan Tannenbaum/IMAGES/Getty
I came to New York to act. I was supposed to go to law school, then I deferred for a year. And then one year turned into two, into three, into 40. I was a young actor and I was hoping to get a part in a play. Any part. Just please, somebody hire me. I couldn’t even get a job at a restaurant. Then I got a job working at the Russian Tea Room. I worked for one day. I’m trailing a server and Peter Benchley, the guy who wrote Jaws, was eating lunch. My dad used to play tennis with him. So as I’m trailing, I said, “Excuse me, Mr. Benchley, I just wanted to let you know my dad is Sam Kind.” And he goes, “What are you doing here?” And I go, “Well, I’m a young actor and now I’m working here just trying to make money.” He goes, “Oh, okay.” And then I walked away, and the maître d’ goes, “You do not talk to the customers.” I told her he’s not a customer, he’s a friend. She said, “I do not care.” And I said, “You know what? I quit.” So I quit that day, and I had the biggest meal of Bellinis and blintzes. I ate and I ate and I ate. I didn’t care. I just kept eating, I was so angry.
The Russian Tea Room, where Richard Kind worked for a day.
Photo: Russian Tea Room
Then I worked at the Saloon, where the Lululemon is now across from Lincoln Center. That used to be a fairly famous restaurant. A lot of the servers were on roller skates. I was not on roller skates. And people would go, “Why aren’t you on roller skates?” And I’d go, “Well, I’d rather keep the food on the plate and not in your lap.” And they’d laugh. I would often take extra shifts and I’d make a lot of money. Stupidly, I would roll up the money, put it in my sock, and take a subway home. I wouldn’t take a cab because I was penny wise and pound foolish. I was really happy with the money. But when you’re an actor, you can’t be happy you’re making a lot of money. So I quit.
My second summer I worked at Surflight Theatre in Beach Haven, New Jersey, where I did 14 plays in 15 weeks. That was the toughest. We did big musicals, rehearsed during the day and performed at night. Then on Sunday night, they would rip down the set, put up another one, and we would start again. It was nuts. It had a tin roof so if it was raining, all you heard was the rain on the roof and we would be literally screaming our lines to be heard. Michael Ritchie, who up until recently ran the Center Theatre Group, was the stage manager there. We got $27 a week plus room and board.
From the Fiddler on the Roof program at the Surflight Theatre.
Photo: Furflight Theater
Photo: Surflight Theater
I was a member of a community in New York. I always say, it doesn’t matter if you’re a waiter, if you dig ditches — if on your tax return you put down actor, you’re an actor. We were as close as could be. At Surflight we lived with each other. We ate with each other. We rehearsed everything. We did everything together. I thought these people would be my friends for the rest of my life. And it turns out either they drop out of the business or they get married, or they move away and they’re not successful. Or they go into other businesses and I don’t see any of them, not one anymore.
After two years, I got an apartment at 226 West 72nd Street. It was a studio, just one room with a closet. The kitchen sink was right there in the room. It had a little bathroom and a little storage closet, that was it. The rent was $176 a month. It was incredible. And if I had to go out of town for work, I would rent that apartment for no more than what I was paying — that was my patronage of the arts. Jon Stewart lived there. Jeff Garlin from Curb Your Enthusiasm lived there. Across the way from me was a lovely dancer, her name was Cricket. She worked at the bar where Looking for Mr. Goodbar took place — the All State Café. So I got a lot of murders surrounding me wherever I live. “Only Murders in the City.”
I was a singing waiter out in West Hampton in my first few years here. Caroline Hirsch used to come in every weekend with her ex-husband. She loved Broadway singers. And so I got to know her pretty well. And when the summer was over, she opened a restaurant in Times Square that had singing waiters Tuesday through Sunday. And she had nothing to do on Mondays, so she said it was comedy night. Well, as it turned out, comedy night was much more successful than singing waiters. So comedy night soon became Caroline’s Comedy Club. And that all started because she came to the restaurant where I was a singing waiter.
Studio 54 in the 1980s.
Photo: Antoinette/Michael Norcia/Sygma/Getty
Back then I would go to Studio 54 and the Limelight. I loved it. This used to be the city that never sleeps. It goes to sleep now. I miss the places that are 24 hours. I miss the 99-cent breakfast. I miss having a place to go to at night at one o’clock in the morning. Diners close at 11 or 12 now. A diner shouldn’t do that. This is tragic. Not that I would go there anymore — I try not to eat at that hour.
