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Saturday, March 24, 2018

THE MARCH FOR OUR LIVES

I am currently watching the thousands upon thousands of people that have gathered in Washington, D.C., and I am at times in tears just listening to these young people testify so eloquently. I remembered this chapter in my writings, my memoirs, and I think today it should be published:

OUTSTANDING COURAGE AND DEDICATION

In an earlier chapter, I remarked that I found most comedians that I worked with over the years to be rather shallow, insecure and self centered . However there are some comedians that will always stand out in my mind as real people, One such man was a young Black comedian from Chicago, Illinois, that I worked with on another of Ken’s Comedy Productions Midwest tours. In addition to having a great sense of humor and a pleasant comedic style, he was a pleasure to be around, not the kind that only used me as a sounding board for new jokes written.

I cannot recall clearly in which city we were performing when, less than an hour before
he was to go on ahead of me, he was called out of the green room to a waiting
telephone call. When he returned, it was written on his face that he had just received
bad news. He told me that the call was from his mother. His younger brother was just
shot and killed on the streets of Chicago. We both sat, staring into one another’s face,
unable to even speak. I began to consider exactly what he was trying to fully
comprehend and how anyone in that circumstance would react. I found my voice and
said: “Listen. There is no way I, nor anyone associated with the club expects you to
go on stage tonight. I will go out and start the show by explaining that you have
taken ill. I have been working clubs for years and have well over two hours of material I
can use to fill both our time.” He continued to look into my eyes and after a pause said,
“No. I will do my time. I want to do my time, and Larry, I want you to know that I am
dedicating my performance to my brother.” With that, he got to his feet, paced the open area of the green room, rubbing his hands together, deep in thought and concentration.

The appointed time arrived. I went out on stage and introduced him as I had all week,
then went back around to the front entrance to watch his performance. I slipped just
inside the door of the darkened room and watched him work his audience as he had
done all week only tonight he was somehow even better, more inspired, smiling, joking
with audience members, taking everything they had to offer and multiplying it times
ten in the giving back. By the time I heard him begin his closer, and headed quickly back around to be ready myself, I realized that he, indeed, was going to be a hard act to follow. I cannot tell you how very proud of him I was for what he did that night. I can tell you that he showed all of his love and courage for his lost brother that night, as well as his own.



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