Downbound Train

 “I had a job, I had a girl, I had something going, mister, in this world.”  -Bruce Springsteen

The Covid 19 pandemic hit me hard.  It took away my livelihood, my vehicle for helping others, and my self-esteem.

I’m a standup comic, and I work at a comedy club that does a lot of fundraisers; youth sports leagues, dance troupes, Meals on Wheels, church groups, we did them all.  We put on comedy shows and raised money for worthy causes.

When you’re a standup comic and you’ve passed the age where any possibility of fame and fortune has disappeared quickly beyond the horizon, you struggle to find meaning, and a place to ply your craft that you spent years developing; you don’t just change jobs and suddenly start dishing out ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery, or convince folks that a new mattress is exactly what they need to cure what ails them, or start writing children’s books.  You find stages and you go be funny.  I was extremely lucky to be able to do that, and help people in the process.  I helped raise almost a million dollars for all sorts of groups around Western New York.  Going to work was fun for me, and I was paid to do it, and people sang my praises because of the good things I helped accomplish.

On March 16th, 2020, it all ended.  It ended abruptly, and no one knew what was going to happen next.

We canceled our shows, hoping to rebook them in a few months.  We didn’t know how long this thing was going to stretch out for, or how bad it was going to be.  I didn’t look for a job, because I was certain I’d be back to work right away.

I filed for unemployment.  I didn’t do it right away, because I didn’t know how.  I had never been unemployed before.  Work has been a huge part of my life since I was 13.  I delivered papers, pizza and flowers, I managed convenience stores and grocery stores.  I taught high school kids how to be effective broadcasters.  I worked in radio, both on the air and behind the scenes.  I worked at an amusement park, running rides, selling people on knocking down the bottles to get a prize, and whatever else they wanted me to do.  I worked on the George Carlin tour, driving around the country with merchandise in tow, and working with theater and casino owners and technicians and ushers and everything else.

And I was a standup comic.

All of those other things I refer to in the past tense; I was a grocery store manager, I was a dj, I worked as a tour manager, but I AM a comedian.  I’ve been a comedian so long, I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t.  It’s like asking a chicken if they remember what the inside of the egg looked like.

Work has always been sacred to me.  I have said a thousand times if I said it once, “An honest day’s work should come with an honest day’s pay.”  “Early is on time and on time is late.”  And “If you don’t have pride in your work, you don’t have pride in yourself.’  Work is a constant theme for me, and it eclipses almost everything else.

My heroes are Bruce Springsteen, Mario Cuomo and my father.  

Bruce has been singing about the working man for almost 50 years now; men working in factories, working on the highway, getting a union card and a wedding coat.

In his book Reason To Believe, Governor Cuomo said “...if [we are] failing to provide enough jobs for people, we are denying them one of the best ways of joining in our common value system--work!--the simple experience of holding a job, cooperating with other people, and earning one’s bread with dignity.  

And my father?  He didn’t have to say anything.  He just packed his meager cold cut sandwich in his work bag and headed off in the morning, and came home at night.  And when the heat came on when it was cold, and food was in the refrigerator, and we had clothes and shoes, we knew that whatever it was that he was doing was working.

I stayed home and kept house, because it was all I could do.  My shows were canceled, and they weren’t coming back like I thought.  I washed clothes and cooked meals, unpacked moving boxes and cleaned the new house that we had just bought (great timing), and tried to contribute.  At one point, in August of 2020, I tried to recapture a little bit of the way things were by staging comedy shows on my lawn.  It was fun, but in the end, without much of an audience and without the opportunity to do much good, it didn’t really replace what was missing in my life.  I was depressed, angry, and rudderless.

In the winter, my lovely wife Pamela referred me to a job that the Monroe County Department of Health had openings for, on their Covid-19 response team.  I was very reluctant at first, because I’ve never worked in an office, and I was sure my mouth would get me in trouble with an ill-received joke or quip, and I’d be fired and made to leave in disgrace.

My wife talked me into it, explaining that if it wasn’t a good fit, I could quit and it would be no harm, no foul.

I applied and got hired, and started working on the very first day, sending out quarantine and isolation letters.  We were sending out thousands of them, and I was working four days a week for five hours a day, gradually learning more about the Department of Health’s Covid response and what a big part I was playing.

I picked my child up from school, continued to cook dinners, and binge-watched a lot of television.  And I went to work every day except Wednesday, so I would be available to shuttle my child to doctor’s appointments.  Every so often, a performance opportunity would pop up, and I would go, even though I was very rusty.  I did my best, and in some cases had to listen to my old comedy CDs in my car to remember my act.

Eventually the pandemic slowed down, and all of the new hires left or were let go, except for me.  I continued to work, and asked around the Health Department for other opportunities, including working with Early Childhood Intervention, helping caseworkers do the paperwork for the children they were helping.  I was encouraged to take the Civil Service exam, and scored very well, even though I was certain I had done poorly.  Suddenly, I was being talked to by various people at the Health Department about full-time opportunities that I was under consideration for.  And while I have received no firm offers, it is a great feeling to have people tell me that they want me on their team, that the work I do is good work, and that they enjoy having me around.

And finally, a month ago, the comedy club I was managing reopened, and I was back on stage.  It felt like I never left, and had been away forever, all rolled up into one.

The pandemic has been a roller coaster for me.  Where I used to contribute on social media, I had purposely been radio silent since the beginning for fear of being ridiculed for getting a “day job,” which was always the sign that a comedian had thrown in the towel and quit comedy; a thing to be ashamed about.

I did two shows for Gilda’s Club, and while they weren’t in the best of circumstances with social distancing, it was good to be a part of something charitable where I could help others once again, even if I was very rusty from not having performed for a long time.

I wish I could say that I used the down time to finally write one of the books I have been planning on writing, or written a new hour of material, or gotten one of the projects I’ve been wanting to do off the ground, but I didn’t do any of those things.  Uncertainty and fear definitely stopped me from even trying, and for that I have nothing but regret.  But new challenges are on the horizon, things are getting better every day, I’m working, and I have hope.

I hope this message finds you healthy and happy, dear reader.

