Dynomite!: Good Times, Bad Times, Our Times--A Memoir (30 page)

“I want to.”

Customers came over and told me I should not feel I needed to pay for them. The clerk didn’t know what to do. I saw the manager and called him to us.

“I’m demanding to pay for what they stole,” I said. I gave him maybe $120, money I really did not want to spend for CDs I did not buy.

But what those kids did made us look bad. They made all black people look like what white racists expect us all to look like. I felt guilty for them. I needed to do something that said, “We are not all like that.”

There have been many times when I have been walking down a street at night, with a white woman by herself either in front of me or behind me, and I have crossed the street to the other side. Why? Because I saw that she was nervous—if not scared—of a black man. She had every right to feel that way. Our reputation precedes us.

I went to a tough high school. When the referee would shoot off a gun to start a track meet, the track team would shoot back.

There is an old joke about two guys arguing and one says, “Don’t you know who I am?!” The other guy says, “Well, if you don’t know who you are then I can’t help you.” I know who I am. There isn’t a black man in America who has not been profiled, followed, or wrongly accused by police, myself included. That is a fact of being black.

According to the Census Bureau, one out of every four black men in America is in jail. I take no chances. When I get in a car, I make sure I have no more than two other black guys with me.

In 1997 I was in Kansas City promoting my upcoming shows at Stanford & Sons comedy club. Along with another black comic, I went to a TV station at around 5:30 in the morning for an interview. It was winter, so we wore hoodies and big coats. We were buzzed into the building and made our way through the hallways by ourselves.

“Hey boys, what are you doing here?” We turned around and saw a white guy, presumably a security guard.

“Get out of here!” he shouted. He looked like he was going to take off to get help.

“We’re on the show,” I told him.

He walked up closer and recognized me. “Oh, Jimmie Walker! Sorry, come on in.”

This sort of thing happens all the time to black people. I know that if I go into a department store, a security guard will probably watch me, maybe follow me. I’m used to it. I understand it. We are paying for the sins of our fathers and brothers. There have been times when I have gone to a clerk at one of those stores to show my credit cards and identification so they could go on with their other business.

But this time was different. The contrast between his first reaction and when he saw that it was me was so strong that I needed to speak up about how blacks who are not “stars” are sometimes treated. During the TV interview, when the host asked what I thought of the racial climate in Kansas City, I said I had always liked KC but that there was prejudice everywhere, even at Channel 4. Then I described what happened.

The incident made the front pages of the local papers. The NAACP called. The
Hard Copy
entertainment news show called. For two days I felt like Jesse Jackson.

The belief among whites that black men are dangerous is based on the perception and truth that lots of blacks commit lots of crimes. Because of that belief, white people cross the street when they see a group of black men coming toward them, and those of us who are law-abiding citizens are under constant scrutiny.

Crime is bad all over. Guy trying to steal my tires got run over by the guy trying to steal my car.

The root of the problem is not white perception but rather crime by blacks, the majority of which is black on black. We need to make ourselves better people, our community a better community. We need to respect ourselves and others, create a society in which education is a priority, and strive to be and do the best we can in the short time we have on this blue planet. I did not agree with much of what the Panthers said back when I was opening their rallies, but I do agree with this: We have to improve ourselves, because nobody else is going to do it for us. We need to be the solution, not the victim.

Jesse Jackson was crying at the inauguration of Barack Obama because he realized his days of being able to blame whitey for everything were over. With Obama’s election, America officially entered an era of Colorless Politics. The list of major black government leaders grows every year—Deval Patrick, governor of Massachusetts; Harold Ford, former Congressman from Tennessee; Adrian Fenty, former mayor of Washington, DC; Cory Booker, mayor of Newark, New Jersey; Keith Ellison, Congressman from Minnesota; Kevin Johnson, mayor of Sacramento, and on and on. Whereas in the past, being black meant you could
not
get elected, this new generation is just black enough
to
get elected. They are not leaders of the black community; they are blacks who are leaders. That is progress.

