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You will hear a lot about Don Rickles in the next 48 hours, as he passed away yesterday from kidney failure at the age of 90. You all know I don’t write about the passing of celebrities, but I’m making an exception for Don.

His tributes will come from names who are recognizable – actors, comedians, and famous people in the entertainment industry. They will describe him as a man whose sharp tongue and wit was never used with hate in his heart. He said things that would get anyone who tried saying them today crucified on social media.

They aren’t lying, or giving lip service, as a, “I should say this” message. When they tell you he was a kind hearted man and a great human being they aren’t just being nice. They mean it.

For Don Rickles, his barbs and rhetoric was truly an act. I knew him to be kind, generous, and everything his on-stage persona was not. I first met him almost 40 years ago.

When I lived outside Las Vegas, I met celebrities when I worked at a large supermarket in the city, during high school. I was never impressed and some I ran into were assholes. The same way many today are.

I was a young man in 1978 when I first met Don Rickles.

I was on leave from the Navy and having found I lost my girlfriend upon my return home, decided to get some laughs at a comedy show in nearby Las Vegas. I took my sister with me, to see Don Rickles perform, using her birthday as a good reason. My brother had told me his show was worth the price of admission (which was $40/ticket back then).

I was wearing my service dress blue Crackerjacks and my sister wore an evening gown, as we waited in line inside the Riviera, on the Las Vegas Strip. As we approached the entrance door of the showroom, the maître d’ came up and I slipped him a $10 bill, hoping that paltry sum would at least keep us from being seated at the back of the room against the farthest wall.

We entered from the back of the room and the maître d’ walked us past the couple who I saw had slipped him a fifty only minutes earlier. We kept walking. When we were seated, we were at a table against the stage. I could rest my elbow on it. “I think that guy must like you,” I told my sister.

We had our complimentary drinks delivered and waited for the show.

Don Rickles started the show and insulted a few audience members.

“Where are you from?” West Virginia, was the response. “West Virginia? Really. So that woman you are with is your mother, your sister, and your wife.”

“What’s your name?” (to a black man). Henry, the man said. “Henry. I know you. You visited me at my house last week. Next time I have you over, I expect you to stand still, keep that jockey hat on, and hold that lamp higher when my friends come up the steps.”

Nobody was left out. Race, religion, heritage, sexual preference, profession – everything was subject to his humor.

Italians were necessary to make sure cops had something to do besides eating donuts.

He even made fun of his own, targeting one woman adorned in her finest jewelry.

“You must be Jewish (Rickles was a Jew). My wife has jewelry like that. She uses it to signal sailors in passing ships. My husband is away! My husband is away!”

Which brought him to me.

“Look, a sailor!” The spotlight now shined on my table. “Who is that with you?”

“My sister,” I replied into the microphone he held down so people could hear.

“A sailor. In Las Vegas. With a beautiful woman. It’s been awhile since I was in the Navy. How much does a hooker cost these days?” he asked. My sister blushed, everyone else laughed, including me.

I ended up on stage with him, supposedly to “help” him in an Indian Pow-Wow. Before we started though, he told me of his own experience in the Navy (he served in the Philippines during WWII). It was truth that led into another joke.

“When I was in the Navy I was scared to death. They put me on a patrol boat in the Philippines. My Commander told me to shoot anything with squinty eyes, buck teeth, and bad breath… I killed 3 dentists.” The audience roared.

Then, we got to the Indian routine. He would be the Chief, I was a Brave in the tribe. We got on our knees next to each other in preparation for the “prayer” around the imaginary fire. He then asked me where I was serving, before we began.

“I’m headed to Pearl Harbor. Pacific Submarine Fleet,” I told him.

“So you will be under water with a bunch of hot, sweaty guys, and not see a girl for weeks at a time. If I remember right, submarines is something you had to volunteer for?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

He gave the audience a look, scooted away from me a bit, and told them, “Maybe she is his sister!” He was back just as quickly.

More jokes during the Indian fire routine and then we stood up, he shook my hand, leaned in and told me to take care of myself and thanked me for serving, as the audience loudly applauded him.

Nobody heard his remark but me, as he had the microphone lowered and thanking a military guy for their service back in the 70’s wasn’t as commonplace as it is today. I replied in his ear I would be honored to buy him a drink after he was done. He said he couldn’t because management wanted to clear the room as quickly as possible after each show.

I climbed down from the stage and took my seat at the table. He gave my sister a kiss on her hand and told the servers to send over a bottle of champagne, with his compliments.

When the show ended I waited for the bill. The maître d’ appeared again. “Mr. Rickles has requested that you remain at your table until I return and to let you know that the bill has been taken care of.”

The next thing I know, we are being escorted backstage by the maître d’ to Mr. Rickles room. It’s almost 1 am in the morning. He emerges in pajama bottoms and a bathrobe, having just showered after his performance.

We sat and talked for over an hour. He told me how he set up his act. My being next to the stage was not a matter of luck. He made a list of those he wanted seated up front, so people didn’t have to look back when he told his jokes at their expense. Military, black, Hispanic, outrageously dressed, two guys or two women together, and so on.

He told me of his time in the Navy, how he got started in the business, introduced me to his black business manager (who had been with him from the start of his entertainment career), talked about life in general, and he also asked about me.

He wrote his personal phone number on the back of his business manager’s card and told me to keep in touch. He also said when I got out (if I got out) of the Navy, he would find me a job, if I needed one.

I actually called Don for the first time in 1982. He remembered me years later and we talked again. I never took him up on his offer of a job.

Before 1978, I had only seen him as an insult comic and in a couple of movies, before meeting the real Don Rickles. The man was genuinely a nice guy. What people saw on stage was indeed, an act. My own mother never liked him until I told her what she was seeing on TV, was not the real Don. She kept a local newspaper clipping, proud of her son’s 1 minute of “fame,” even though some of the reporting was inaccurate. I discovered she had it, only after she passed.

I never knew Don as those in the entertainment industry did, but for me, I understand why they really do feel a loss at his passing, as Jimmy Kimmel felt when holding back tears on his show last night.

He was, truly, Mr. Warmth.