And as Dan Rather was fond of saying when he signed off his nightly news broadcast, I will sign off that way as well.

Courage.

Ralph Tetta

October 2021

Comedians and Depression

In honor of Dobie Maxwell, a comedy “lifer” who started the Facebook group “The Maxwell Method” as a forum where experienced and new standup comedy performers could gather and share information, I want to talk a little bit about being a comedian, depression at holiday time, and depression in general.

Dobie Maxwell at his office in Chicago, Illinois

Our field has a much larger than normal population of people with depression, and it also attracts some of the most fragile individuals.  Common themes amongst comedians (the good ones, anyway) seem to be unhappy childhood, unhappy marriage or lack of close personal relationships, financial instability, drug and/or alcohol abuse, difficulty fitting in, social clumsiness, Attention Deficit Disorder, Dyslexia, and conditions of almost any stripe that require antidepressants, counseling, or some sort of institutionalization.

This isn’t a mistake.  Comedy isn’t meant to be practiced by stable individuals with a great family, no hang-ups and a positive outlook on life.  They would probably be the most boring comedians ever.

Henry Rollins, the musician/poet/spoken word artist once told a story about this.  He framed it in these terms, and I am *extremely* paraphrasing (with heavy embellishment on my part, I promise you): imagine you are going to go to the movies, and there are a choice of two.  The first movie tells a tale about a family who packs up the station wagon with a picnic basket and the family dog, and goes to the park.  The kids play frisbee with the dog while the mom and dad clear an area under a tree of sticks and pinecones and spread out a large blanket.  The mom gets the food ready and the dad gets in on the action, tossing the frisbee around with the kids until it’s time to eat.  Soon, the mother calls everyone to lunch and they enjoy sandwiches, homemade potato salad, icy-cold lemonade from a big pitcher, and some blueberry cobbler for dessert.  The kids talk about their friends and what they want to be when they grow up, and the parents eagerly hang on every word.  After lunch, they pack up the blanket and leftovers and go for a nature walk.  They throw sticks and the dog runs to fetch them and he’s just having a grand old time.  Eventually it gets dark and they start making their way back to the car.  They get home and everyone enjoyed the day so much, they sit on the front porch enjoying one last glass of that lemonade and they look up into the night sky at the stars, and try to pick out the constellations.  Soon, it’s bedtime and the family turns in for the night, comfy and cozy in their beds and glowing in the love of their family’s time together.

In the second movie theater, there’s a movie about a guy who is single and lives in a crappy apartment in a crime-ridden part of the city.  Every morning he gets up, locks his place up tight as a drum and dodges the panhandlers and drug zombies on his way to the bus stop.  He misses the bus and it’s raining and he has to stand there for another 17 minutes for the next bus, which means he’ll be late *and* soaked when he gets to work.  He hates the job and he hates his boss, but he does what he has to do to survive, and he doesn’t have a lot of options because he’s alone in this world, with no family and very few friends.  When he gets to work, dripping wet from the rain, he gets chewed out by his boss who tells him that his attitude stinks and he doesn’t seem like he wants to be there, and he gets let go.  The guy half-heartedly begs for his job, but he knows there isn’t a chance, so he leaves.  On his way out, the whole office pretty much knows what happened because the guy didn’t sit down at his desk, and even though he didn’t clean it out of personal possessions, they are sure he’s been let go.  He doesn’t make eye contact because he doesn’t want to look any of his former co-workers in the eye, he never liked any of them and he was pretty sure they didn’t respect him anyway.  He goes home and goes into his closet and finds two handguns that he bought weeks ago without really knowing why.  He takes the guns apart, cleans and oils them, and loads them.  He puts on a big trench coat and hides the guns in his pockets and takes the bus back to his office.  He starts firing as soon as he gets through the door, wasting the receptionist who never said “hi” to him ever, the jerk with the bad breath who always cornered him at the water cooler with stories that never went anywhere, and finally that asshole boss of his, with his stupid sweater and the stupid pictures on his desk of his stupid wife and stupid kids and stupid dog at their stupid picnic in the park.

Which movie do you want to see?

The theater for the first movie is practically empty, and the theater for the second movie has a line around the block, I guarantee you.

People are voyeurs, and they want to see suffering.  They have sadness in their life, and disappointment, and rejection, the same as everyone who is human, and they want to see it from others.  This is why self-deprecating humor lands so cleanly and efficiently.  If a comic stands on stage and says “I have no luck with women” or “I did this thing that embarrassed me” or “Take my wife, please,” it strikes a chord in an audience that either says “Wow, I can totally relate to this comedian, they have the same problems as I do” or “Wow, I thought I had it bad, but this comedian is really a mess.  I’m glad I’m better off than they are.”

Comedians need to have a cynicism about life, a negative spin on the normal.  A lot of comedians are lauded as “saying the things that other people were thinking but didn’t have the guts to say.”  Those things are not usually observations on how wonderful the world is or how nice people can be.  They are usually commentaries on things that are wrong, unfair, unjust, or just plain stupid.

A while back, a study was done of a group of chimpanzees in the jungle, and the researchers found that at certain times, a small number of the chimpanzees would migrate to the outside of the group.  These chimpanzees would exhibit signs of depression and alienation, and members of the group would rotate.  The depressed chimpanzees would eventually work their way out of depression and rejoin the group, playing and gathering food, and other members of the group would take their place on the outskirts in a natural cycle.  All of the chimpanzees, at one time or another, exhibited signs of depression and would retreat.

The researchers decided to give the chimpanzees antidepressants, which they introduced to them in their food.  They left the chimpanzees for a few weeks, and then returned to observe the group.  When they arrived at the site of the chimpanzees’ habitat, they were all dead; they had all been killed by jungle cats and other predators.

The chimpanzees who were depressed and moved to the outer edges of the group were able to act as lookouts, and would warn the group when predators were coming near.  Without any disassociated members of the group, there was no one to sound the alarm that danger was near, and the group was quickly turned into tiger chow.

