A Life of Laughter, Loyalty, and Lasting Impact
David Steinberg was more than just a manager; he was a force of nature. For 48 years, he was my confidant, friend, and an integral part of my life. His personality was as vibrant as his humor, and his presence was unforgettable. He never wore socks, which was just one of the many quirks that made him unique. If an obituary writer were to capture his essence, it would be impossible to fully encapsulate the man who shaped so many lives.
Born in 1943 in Milwaukee, David’s journey began with a strong academic background and a natural flair for humor. He quickly found his way into public relations, where he represented some of the biggest names in entertainment, including Peter Sellers and Sammy Davis Jr. When I started working on Soap in 1977, I hired him for my publicity, and soon after, he joined the team of top comedy managers—Jack Rollins, Charlie Joffe, Buddy Morra, and Larry Brezner. This move marked the beginning of a long and successful partnership that would span decades.
David had a sharp wit and an unmatched ability to think on his feet. One of the most memorable moments came when I began playing around with an imitation of Fernando Lamas. I would call David in his office, pretending to be Lamas, and we’d have conversations about Esther Williams and others in show business. That led to the famous catchphrase “You look Mahvelous,” which became a staple during my time on Saturday Night Live in 1984-85.
His role extended far beyond managing careers. He was a protector, a collaborator, and a source of constant laughter. He traveled with me on tours, took notes, and often wrote jokes without being asked. He was there through every high and low, even when he’d eat the food in our dressing rooms before we arrived or clear the table before we were done.
In 1989, David accompanied me on a historic trip to Moscow for HBO’s Midnight Train to Moscow. The experience was filled with challenges, from dealing with the KGB to negotiating with Russian officials who didn’t always keep their promises. One moment stands out: while shooting a night scene in front of the Kremlin, the lights we had paid for mysteriously went off. David approached a mysterious figure and managed to get them turned back on by offering $500 and a cassette boom box.
He also helped bring a food truck from England to supply us with quality meals during the Chernobyl crisis, ensuring we had safe food to eat. In Russia, he cooked spaghetti sauce and pasta for the crew, surprising them with flavors they had never encountered before.
David wasn’t just a manager—he was a storyteller, a traveler, and a loyal companion. He joined Robin Williams on trips to Afghanistan and Iraq to entertain troops, despite the dangers involved. He was always ready to engage with soldiers, sharing stories and laughter.
His contributions extended to the Oscars, where he helped assemble writing teams for my hosting appearances. He worked alongside Bruce Vilanch, Robert Wuhl, and Jon Macks, ensuring that the shows were filled with sharp, timely humor. One memorable moment came in 1992 when Jack Palance performed one-armed pushups, leading to an impromptu set of jokes that earned an Emmy.
David’s career was defined by his ability to adapt and stay ahead of the industry. While modern management firms have specialized divisions for different areas, David remained a one-man band, learning new skills throughout his career. He never mastered his cell phone, but that didn’t stop him from being a trailblazer.
His relationships with artists like Bette Midler, Whoopi Goldberg, and many others highlighted his impact. Midler once said, “I adored him. He was wry, cynical, and hilarious, yet pretty much a gentleman.” Her words echoed the sentiment of many who knew him.
Beyond his professional achievements, David was a devoted family man. His wife, Brynn Thayer, was a strong and humorous partner, and his son Mason followed in his footsteps as a comedy writer. His grandchild, Owen, was the center of his world.
David passed away after a long battle with cancer on August 16, 2025. As I reflect on his life, I find it hard to believe he’s gone. To those who knew him, the loss feels immeasurable.
As the great writer John O'Hara once said about George Gershwin, “I don't have to believe it if I don't want to.” And so, I choose not to believe that David is truly gone.
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