The Untold Legacy of Alan Kirschenbaum

Death is shit. It’s one big ball of shit. Sometimes we go through our whole lives not realizing how much of an impact a stranger can make on us. Then one day, poof, they’re no longer there to be thanked or even ignored.

Whether it ‘s a stranger opening a door for you, a nice cashier, or a decent bus driver who was semi-pleasant (which is miraculous for a bus driver), if you’re anything like me, chances are your going to go through your life completely oblivious and unconcerned to the kind of person a stranger really is.

Yesterday news of comedic writer and producer Alan Kirschenbaum’s death flooded the Internet.

Who the hell is Alan Kirschenbaum, right?

Alan Kirschenbaum, just another contributor (writer and producer) to some of the greatest sitcoms that have ever hit the analog screen of the idiot box; Everybody Loves Raymond, Yes Dear, and My Name is Earl (to name a few).

Alan Kirschenbaum, one of those names you see in the credits that are on the screen for only seconds, a guy who contributed to daytime sitcom shows, wrote tons of scripts, son to classic comedian Freddie Roman and the close friend to fellow comedic thespian Philip Rosenthal. (Rosenthal wrote a personal rehash of their relationship that says all that really needs to be said.)

Death tends to bring out the phoniest of concern in Internet bloggers and commenters. Though it’s a terrible tragedy for Kirschenbaum’s family and friends, for everyone else it’s just another stranger who unknowingly and inadvertently may have made a difference in their lives.

A stranger and a damn funny guy, Kirschenbaum was. Thanks for the summer I spent veg’d out to My Name is Earl and for every sick day home from school when Yes, Dear was on T.V.

The greatest thing anyone can do before they pass is to create, cause things to happen, and make others happy. Their legacy will follow.

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