Comedians are said to be the people who speak truth to power, the ones who “sound the alarm,” and some do it more vigorously than others.  Some comedians comment on the news of the day or social issues or politics, and even a comedian who just talks about relationships is giving a warning in their own way.  Society needs comedians to be there, on the outskirts of the group, to point out the dangers of everyday life.

The job description of standup comedian feeds this depression; comedians are away from home for a long time, and thus have difficulty maintaining relationships, particularly romantic ones but even basic friendships.  While on the road, comedians acrete to each other, because out there in a strange city, the other comedians are all they’ve got.  People from the club have day jobs, families, and no time to hang around with comedians all day (for the most part).  So now you have lonely, depressed comedians sitting in hotel rooms or sitting on the couch of the comedy condo, and absolutely nothing to do until 8:00 showtime.  The days become filled with drugs, alcohol, gambling, porn, or any behavior that helps deaden the depressive funk of someone with little or no companionship or healthy outlet for the time.  I have seen comedians travel around with hundreds of dvds, and game systems with dozens of video games.  Every comedian carries a laptop, and spends time communicating (or arguing) on the internet, just to feel some sort of human connection.  Multiply these conditions by years or decades and you wind up with some distorted and unhealthy individuals; depressed, disassociated, angry, lonely, tired, and hopeless.

The good news is that there are signs that road comics are learning to take better care of themselves; being concerned with their health, quitting drugs and/or drinking, eating healthier, repairing old relationships and/or establishing new ones, putting time into creative projects, writing books, blogs, reaching out to an audience through social media, seeking counseling when available and taking time to enjoy life when scheduling allows.

For those of us that have yet to reorient ourselves to this more positive way of handling the job, depression continues to be an issue and the holidays can be the worst. The job description is to entertain people who are having a night out as a break from their normal routine.  The comedian is there for them to make them laugh and enjoy themselves, but who is there for the comedian?  At holiday time, the images of joyful people getting together with their families and hanging decorations, shopping for presents, eating a great meal with everyone gathered around a big table and feeling the warmth of holiday cheer can bring great pain to the comedian who will experience few of these things or sometimes none of them.  

Here’s a personal story, if I may; I was working with Dobie once upon a time in the town of Mauston, Wisconsin during the run-up to Christmas and he was driving back and forth to Milwaukee to be with family (God bless him).  I was alone in a strange (and small) town, and the closest they had to a mall was a Wal*Mart that was about 25 miles away.  I drove there on a Saturday afternoon and the sight of all the families buying things for Christmas, the displays of trees and wrapping paper, the holiday music coming out of the speakers in the ceiling and the children in particular, cut me to the quick; my wife and infant child were over 800 miles away.  I never felt so alone and forlorn in my whole life, and I ran out of the place before I burst into tears.  I cried plenty in the car, though, don’t you worry.  Dobie and I did our final show Saturday night and he bought me a steak dinner at the only place that was open, the truck stop.  He’s a saint of a man, I promise you.  There’s a tradition in the comedy business that the headliner buys the feature act a meal, and at that point, Dobie had already bought me a meal after a gig in Battle Creek, Michigan a long time ago and when I protested, he said “Pay it forward.”  Other comedians will actually save your life on the road, especially class acts like Dobie Maxwell.  I’ve purchased a few meals for my features since then, it’s important to keep the good will flowing.

Kwik Trip Travel Center, Mauston, Wisconsin

Ultimately, it is the responsibility of the road comic to put their affairs in order; find some way to sanity, whether through counseling, relationships, keeping busy, or something as simple as a hobby that keeps you entertained or makes you happy.

I have gone with counseling, and it’s been doing wonders for me.  I’ve identified that depression isn’t something that you have, like a cold, but rather something that occurs when certain behaviors happen, like avoiding unpleasant feelings, and avoiding situations that prompt these feelings.  A person who is experiencing depression is having that experience because they aren’t living their values.  No one who signed up to be a comedian ever said “I’m really looking forward to the loneliness between shows, the time in the hotel, the alcohol and drug abuse, and the separation from my family and friends.”  We are enticed by that 15 minutes or 30 minutes or hour on stage, and then after the performance is over and everyone goes home, the crash occurs. The lights are off and the comic isn’t the center of attention anymore, the good times are over, and now there is the emptiness where those things used to be.  The emptiness needs to be fed, and it’s fed by gambling, drinking, attempting to hook up, drugs, or just watching movies on cable until you pass out.

You can escape this empty tank by filling it with your personal values.  A depressed person is a person who doesn’t know how to cope with their situation, and a great way to address that is to decide what things are important to you, and focus on them.  For people who are concerned about their health, exercise is great.  It’s not always available on the road, but sometimes just a nice walk can do the trick.  If you miss your family, call them or write them a text or e-mail message.  If you have a hobby, see if there is a place locally that you can visit.  You don’t have to buy anything, you can just be around what you love and spend time in the store, whether it’s music, comic books, model trains, memorabilia or whatever.  You’ll be around people who have a similar interest and you will be able to fill up some of the time with human interaction.  And work is a healthy distraction, if you can spend time writing, whether it be new material, a novel, a letter to the editor of a newspaper, a piece of work for hire for a print or online magazine, or content of any kind (see my #jokesforsale #cheap on Twitter), it will keep you occupied and balanced and help stave off some of the feelings of sadness, alienation and insecurity.  You can work on projects, develop a podcast, or plan a tour, or put out an album’s worth of song parodies, whatever you can think of.

Marc Maron’s story is pretty well-traveled, that he helped combat feelings of depression by doing a podcast in his garage and talking to friends and other performers, and that turned out great for him.  When in doubt, reach out to other comedians.  We’re all in the same boat, and we know the pitfalls better than anyone else.  And we have a wonderful platform to reach out with, Dobie Maxwell’s group.  We don’t judge or punish, unless you’re being a dick about it.  We reward in the form of support, shared knowledge, camaraderie, and common experience.  I wish this was around 20 years ago, but it’s here now, and that’s important.  It’s like that old saying “The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago, the second best time to plant one is today.”

I wish all of you the best for this holiday season, a new start for the new year, and all of the success and happiness you can handle!

