I'm Dying Up Here: Heartbreak and High Times in Stand-Up Comedy's Golden Era by William Knoedelseder (25 page)

Dreesen was impressed at how quickly the CFC had coalesced from a ragtag band of malcontent clowns into a focused and effective band of malcontent clowns. It made sense when he thought about it. They were, after all, college-educated, highly intelligent products of 1960s social activism. While he was unloading trucks on the Chicago docks, they were demonstrating against the war in Vietnam, marching for civil rights, and protesting the prolifera-tion of male chauvinist piggishness. The women seemed particularly passionate about the principle involved, more offended by the unfairness of the system. As a result, they were more willing than their male counterparts to show up, make the calls, and perform the drudgery of organizing.

On Thursday, March 15, the
Los Angeles Times
published the first major media story about the dispute between Mitzi Shore and her comics. Headlined “Comedy Store Picket Threat,” the article cast the controversy as a classic clash of labor and management with national implications:

A dissident group of stand-up comedians calling themselves Comedians for Compensation (CFC) threatened to throw a picket line around the Comedy Store Tuesday unless management granted a pay hike, from nothing to something.

“We are serving notice to clubs across the country that we will no longer work for free to make them rich,” said comedian Tom Dreesen, a CFC spokesman.

According to Dreesen, a CFC “steering committee” has agreed tentatively to accept Shore’s compromise offer, but the matter will be taken before the “general membership” Monday for a deciding vote.

1586483173 text_rev.qxd:Layout 1 5/19/09 1:55 PM Page 164

164

William Knoedelseder

Although the comics strike had been averted temporarily, and the CFC was claiming “total victory,” the dispute appeared far from over.

Despite the fact that there had been no real threat to picket or strike, the
Times
article presented the CFC as a credible organization with “elected representatives,” a “steering committee,” and a

“general membership.” It went on to note that the CFC represented “less than a quarter of the comic workforce in Los Angeles”

and reported that some of the lesser known were rallying around Shore. “We should strike the headliners,” the newspaper quoted one unidentified comic as saying. “They have a lot of nerve saying they represent me.” The quoted comic was described as “one who doesn’t think he should be paid for his performances.”

The article concluded by stating that the dispute “could have far-reaching effect,” which it backed up with quotes from Dreesen and Paul Mooney. “It’s not just the Comedy Store,” Mooney said.

“It’s this whole atmosphere of working for free around the country.

Showcasing is catching on because it’s good for club owners. We just felt it had to end.” Dreesen added, “We don’t want to form a union, but the CFC is asking comedians in other cities to join us by doing in their cities what we are doing in LA.”

In sum, the
Times
article created the perception that the CFC

was a force to be reckoned with. In Hollywood, of course, perception
is
reality, as evidenced by the telegram Dreesen received that evening:

Dear Tom,

So glad you’ve arrived. Have cue cards man who does great picket signs.

Congratulations, and go get ’em.

It was from Bob Hope.

1586483173 text_rev.qxd:Layout 1 5/19/09 1:55 PM Page 165

Choosing Up Sides

All weekend the shows went on as usual. Audiences at the Comedy Stores and the Improv didn’t notice any difference, but the molecules of the comedy world had been moved around.

In the parking lot at Sunset and the bar at Melrose, the conversation among comics went beyond the usual themes of getting jobs and getting laid. Wherever they gathered in clumps, you could hear the same words rise above the murmur: “Headliners . . .

picket line . . . strike . . . vote . . . CFC.”

Everyone had gotten a call and everyone had an opinion. Jay Leno was still confident that Mitzi Shore would come around and everything would be fine. Elayne Boosler was ready to storm the Bastille. David Letterman thought the idea of comics walking a picket line was silly, but he’d support whatever Tom Dreesen and George Miller chose to do. Johnny Dark was horrified at the thought of having to choose between Mitzi and his best friends—

Dreesen, Letterman, Miller, and Boosler.

“Sure, I want to get paid, Tommy,” he said to Dreesen. “But you gotta remember that when Johnny and Susie Dark came out here, we had nothing. I was selling oven ware. And Mitzi believed in me and put me on and validated my act. Everything that ever 165

1586483173 text_rev.qxd:Layout 1 5/19/09 1:55 PM Page 166

166

William Knoedelseder

happened for me happened at the Comedy Store. You’re looking at a guy who owes her.”

