I cried three or four times Wednesday night. Not just a tear or two. Real tears, running down my cheeks. I also laughed out loud at least half a dozen times. And for much of the evening, I felt as though I was watching my own life pass before me.

The occasion was Billy Crystal’s remarkable new one-man Broadway show, 860.

I’ve always loved Billy Crystal. His humor, his warmth, his humanity, and his willingness to take chances. I’ve loved him in movies like When Harry Met Sally and City Slickers. I saw him on Broadway a few years ago in Mr. Saturday Night. And now, at 78, here he was again, standing alone on a Broadway stage, telling the story of his life.

And what a life!

The title 860 refers to the street address of the home in Pacific Palisades, California, where Billy and his wife, Janice, lived for 46 years, raised their two daughters, and accumulated a lifetime of memories. The house was destroyed in the devastating Los Angeles wildfires of January 2025.

But this isn’t really a show about losing a house. It’s about a life. And what a wonderful, funny, touching, and occasionally heartbreaking life it has been.

What I hadn’t anticipated was how much of his life would remind me of my own.

We are about the same age. We grew up in the same America, lived through many of the same historical events, and spent significant portions of our lives on both coasts, in New York and California.

Listening to him was like opening an old family photo album, except that some of the photographs were of Muhammad Ali, Mickey Mantle, Howard Cosell, and Rob Reiner.

And the stories!

I particularly loved hearing about his early years, when he was a young husband and father, spending his days taking care of his children and his nights working the comedy clubs in New York, trying to make it as a comedian.

Trying to make it.

Those words struck a chord. I remember my own struggles in school and early in my career, trying to figure out what I wanted to do and how to get there.

We look at someone like Billy Crystal today and see an enormously successful entertainer. It’s easy to forget there was a time when none of that success was assured. He had a dream, a family, and a willingness to take chances.

Another part of the evening that touched me was his recollection of the people who helped him along the way.

Jack Rollins. Norman Lear. Carl Reiner. People who recognized his talent, encouraged him, and opened doors.

I found myself thinking about those who did the same for me.

A teacher and a coach in prep school. A professor and a coach in college. Another teacher in graduate school.

Five people who made an enormous difference in my life.

I’ve often wondered where I might have ended up without their encouragement. Listening to Crystal reminded me why I care so deeply about the work we’re doing at the Edge Foundation, trying to make that same kind of support available to young people who might not otherwise have it.

Sometimes all it takes is one person who believes in you.

Then there were the historical memories.

Muhammad Ali. The Vietnam War. Mickey Mantle. The New York Yankees. Howard Cosell.

I was a Yankee fan. I opposed the Vietnam War. I remember those years and those personalities vividly. Ali wasn’t just a boxer. He was a larger-than-life figure in an America struggling with race, war, patriotism, and social change.

Crystal brought those memories rushing back, with such humor and affection that I found myself laughing while simultaneously reliving decades of my own life.

I went to the show with my daughter Kelsey, which made the evening even more special. Looking around the theater, I noticed that most of the audience seemed to be older, probably for good reason. Many of us had lived through the history Billy was recounting.

Kelsey hadn’t. She wasn’t even born when some of these events took place, and was too young to remember others. Yet we both loved the show. Different generations, different memories, but the same wonderful experience.

And spending an evening at the theater with my daughter was pretty special all by itself.

One of my favorite moments came when Crystal talked about When Harry Met Sally.

Remember that unforgettable restaurant scene in which Meg Ryan fakes an orgasm, and a woman at a nearby table tells the waiter, “I’ll have what she’s having”?

Crystal explained how that scene developed and how he came up with the famous punchline, which wasn’t part of the original plan.

What fascinated me was the role of chance and improvisation in creating one of the funniest moments in movie history.

It made me think about my own life.

So many things weren’t in the script. Jobs I never anticipated. Opportunities that appeared unexpectedly. People I met by chance who changed the direction of my life.

How much of what we become is the result of careful planning, and how much is simply luck, chance, and recognizing an opportunity when it appears?

Perhaps the secret isn’t having a perfect script. Perhaps it’s being willing to improvise.

And then came the most emotional part of the evening.

The fire.

Crystal described losing the home where he and Janice had lived for nearly half a century. The photographs, awards, memorabilia, his extraordinary office, and so many physical reminders of his career and family life.

Gone.

Imagine losing virtually everything that physically documents your life.

One detail particularly stayed with me. The special goldfish in the small pond outside the house survived the fire. Somehow, amid all that destruction, these little creatures were still alive.

And there was a garden stone bearing a single word: “Laughter.”

What wonderful symbols of the difference between loss and survival.

Billy lost his house, his treasured office, his photographs, awards, and memorabilia. But he didn’t lose his humor, his love for his family, or his extraordinary ability to tell stories.

And perhaps most remarkably, he didn’t lose his willingness to share those stories, even the painful ones, with the rest of us.

Here he was, at 78, standing alone on a Broadway stage, making us laugh, making us cry, and reminding us of what really matters in life.