The Day I Met Jim Kelly

I started doing comedy in 1988. By the Summer of 1995, I had hung around the comedy business for seven years, and like sand in a beach bag, it was clear they were never going to get rid of me, so I was embraced.

In a spectacular case of “right time, right place,” a casting agent called the comedy club I was working at, looking for large guys to play Buffalo Bills players in the background of a Sprint Long Distance commercial. It paid $200 for a day’s worth of shooting, and I jumped at the chance. No one was paying me $200 a day for anything at that time, much less to be on camera in a TV commercial. And I lived and died by the Buffalo Bills; this poster hung on my bedroom wall forever:

I carpooled to Buffalo with Patrick Michelson from the club, and we arrived at stupid o’clock in the morning. I don’t believe the sun had even come up when we got to Rich Stadium (as it was called back then). We sat around for what seemed like forever, and then we met a lady who was responsible for corralling all of us extras. We started out with getting uniforms. It was the middle of Summer, and they had access to a bunch of uniforms and jerseys which hadn’t been issued. “We’re going to start out with the largest guys first” she announced, and miraculously, I wasn’t one of them. Some of the guys looked like they could actually be football players, and some of them looked like chicken wing eating contest champions. Regardless, I was one of the last actors to be outfitted. I was given a pair of size 29 football pants (“They stretch” I was assured, but not that much), jersey #19, and a pair of size 12 cleats (I wear a 13). I asked the lady if there wasn’t some way to put me in better fitting attire, and she assured me that I was only going to be in the background and no one would likely notice. She handed me the red Buffalo Bills helmet, swatted me on the ass and herded me out of the locker room with the rest of the guys.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been on the field at Rich Stadium, but it is an awesome sight if you’ve never seen it from that angle. I looked up and saw the cheap seats, which previous to today was the closest I had ever been to the field. And I was wearing a Buffalo Bills uniform! It was like a fantasy to me. I had been a Bills fan since 1980, and here I was, 15 years later, on that field wearing that uniform. It was amazing and humbling at the same time, I don’t know how else to describe it.

There were cameramen and assistants running all sorts of cables, setting up white reflectors to get the proper lighting, and framing shots. A large number of Bills fans were brought in to fill a section of the stadium, and they were asked to wear their winter clothing and Bills gear. It was the middle of July, and I was feeling it as the sun continued to rise. Production assistants were working hard setting up cotton blankets to look like snow pushed up against the walls of the stands, and I watched curiously as they set up huge fans that would be used during the commercial to get bits of “snow” (really little foam bits that looked like Rice Krispies) flying through the air, to mimic a winter game day in the stadium. Our handler had her own assistants, and their sole job was to keep us extras from dying in the heat by swabbing our necks with Sea Breeze astringent, which they seemed to apply ever four minutes or so.

While the directors were setting up the shots, they realized that the dozen or so of us extras were really getting in the way, so they threw us a football and sent us to the other end of the field. We headed for the end zone and started screwing around, kicking field goals, throwing and catching passes, demonstrating line blocking and just generally horsing around. Suddenly, I heard some cheering coming from the upper deck of the stands. There was a small tour group made up of mostly children being shown the field, and there we were, a bunch of extras waiting to be in a commercial, dressed up as the Buffalo Bills. The kids were cheering for us, they had no idea we weren’t the actual team, they thought we were out practicing. They probably had been told that they wouldn’t see any players that day, and yet there we were.

I huddled the guys up and told them, “Let’s make these kids’ day” and we decided to start running some plays. We worked out some pass patterns and handoffs and every time one of us would run the ball into the end zone, or catch a pass in the paint, the kids would go berserk. I threw five touchdown passes that day, and those kids were grinning ear-to-ear. To this day, I will tell you that was the highlight of the day.

We eventually got called over to the other end of the field, and were given instructions on things to do; some of us sat on the bench and looked like another actor dressed as a coach was showing us plays on a clipboard, some of us were warming up, stretching, running back and forth, and just general football player activities. We were the background, and the director tried a bunch of different things to see how they looked. Somewhere along the line, the lead actor in the commercial showed up, a balding guy who looked a little like the guy in the New York Lottery commercials, but wasn’t him. He was very talented, and between takes I would see him moving around, swinging his arms, doing different things with his body to get limber and enhance his performance.

The commercial was cute; it was called “It’s Official” and it was hawking Sprint pre-paid long distance cards, which were the most advanced telecommunications product of the day, previously peddled by actress Candice Bergen from the TV show “Murphy Brown.” The commercial went something like this; the first shot was the lead actor gesturing to the section of fans in the stands, with snow flakes blowing through the air, and his line was “This is Rich Stadium, the official ice-box of the NFL.” Next shot, the actor twirled a football on his finger. “This is an official game ball.” Next shot, he swats a referee on the butt as he makes the gesture for an incomplete pass. “This is an official official.” “But there’s only one official pre-paid long distance card for the NFL, and that’s the Sprint Long Distance card. It’s pre-paid, so in the spring, there’s no bills, and I like that.” At this point, coach Marv Levy and quarterback Jim Kelly lean into the shot, along with some of us extras and exclaim “No Bills?” and we trample the guy, the joke being phone bills/Buffalo Bills. He delivers the rest of the commercial from the ground, looking trampled, and explains where to buy the cards, restrictions, and etc.

Earlier in the shot, there was an actress in a long fur coat playing a sideline reporter, and a camera man holding a video camera, which was real but wasn’t on. In the background before the “No Bills?” line, she was to be interviewing Marv and Jim, who then overhear the line and lean in. We shot a lot of background stuff and the lead actor did most of his lines well before Marv and Jim showed up.

We broke for lunch, which was catered in. Our handler announced that crew got in line first, then talent, then extras. I figured that talent meant the lead actor and the girl in the fur coat and her camera man, but come to find out, wearing a Buffalo Bills uniform in the hot sun qualifies you as talent. I don’t remember what the food was, but it was great and there was a lot of it, and I sat with Patrick and ate and I remember him saying “I could get used to this!” and he wasn’t kidding. I was talent! In a commercial that would air nationwide! I was wearing a Bills uniform and they were paying me! It didn’t get any better than that.

