Posted by Some memories become complicated with the passage of time.
Long before the legal controversies that ultimately overshadowed Bill Cosby’s career, I had the opportunity to meet him during my years as Entertainment Manager at Seneca Niagara Casino & Hotel. Like so many people of my generation, I grew up admiring his work. When the allegations surfaced years later, I was as disappointed as anyone. It was difficult to reconcile the entertainer I had admired for decades with the man dominating the headlines. This story isn’t about those events. It’s about one memorable afternoon that took place long before any of that—a humorous encounter that has stayed with me ever since.
Growing up, Saturday mornings meant one thing: Fat Albert. It was almost a weekly ritual. I even taught myself to talk like Mushmouth, proudly asking anyone who would listen, “Hay-be Ma-bin, wha-bits go-bing o-bin?” I read Bill Cosby’s books, listened to his comedy albums, and years later, Thursday nights became synonymous with The Cosby Show. To many of us, Cliff Huxtable felt like everyone’s favorite uncle.
So when Bill Cosby arrived at the casino to perform, I was secretly delighted—truthfully, I was downright excited.
As Entertainment Manager, I was responsible for overseeing the evening’s production. I can still hear my boss calling over the two-way radio:
“ROOOB… what’s your 20?”
“I’m at Front of House,” I answered.
“Come to the Green Room. Mr. Cosby is asking for your presence.”
One of my favorite Cosby routines was his classic bit about children. He challenged the popular belief that kids are always innocent and honest, arguing instead that they were masters of deception.
In the routine, his grandson constructs an elaborate ladder to reach the top shelf and steal a cookie. Naturally, he’s caught in the act.
“What are you doing?” Bill asks.
“I was getting a cookie for youuuu…”
“But I don’t want a cookie.”
“Well… can I have itttt?”
Like so many of Cosby’s routines, the joke wasn’t just in the words—it was in his facial expressions and impeccable timing.
When I entered the Green Room, my boss introduced me before quietly stepping aside. Bill politely excused everyone else from the room except Gladys, a Native American supervisor who oversaw our usher staff. I took a seat beside him on an L-shaped sofa while Gladys sat on his other side.
Rather than making small talk, Bill immediately became curious about our Native American heritage. He asked thoughtful questions about our culture and traditions, comparing them to experiences he’d had with other Indigenous communities. A few questions were admittedly culturally sensitive, but they were asked with genuine curiosity and respect. It was obvious he wanted to learn rather than simply make conversation.
Partway through our discussion, the closed Green Room door suddenly swung open as our General Manager, Public Relations Manager, and a few others walked in without knocking.
Bill stopped mid-sentence.
With remarkable composure—but unmistakable authority—he asked if there had been a sign on the door inviting people to simply walk in.
There wasn’t.
He then asked our General Manager if employees routinely barged into his office without knocking whenever the door was closed.
The answer, of course, was no.
Without raising his voice, Bill politely instructed everyone to step back outside, close the door, and enter properly.
Watching our General Manager’s face turn bright red while trying to maintain a smile was almost as entertaining as the show we were about to present. I remember trying my hardest not to grin, partly because the situation was genuinely funny and partly because I had no interest in ending up on our CEO’s bad side.
Moments later came a proper knock.
Bill opened the door with a smile.
“I’m in the middle of a pleasant conversation with these most gracious hosts,” he said. “I’ll be with you shortly.”
He closed the door, sat back down, and continued our conversation as though nothing had happened.
Eventually our visit came to an end.
As I stood to leave, I walked over to the catering table and pointed toward the tray of cookies.
“Please,” Bill said, “help yourself.”
Instead, I placed a couple of cookies on a napkin, carried them over, and offered them to him.
He smiled politely.
“Thank you… but no thank you.”
Without missing a beat, I looked at him and replied,
“Well… can I have itttt?”
The look on his face was priceless.
For just a moment, I had managed to turn one of Bill Cosby’s own punchlines back on him.
And judging by the “Jell-O pudding” smile that followed, I think he appreciated it.
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