I have a PhD in Whitenology. . . . I understand how to handle y’all now. See those two white folks chained up outside? They belong to me!
(Jimmie Walker, 1975)

A black president, people! New rules: All white people report to the cotton fields for reorientation!
(Jimmie Walker, 2009)

I don’t mind being a black sheep among black people. If you express your opinion and everyone likes you, you are probably not saying anything.

10

The Late-Night War

“CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR FRIEND LENO,” LEAR SAID. “I KNOW how hard you fought for him in his career. This must make you very proud.”

It took all I had to not scream out in pain. I thanked him, hung up the phone, and lay down on my bed close to tears. A few minutes later Paul Abeyta, who had been the talent coordinator for the
Merv Griffin Show
called.

“Congratulations, you son of a bitch! Your boy got in there! Wow, the
Tonight Show
. Man, after going to the mat for him all those years, this must be a great day for you.”

It was 1992, and Jay Leno had been announced as the permanent host of the
Tonight Show
, replacing Johnny Carson.

Performing on the
Tonight Show
was the ultimate breakthrough for a stand-up comedian. And if after your shot Johnny gave you the “okay” sign with his fingers, that was the seal of approval for your entire career. Even better, if he then waved you over to sit on the guest couch, like he did with Freddie Prinze, you had gone to comedy heaven.

Though I was on the
Tonight Show
many times, I was never on with Johnny as the host. Carson liked certain comedians and comedy styles or attitudes and not others. For instance, he was not a fan of Boosler, who was on with him once and then was relegated to appearing only with guest hosts. Steve Martin was on with Johnny at first, but after a bad shot he was banished to guest host nights for awhile before returning. Johnny was middle America, and his taste in humor reflected that. Comedians who were too edgy, too strange, too controversial were not among his favorites. He was not a fan of Jimmie Walker. I was always on the B-list, which was used when a guest host—such as Brenner or Joan Rivers early on and then Letterman and Leno later—subbed for him.

Carson was not a fan of Leno either. Back then, Leno, with his long hair and sarcastic East Coast vibe, had some peculiar bits. He was what some called a rock ’n’ roll comic. Johnny was not a fan of rock ’n’ roll either. Leno did his first couple shots with Johnny, but they did not go well. Johnny preferred fellow midwesterner Letterman. So Dave became a guest host after only three appearances as a stand-up. Letterman, who greatly admired and respected Leno, had to fight for Leno to return as a performer, even asking Carson personally for the favor. But after four shots, ending with an appearance with a guest host, Leno was gone—for eight years. He has since said he was just not ready. The fact is that he was one of the best stand-ups around and he bombed, and when he could not get on the
Tonight Show
again, he was seriously pissed off.

Leno had remained with the management company now in the hands of Jerry and Helen Kushnick. Though Dave left, the two comics stayed friends. When Letterman scored his
Late Night
talk show on NBC in 1982, he booked Leno almost immediately. He had Leno perform about once a month, doing his Elvis impersonation or his “What’s My Beef?” bit. Those appearances raised his stock considerably by keeping him in front of America on a regular basis. Without those shots Jay would never have survived long enough to later win the
Tonight Show
.

At the time Carson was hosting the
Tonight Show
four nights a week, with a guest host taking over the duties on Mondays. After rotating guest hosts for years, the show named Joan Rivers as the permanent guest host in 1983. But when she landed her own show on FOX in direct competition with the
Tonight Show
, an angry Carson fired her and she never appeared with him again. In 1987 NBC cut deals for Leno and Garry Shandling to rotate the Monday hosting chores. But when Shandling’s self-named cable comedy series began to consume more of his time, Leno was left as the exclusive guest host.