After lunch, Coach Levy showed up. I swear to God with my hand held high that he talked to everyone and shook everyone’s hand, and he came up to me and said “Hello youngster!” and I was as star-struck as I’d ever been. This was the man who led my favorite team to four consecutive Super Bowl appearances and I loved him. I stammered out something about being a big fan and thanking him for everything he had done with the team and he smiled and patted my arm and moved on to the next guy to shake his hand. It was surreal. While we were waiting for Jim Kelly to arrive, one of the extra’s wives asked me if I wanted my picture taken, and I said yes, and posed next to the AFC logo, helmet off and on my right hip. I had all but forgotten about it when the envelope arrived in the mail a week later, with that picture and a background candid shot that I didn’t even know had been taken (which appears at the top of this blog).

Jim Kelly arrived a little while later, to great fanfare. It seemed as though every TV station and network affiliate was there to cover the story that he was filming a commercial in the off-season. He had just come off shoulder surgery to repair the rotator cuff in his right shoulder that had tendinitis and had been bothering him. He was standing near the faux sideline reporter and her cameraman, and one of the real-life news people tossed him a football and said “How’s the shoulder?” He held the football and looked around, and even without my glasses (I’m near-sighted), I saw his eyes fix on me and my #19 jersey. He cocked his arm back like I had seen him do in games a hundred times, and he let the ball fly. I was approximately 20 yards away.

Up close, it didn’t look like much of a throw, it looked like the kind of throw you would use to throw a tissue into a wastepaper basket after you blow your nose. But that ball came at me in a tight spiral and whistled through the air and hit me right between the numbers with a force like I’d been punched. The ball hopped a little bit, but I managed to haul it in. I held it for what felt like forever, and then Jim or someone gestured for me to throw it back. I’m still not wearing my glasses. I don’t have the strongest arm and I can’t really see my target, but I was most conscious about not hitting the actress in the fur coat or damaging any of the various expensive broadcast-quality video cameras that were all in close proximity to Jim. I tossed him a wounded duck, just enough on it to get it to him, but when that creampuff landed in his hands, he snorted and said “You oughta stay on the offensive line!” I was a little hurt, but I guess he’s used to athletes throwing him the football, and not a 29-year-old standup comic from Rochester, New York.

After the commercial was over, I drove home, $200 check in my hand and a story I’ve told for 20 years. Kelly retired after the 1996 season and went into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility. I went on to appear in commercials for a glass company and a pet supply store, and toured the country performing at comedy clubs wherever I could get booked. And that was the end of the story until last Thursday.

I’ve been working for Rob Lederman at Rob’s Comedy Playhouse in Buffalo for about eight months. He announced to me a few weeks ago that he had booked me to perform at Jim Kelly’s Christmas party at the club. I waffled about whether to tell the story on stage, but I just didn’t have a good enough punch line at the end about me being mad at him for 20 years and the comeback lines I had in my head that day that were more angry than funny. The day of the show, I grabbed my copy of his book “Jim Kelly’s Playbook for Dads,” written after the passing of his son, Hunter, threw it in my bag and headed to Buffalo.

I help Rob manage the club, and got there 30 minutes before Jim or any of his guests arrived. I decided that as a manager, I should park myself near the door and welcome everyone as they arrived. I shook hands, wished everyone a Merry Christmas, and pointed them out to the drinks and snacks. And then Jim walked into the bar. He made a little small talk with some of his guests at the bar, and then turned and headed towards the showroom. I welcomed him and he shook my hand, and almost crushed it. When they talk about “Kelly Strong,” they aren’t kidding. This is a man who just went through an ordeal with cancer, and he was a powerhouse. I was also impressed at his height, I’m a pretty tall guy and usually the biggest guy on the playground where I’m from, and Kelly looked to be about three inches taller than me.

The show went great, and afterwards, I found myself in a conversation with Jim where I got to tell him a very abbreviated story of that commercial shoot, which he barely remembered. He laughed when I told him that he threw me the ball and he asked “Did you catch it?” and I told him that I did, and he patted me on the upper arm hard enough to give me a bruise and hugged me. Then he signed my book and started herding people to the limousine for the after-party at a friend’s house. 20 years of being a little upset at an off-handed remark were washed away. I hung around the club, looking for things to do, because I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to live in the moment for as long as I could.

I’m 28+ years into this business, and I’ve met most of my heroes. My original meeting with Jim wasn’t what I wanted it to be, maybe he wasn't interested in all the attention that day about his shoulder surgery, maybe he just wanted to get the commercial done and get out of there. Everyone has their bad days. Maybe he was an impatient person at the time, and the trials of his life have changed him into the person he is now. It doesn't matter. The man I met a few days ago didn't have an ounce of ego in him, he was so into the show and the laughter and told a little story at the end about visiting Bruce DeHaven in the hospital with a couple of other players from the Super Bowl years and how important laughter was, and that he intended to do a show every year at Rob's and invited enough people to pack the room every time. I was a little upset at Jim for years, but that loose end is tied up. Jim Kelly is my hero, and if anyone says a bad word about him, they better prepare to get swung on.

Up Where We Belong

Up Where We Belong-Joe Cocker

December 22, 2014 1:05 AM

So by now, everyone has heard the news today either with sadness or God forbid, indifference, that Joe Cocker has passed away at age 70, after a long battle with lung cancer.  While never lauded as a great songwriter or instrumentalist, his fame was acquired through his strong, bluesy vocal interpretations of songs by the Beatles, John Hiatt, Dave Mason and others.

Cocker’s gravelly voice and spastic arm gyrations were lampooned by John Belushi on Saturday Night Live, and Cocker was able to touch several generations with his music, performing at Woodstock (two incarnations!), contributing a duet with Jennifer Warnes called “Up Where We Belong” to the soundtrack of the 1982 movie “An Officer And A Gentleman,” and taking “You Can Leave Your Hat On,” a Randy Newman composition, to the top of the charts as part of the “9 ½ Weeks” soundtrack in 1986.  Cocker continued his recording career into the 90’s and 2000’s, collaborating with platinum artists like Bryan Adams and Carlos Santana.