“I know, Johnny,” Dreesen replied. “We all owe her to one degree or another. But if you’re ever going to get paid, you’ve got to be strong and stand with us on this.”

Emotionally, Steve Lubetkin was in the same boat as Dark. He worshipped Mitzi. She had been his champion when he first arrived in town, made him part of her family, and invited him to her house for dinner. Now, after the disappointments of
Dante Shocko
and Lubetkin & Evans, she was giving him good spots again. He’d been working at Westwood three or four nights a week, including New Year’s Eve. He had recently played the La Jolla club for the first time, earning $250 for eleven performances over five nights.

In addition, he’d recently earned $175 for eleven performances at the Laff Stop in Newport Beach. So that came to $425 in a single month, which was a pretty big deal to him, given that he’d earned less than $1,000 in the previous twelve months. Maybe, at long last, something was going to break for him. He’d seen it happen before. Guys he knew had gone from where he was right now to stardom in the span of a few weeks. He was excited by the reawakened promise—and frightened, too. If the break came next week, would he be ready? He sat down and wrote a long letter home: Dear Dad and Barry,

I am sending one copy of this to each of you. It is important.

One of the worst offshoots of the
Dante Shocko
affair was that it gave both of you a negative experience in the area of investing in my word (predictions), my comedy and my assurances.

What the whole thing came down to is I was right.
Dante
Shocko
was funny and made people laugh. But I was wrong. In an industry controlled by a few big distributors, the only things that interest them are films that look like big, big moneymakers, with big stars and often big special effects.

1586483173 text_rev.qxd:Layout 1 5/19/09 1:55 PM Page 167

I’m Dying Up Here

167

My crazy little low-budget film might have made money in New York in the 1960s and early 1970s, but it just wasn’t to be, especially now, with millions of dollars in Hollywood hype to compete with.

Anyway, as I’ve told you both, the only way I can see the film making money is if I get hot as a performer. And that is starting to happen. I’m getting great spots at the Comedy Store on a regular basis while experienced friends of mine call in and get a lone spot every two weeks. It becomes quite evident that I’m hot and getting hotter.

But it’s still no easy road. I’m still in trouble economically. Yes, I can barely take care of food and rent, but I’m so close to making it that it kills me to think of the vital things I can’t afford.

Including:

1. At least two good suits (one casual, one a little more formal) for auditions, meeting people, important gigs and TV: Right now my best outfit for stage is Richard Lewis’s hand-me-down jeans (frayed at the bottom) and a slightly wrinkled (and out-of-date) jeans jacket. Sometimes it’s downright embarrassing.

2. Boots: My boots are cracking, the heels are run down and they are best described as embarrassing. I need new boots.

3. My other shoes are a pair of run-down sneakers that are peeling. I need new sneakers.

4. I need at least another pair of regular shoes for stage.

5. A few pairs of jeans: Most of mine are too tight, have a faded crotch or just look crummy (remember, it’s not like 20

hippies looking at me at Folk City. It’s 150 hip people at the Comedy Store and 80 rich, hip people at the Laff Stop, looking me over thoroughly). I really need to look better on stage.

6. Shirts: I keep wearing the few good ones I have over and over. It’s ridiculous. I need three or four new ones. Critical!

1586483173 text_rev.qxd:Layout 1 5/19/09 1:55 PM Page 168

168

William Knoedelseder

7. Pictures taken and printed: I’m the only comic who doesn’t have an 8 × 10 (without a moustache, the way I look now). I need money to get them taken and printed. At the Laff Stop, everyone had a picture on the outside billboard. For me, they had a yellow piece of paper with my name written across it.

In this highly competitive business, image is very important.

Any sign of being a poor, unsuccessful loser can actually undo the good my comedy talent creates. It’s very frustrating.

8. Have my two front teeth filed down: A quick simple procedure that will take away an unprofessional jaggedness when I smile. (Has to be done before pictures.) 9. Acting lessons: Between Richard Lewis getting his own pilot and a trend toward hiring stand-ups in sitcoms (mainly because we can hype their shows when we do Carson, Griffin, Dinah and Douglas, which helps their ratings). Because of this I will soon be going to read for acting jobs. Only one problem. I haven’t had the slightest bit of training. I have no doubt that the verbal adeptness and stage presence that have made me a good comic will be useful as far as becoming a competent actor.