Soon after, Arsenio Hall took over FOX’s late-night slot from Rivers. His syndicated
Arsenio Hall Show
debuted in 1989. The first black late-night talk-show host, Arsenio brought a different flavor to TV. He was urban and hip. But perhaps the most obvious cultural difference between him and Carson involved the music acts that would perform on their shows. Carson preferred big-band greats such as Buddy Rich, Joe Williams, Pete Fountain, and Tony Bennett. Arsenio would bring on cutting-edge stars such as Madonna, Prince, and Rick James as well as fresh contemporary country artists like Garth Brooks. Boosted by Arsenio’s “cool music” factor, his ratings rose, nearly challenging Carson’s. But no one dared tell Johnny that his musical tastes were dated. Only when Leno guest hosted on Mondays could NBC book the new generation of music artists for the show.

Suddenly the
Tonight Show
was drawing a younger, if not larger, audience on Mondays than on nights with Carson behind the desk. Advertisers, affiliates, and the network noticed. Leno, who at one point was likely to forever be a road comic, was now a player.

The saying goes that life is easy, comedy is hard. When it comes to having a life in comedy, sometimes that is near impossible. That was why the comics who started out together in New York would try to help each other when any of us enjoyed some success. We knew how difficult it was to survive and succeed. So we shared our good fortune when we had the chance. That was why what Leno then did to Steve Crantz was unforgivable.

After the homesick Crantz had returned to Pittsburgh, we didn’t talk much for the next couple years. He lived near his parents and took a job as a pharmaceutical salesman and even as a photographer for the Allegheny County police department’s crime lab. But he was still writing jokes, still telling jokes. Whenever we did talk on the phone, he obviously still wanted to be a comedy writer.

Some ten years after he left we both agreed he should take another shot at Hollywood. Again, I paid his way to LA and got him an apartment and a car. He immediately fell into the rhythm of our work just like when he was first in LA. He was incredibly fast and sharp. When I needed to work on an upcoming shot for a late-night show, Mister Geno and I would go over my jokes in the days before the appearance. Then, maybe an hour and a half before the shot, Crantz and I would get together. If something had just hit the news, he would have a joke about it within minutes.

I was about to go on Letterman’s show in February 1988 just after sports commentator Jimmy the Greek was canned for his comments about black athletes. Crantz came up with the joke I used when I sat in the chair next to Dave’s desk:

A lot of people are very upset with Jimmy the Greek. It didn’t bother me. I didn’t care. But the network wants to get rid of Jimmy the Greek because of all this. So they want to hire a black odds-maker .  . . they’re hiring Zeke the Zimbabwean.

The line killed. From that moment on I called Crantz “the Greek.”

But not everything was the same as it was the first time he was in LA. I could no longer afford a staff and employed the Greek only as a freelancer. He needed to sell jokes elsewhere too and had me reach out to the guys from the old staff to see about getting him work. Everyone else in that original writers’ group was doing very well; nearly everyone was on the writing staff of a show. The Greek, who had not stuck it out in Hollywood with them, was now in his midthirties and coming back as the new guy in town. He expected them to say, “Hey, Steve, where ya’ been? Great to see you.” But they barely remembered him. He was a sensitive guy, and that hurt. He did submit jokes for Leno’s Monday monologue though. Jay paid fifty bucks for every joke that made it on the air.

The Greek suffered some brutal disappointments. When he thought a big break was within reach—staff gigs for
The Second Half
, a sitcom starring John Mendoza, or
Live from the Laugh Factory
for impresario Jamie Masada, who loved the Greek—for some quirky reason it would disappear.

Jerry Kushnick, who was also a fan of the Greek, eventually asked Leno to put him on staff. Crantz had certainly helped bail out Leno a decade earlier when Helen and I were trying to nail down Leno’s first TV special in 1979 for Showtime. It had been a battle to get that project going. Showtime was backing away. But I kept pushing.

“Why are you fighting for Leno?” Helen asked me. “Save your own ass. Do what you want. Forget about Leno!”

“He’s my friend!”

When Showtime gave the go-ahead at the last minute, I put Crantz and Wayne Kline, Wayne Wayne the Joke Train, on the job right away writing the material. We needed comedy writers who were good and fast, and they were the best at that combination. Steve and Wayne pulled the special together in a week.