I am a comedian for precisely one reason; I am not a talented enough musician or singer to be a rock star.  I’ve always craved the stage, attention is my drug of choice and that’s why it’s so difficult to get me to leave once I’m up there.  But I will take my turn at karaoke, because I have a better tool for karaoke night than most singers who get up and try karaoke; I have a very firm understanding of my limitations.

There’s nothing worse than watching a person take their turn at karaoke and to have to listen to them suck for five minutes.  It’s even worse when they suck *and* the song they chose was terrible.  I always made sure to choose a song I knew I could pull off, and a song that the crowd would enjoy; those two aspects are crucial to your success on karaoke night.

Joe Cocker songs can be very accessible, because everyone knows them or has heard them at least once.  You want to do a Joe Cocker impression to really perform the song correctly, and in order to do a good Joe Cocker impression, you just need to tighten up your neck and pull your jaw in until your face is in a grimace, and then get those arms going.  Reach up and tug on your hair, do a low, arthritic air guitar motion with your hands, and sing with conviction.

I sing karaoke maybe once a year if I’m lucky, and when I do, I reach for some Joe.  “Unchain My Heart” is a good song to do, it’s uptempo and gets a drinking crowd moving.  I stay away from “A Little Help From My Friends” or “You Are So Beautiful;” you want the crowd to party and stay up, you don’t want anyone crying in their beer.  “You Can Leave Your Hat On” is a good, sleazy number that gets the women in the crowd going, and the background singers on the backing track do a lot of the work.  But when I know I’m only getting one shot, or I need to pull out the big guns, the closer is “Feelin’ Alright” by Dave Mason, one of Cocker’s most popular tunes.  Everyone knows it or has at least heard it once, it’s uptempo and there’s a long instrumental break in the middle which gives you the opportunity to patter with the crowd, tell them to tip the bartender (which can get a free drink scooted your way in the right place), and it’s not so long that you outstay your welcome.  That’s my go-to song for karaoke night, and it always scores.  My wife even got me tickets to see the man in the summer of 1999 at Finger Lakes.  We got good seats so I could watch him up close.  It was a magical performance, and two hours felt like 20 minutes.

Now I’m telling you all of that to tell you this story.

Early in my standup comedy career, the need for a paycheck was as serious as it was ever going to be.  When you want to pursue a standup career, you can’t take a full-time gig that expects you to be there Monday through Friday, some clubs need you there as early as Wednesday for a week of work, and most employers are not so understanding about missing days.  So I maintained part-time employment at a radio station and grabbed whatever gigs I could get.

One gig I got was working for a promotions company that was pushing Captain Morgan rum, specifically the new Parrot Bay coconut rum flavor that was brand new at the time.  The gig required me to dress up in a Captain Morgan costume and travel around with a couple of models dressed as Pirate Wenches, go bar-to-bar handing out samples, introducing the new beverage to the drinking crowds.  One of the promotional things that we would do was take pictures of guests with the girls with a Polaroid Camera, and then stick the pictures into a cardboard frame.  The customer could then peel back the cardboard frame, and if there was a Captain Morgan logo, they could come over to me and choose a prize from a big wooden treasure chest that I carried around filled with Captain Morgan t-shirts, sunglasses, boxer shorts, frisbees and can coozies.  It was big fun for everyone all around.

One bar that we worked was an outdoor bar by the lake, which was little more than a 30 seat circular bar with a huge umbrella over it, with all the patrons facing inward toward the bartender in the middle.  50 feet away, there was a small covered stage where a husband-and-wife guitar duo sang for the patrons, but no one was facing them and they were more or less background music. The Pirate Wenches and I were doing our level best to get some attention from the bar patrons to do our job, but it’s rough when everyone is facing away from you no matter which direction you try to approach them.

So I’m shaking hands and doing the pirate voice “ARRR!” and hamming it up, and the guitar duo starts singing the Crosby, Still & Nash song “Southern Cross.”  I do a quick inventory of the song lyrics, and I wait to strike.  When the duo gets to the line “I have my ship, and all her flags are a’flying” I moved into position and sang, pirate style, into the microphone “She is all that I have left….and MUSIC IS HER NAME!!!!”

The patrons at the bar go berserk.

They were giving the first real feedback of the day, and the folks on stage were smiling for the first time as far as I knew.  The folks at the bar were hooping and hollering and the two looked at each other and didn’t know what to do.  I brought them in close and said “Do you know ‘Feeling Alright?’” And when they said they did, I asked “Could I sing it with you?”

So now here are these acoustic guitar folks, strumming out the hit Dave Mason song and they have the strangest guy decked out in a sweaty pirate costume under a hot summer sun, and I lay the Joe Cocker version on the people.  I’m tugging at the pirate wig, arms flailing and I throw the hat.  One of the pirate wenches picks up the hat and now she’s dancing with some guy in a polo shirt, denim shorts and deck shoes.  And the people are going nuts.  The bartenders are handing out the coconut rum samples and when the instrumental break happens, I give the audience the whole Captain Morgan pitch, tell them about the photos, the prizes, introduce the girls, tip the bartender, give it up for the band, the whole spiel.

After the song is over, we start to cook.  I’m handing out prizes, the girls are sitting on guys’ laps and it’s a party.  The band is playing, people are dancing, and a guy comes over to me and says “Can I talk to you?” He introduces himself, and come to find out he’s the guy from the liquor company that we’re working for.  And he shakes my hand and compliments me up and down and offers me a full-time job doing what I just did.  We talked money, and the change was strange which is why I turned the offer down.  But it was nice to have been asked.

I don’t sing karaoke that much anymore, honestly it just doesn’t seem to come up like it did twenty or even ten years ago.  But when it does, I’ll grab a glass of whiskey and when it’s my turn, I’ll ask the DJ for Joe.

Let The Music Do The Talking

March 27, 2014

I spend a lot of time on facebook.  Probably too much.  It's a by-product of my job.  As I travel all over the country trying to scratch a living out of the dirt, I'm alone in the van, alone in my hotel room, and when I finally get to a venue I'll drive the person who hired me crazy by talking their ear off.  I'm alone way too much and the loneliness can get to me sometimes.  So I go on facebook a lot, because in the absence of real human contact, fake simulated human contact has to do.