But I still need actual acting work and I need it now. Susan is in Victor French’s acting class (he’s the star of the ABC series
Carter Country
and one of the best teachers in Hollywood).

Susan could actually get me into class. It’s $50 a month (four Saturdays) but more than worth it.

10. Haircuts: I have to be able to look neat in this image-conscious town. I can’t ever go to something looking sloppy

’cause I couldn’t afford a haircut. Finally I’ve got my foot in the door and I hate to have it slammed shut because of stupid things.

11. Dining: Although I never do, and would never eat dinner out for pleasure on borrowed money, it’s important to be able to afford an emergency meal if it’s “good for business.” Even late-night snacks at Canter’s sometimes create deeper friendships and new “ins” to do other gigs.

1586483173 text_rev.qxd:Layout 1 5/19/09 1:55 PM Page 169

I’m Dying Up Here

169

12. Singing lessons: I do some singing (half-joking) in my act. But I’ve been told I don’t have a bad voice. I’m sure singing lessons could help and possibly bring out a real and useful talent.

13. Car insurance: To prevent a big liability disaster that can cripple me for life. (I also need AAA for emergencies.) 14. Car repairs: Not many, but I have to be prepared for the occasional new tire or other little screw-up.

15. Improvisation classes: Without any training I’m one of the best natural improvisers around. If I had some training I could do improvs on stage and just boost my worth even more.

16. Money to legally change my name when appropriate.

17. Tape record cassettes, food, rent, vital expenses for these next critical months.

Now, if you are saying, “Why doesn’t he get a job?” Well, here’s why: I have a job. Stand-up comedy. It’s a job important enough for 780 people (three shows) to stand in line in the cold out at Newport Beach and pay $9 to see me. Two other comics and me is what beautiful rich people are fighting for tickets to see.

He didn’t say anything about the pay dispute or the CFC. He’d been trying not to think about all that, as if to acknowledge it would give it life. A strike at the Store was about the worst thing he could imagine. Despite his loyalty to Mitzi, he could never cross a picket line. He was predisposed by heredity to support the masses against the Man. But where would he perform if the Store were cordoned off by picketers? He couldn’t play the Improv at will like Lewis and Leno. He wasn’t on Budd Friedman’s A list (or B or C list, for that matter). TV talent scouts didn’t drive down to the Laff Stop in Newport Beach to check out acts. And even if they did, stage time would be at such a premium in a strike that the Laff Stop’s owner, Michael Callie, could pick and choose among the headliners whose TV appearances drew customers. If 1586483173 text_rev.qxd:Layout 1 5/19/09 1:55 PM Page 170

170

William Knoedelseder

the comics struck the Store, it would stop his recent career progress in its tracks and mark the return of Bad Luck Lubetkin.

He put the letter to his father and brother in a drawer.

Richard Lewis was working on a network TV pilot he had landed in the wake of
Diary of a Young Comic.
Called
The 416th
, it was a sitcom about a dysfunctional National Guard unit, sort of a countercultural remake of the old
Sgt. Bilko
series. The day job had prevented him from attending any of the comics’ meetings, but he’d heard all about the issues during after-hours gatherings at Canter’s.

The truth was, Lewis was ambivalent about the labor dispute.

“Of course the comedians deserve payment for making the club owners so successful for so many years,” he said. “There’s no legitimate rationale for them not paying. Without us, they’d have an empty shell with cockroaches. There’s no movie without a script, and there is no comedy club without comics.”

At the same time, he thought that Lubetkin and a lot of other comics gave the club owners too much power by focusing on them. “I’m not working for Mitzi or Budd,” he said. “I’m working for me and the audience. I’m using their clubs for my purposes.”

He wasn’t sure that a picket line or a boycott would accomplish anything constructive. “I don’t want their $5 or $10 or $15,” he said. “I want their stage. I don’t want that price tag put on my set. I’m better than that. Yes, it’s humiliating to work for nothing. But is it any less humiliating to work for
almost
nothing?