I'm home after a triumphant performance at a college in Highland Hills, Ohio, where they absolutely loved me, and after a few hours of sleep, I'm up trolling facebook.  I ran across an article that my cousin shared (she's just as much a facebook junkie as I am) about 10 bands that your kids need to know.  I was interested in reading the article, because I'm a life-long music fan, have worked in radio, and consider it to be one of the areas where I'm most knowledgeable.  Also, I've been participating in a pilot program where I try to introduce music to my 10-year-old daughter Harmony that she might not otherwise hear as my wife, though charming and beautiful, doesn't have the depth of knowledge in this area that I do.

Now before all of you go jumping on me for bagging on my wife, I will defend myself by telling this one short story.  Pamela once said to me, "I know the names of all the guys in U2, but I only know Keith Richards and Mick Jagger from the Rolling Stones.  Why is that?"  And my response to her, which I believe to be correct, was "Because you don't care about the Rolling Stones."  When it's your music, the music you grew up to/fell in love with/identify with, you spend a little more time with the rock magazine article, you buy the album, read the liner notes, put the poster on your wall.  You learn the names.  When it's somebody else's music, you might be aware of it, the same way that you're aware of anything that's advertised or talked about, but you're not invested in it and you don't learn it.

I had to stumble upon the music I love, which is the heavy metal/hard rock stuff that came to prominence in the mid to late 1980's, and I'll talk to you all day about Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and Motorhead.  And while that stuff is great and I love it dearly, there's more to learn about to know what's going on in the world of music.  Everyone who plays in a band today listened to something when they were younger and were influenced by it, and if you have the least bit of curiosity, you'll want to follow the stream all the way back to the source.

The original blogger's article is here: 10 1/2 bands your kids need to know

It's a lovely list, but like any list, it doesn't go far enough.  And what is particularly irksome to me about this gentleman's article is that he just offers up a grocery list and doesn't explain why these artists made his list.

I take it back.  It's a terrible list.  It reads like an 80's pop retrospective with some sentimental favorites mixed in.  His list isn't essential at all.  It's a list of artists his kids should know, because then they would know what CD's to buy him for Father's Day.

Here's the real list of artists your kids should know, and I'll back it all up for you with logic and common sense.

1.  Beatles
2.  Rolling Stones
3.  Led Zeppelin
4.  The Who

These four British bands are the cornerstones that any rock radio station is built upon.  You can argue back and forth about whether or not your station shouldn't be playing Billy Joel and Elton John because they're too soft, or whether your station shouldn't be playing Iron Maiden and Metallica because they're too hard, but you can't argue with these titans.  The Beatles and Led Zeppelin are known for having careers cut short but going through many different sounds and phases in their time.  "Rubber Soul" doesn't sound like "The White Album" just like Led Zeppelin III doesn't sound much like "In Through The Out Door."  If your child listens to enough of either of these bands, they will find something they like, it's almost a given.

The Rolling Stones and The Who serve as perfect foils to the Beatles and the Stones.  John Lennon and Paul McCartney were the nice guys (until Bob Dylan introduced them to pot), and Mick Jagger and Keith Richards were the bad guys (who probably would have sold them pot).  Led Zeppelin were the band with the cock-swinging attitude, bordering on arrogance, and the Who, while easily able to match Zeppelin's bombast, were the introspective, self-doubting kids driven by Pete Townshend's shoe-gazing lyrics.  Put Zeppelin's "gonna give you every inch of my love" next to "nobody knows what it's like to be the bad man, to be the sad man, behind blue eyes" and you'll understand what I'm talking about.

5.  Marvin Gaye
6.  The Temptations
7.  Diana Ross and the Supremes
8.  Smokey Robinson
9.  Stevie Wonder
10.  Michael Jackson and the Jackson Five

Studying Motown is an amazing way to understand what was happening in America during the 1960's and 1970's.  It was a sound all it's own, from the girl groups to the purveyors of soul music, from the harmonies to the sheer energy of the dance tracks.  And of course, Michael Jackson blossomed into a musical force all his own, and I challenge you to find someone more influential, more important to music....unless you're talking about

11.  Elvis Presley

Well, he invented the whole darn thing, didn't he?  The hits just kept coming and coming and when he died in 1977, the nation shed tears like they hadn't shed since John, Bobby and Martin were assassinated.  He could rock ("Blue Suede Shoes," "All Shook Up"), he could bring it down and sing for the heartbroken ("Are You Lonesome Tonight?", "Love Me Tender"), and he could stir emotions like no one else ("American Trilogy," "In The Ghetto").  He was THE KING, and for a damn good reason.

12.  Frank Sinatra

Before the King, there was the Chairman of The Board.  Frank unseated Bing Crosby as the bobbysoxer's crooner of choice in post-World War II America, and become the hub of the Rat Pack, the whole Vegas scene of the 1950's and 1960's.  While you're digging into Frank Sinatra's amazing body of work, have a listen also to

13.  Dean Martin  and
14.  Sammy Davis, Jr.

15.  Bob Dylan

Bob was the core of the anti-Viet Nam war movement, and his songs have been covered thousands of times.  His discography motivated young people of conscience during the 1960's to pay attention to what their parents were doing to America and to the rest of the world.  "Blowin' In The Wind," "The Times They Are a'Changin'," "A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall" and "Masters of War" still resonate today, and Dylan's "All Along The Watchtower" helped introduce us to a hard-working blues guitarist named

16.  Jimi Hendrix

who forever changed the way guitarists would approach their instrument.  Jimi emptied the tank on every live performance, and his set at Woodstock goes down as one of the best ever.  His rendition of the National Anthem (with the quote of "Taps" in the middle), complete with dive-bombing pick screeches, muddy feedback and hypnotic wails stirred hearts and provoked anger from older generations who dismissed it as disrespectful.  No matter.  Jimi ran the gamut from top 40 radio hits like "Crosstown Traffic," "The Wind Cries Mary" and "Foxy Lady" to unrestrained rockers like "Watchtower," "Manic Depression" and "Purple Haze."  And he did it all left-handed!

17.  B.B. King
18.  Muddy Waters
19.  John Lee Hooker
20.  Robert Johnson

Well, there's more names to mention than just these ones, right?  After the avalanche of late 20th century artists who made more than a living capitalizing on the back catalog of American blues musicians, you'd be well in your right mind to listen to as much of it as you can.  Eric Clapton, Stevie Ray Vaughn, The Allman Brothers and so many more did, and it's the roots of rock music today.

21.  Eric Clapton

"Slowhand" was the centerpiece of The Yardbirds, Cream, Derek and the Dominos, The Bluesbreakers and Blind Faith.  His own solo career racked up hit after hit, and when fans declared "Eric Clapton is God," they meant it.

22.  Miles Davis
23.  John Coltrane
24.  Billie Holiday
25.  Louis Armstrong
26.  Charlie Parker
27.  Dizzie Gillespie
28.  Count Basie
29.  Charles Mingus
30.  Dave Brubeck

You'd be remiss if you didn't let your kids listen to jazz.  If you don't want to pick up some kind of instrument after listening to any of these artists, you have a tin ear or no soul.  Jazz is said to be the only true American art form, and I believe it.  The ability to improvise is crucial to jazz, and the music changes based on the mood of the performer.  It's rich, it's intricate, it's challenging, and the fact that the focus of jazz is more often on the solos than on vocals means that your mind can paint a picture of anything, and not just an interpretation of the lyrics.

31.  Johnny Cash

The Man In Black had a career that couldn't be constrained by the genre that we call Country Music.  Cash worked in that format with the "train-chugging-along" rhythm of his guitar, the dark honey baritone of his voice, and the lyrics just this side of the jailhouse bars.  "Killed a man in Reno just to watch him die?"  Pure poetry.  The mariachi sound of "Ring of Fire" (the Preparation H folks had been bidding on that song to use in a commercial for decades but Cash wouldn't budge, and now neither will his estate), the vow of faithfulness in "I Walk The Line," the happy, lilting guitar part to "Folsom Prison Blues," and the pop-ballad tribute to hangovers in "Sunday Morning Coming Down" all contribute to a musical legacy that will remain unmatched for a long, long time.

32.  Elton John

A certified hit machine, Elton John and his writing partner Bernie Taupin have six Grammies and a list of top 40 singles as long as your arm.  "Rocket Man," "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road," "Bennie and the Jets," "Someone Saved My Life Tonight," and "Your Song" are just the start of it; there's probably an Elton John song being played on a radio station, right now, somewhere.  I'd bet a rhinestone jacket and a feather boa on it.

33.  The Sex Pistols
34.  The Clash
35.  The Ramones
36.  Black Flag

I'm probably not going to let my daughter listen to some of this stuff until she's older, but Punk Rock, which always favored attitude over ability (the mirror opposite to Classical Music), was the next wave of protest music, the backlash to the disco era and the beginning of the DIY (do it yourself) era of music.  Punk Rock was three chords, spitting vocals, lyrics that found the line, jumped over it and pissed on the other side.  Songs were delivered like gunfire, strafing the enemy in short bursts and leaving nothing standing.  And speaking of music I might wait a while before I introduce my daughter to;

37.  Public Enemy
38.  Tupac Shakur
39.  Eminem
40.  Notorious B.I.G.
41.  Jay Z

This list is a blog in itself.  Chuck D. of Public Enemy once called rap music "CNN for black people," but rap and hip hop have found themselves a place in the ears of white America, too.  For every thug rap act, you can turn around and name a positive one, so I'm not even going to go down that street.  But you cannot deny that rap artists have the best lyrics (and please don't write to me with the hinky ones, I've heard them, believe me).  They tell stories from their life, they call people and institutions out with no fear, they press people to move and take action, they tell people to party a little bit, and they tell you to hold ya head up, but keep ya head down.  Misogyny and glorification of drugs and alcohol aside, I think Langston Hughes would be proud.

42.  Aerosmith
43.  Kiss
44.  Alice Cooper

You know that genre of music that includes Motley Crue, Poison, Twisted Sister, Dokken and Guns 'N Roses?  Those three artists started all of that.

45.  Deep Purple
46.  Judas Priest
47.  Black Sabbath

You know that genre of music that includes Metallica, Megadeth, Iron Maiden, Slayer and Anthrax? Those three artists stared all of that.

48.  David Bowie
49.  Madonna

Fashion is tied inexorably to popular music, and these two artists did it better than anyone.  Constantly evolving, changing looks, changing characters, changing sounds and keeping everyone on their toes, David Bowie and Madonna can boast as many imitators as they can hit singles.  It takes a genius to create a persona that everyone likes, much less half a dozen or more.

50.  Bruce Springsteen

I almost hesitate to mention The Boss because of personal bias in favor of his work, but you can't deny his work.  Bruce possesses the power of being able to tap into the emotions of the blue collar backbone of America, and even though his populist lyrics don't always paint a pretty picture, he never lies to you.  Love hurts, cars break down, times are tough and the things we put our trust in can disappoint us.  Friends die, but the show must go on, so clock in and get to work.  And if that means putting in overtime, so be it.  "The River," "Born In The USA," "Thunder Road," and a few hundred more songs that Bruce sweat over can make you cry, make you cheer, make you decide to work a little harder, love a little more, and maybe even forgive someone because they're small and weak and just as scared as you are.

I don't mind feedback.  I'm sure that my exclusion of any Classical music or my breezing over of a genre is going to create the illusion that I don't care for that music, and the simple truth is that I might just not be a fan, or have enough information about that genre to speak intelligently about it.

But I will close in saying this; if you have kids, give them the opportunity to explore the music that came before the pop music that they're listening to, encourage them to be curious, and maybe they'll discover Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground, or Rage Against The Machine, or Dion and the Belmonts, or the O'Jays, or Blondie, Pat Benatar, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, or any of the thousands of musical artists who put their work out there, and maybe they'll thank you for it.