Getting People to Laugh

Stephen and I used to make ad-lib recordings on cassette tape. That we were using cassette tape should give you an indication of just how long ago that was. But we had fun.

As comedy teams went we probably weren't the best, but we enjoyed ourselves. I was the straight man. Stephen was the comic. Not that I never had anything funny to say, but generally I let Stephen run with the skits and I would simply react to him. It wasn't always easy to keep up with his train of thought, for there were many tracks in Stephen's mind, and he switched from track to track with ease.

Half the time I don't think Stephen knew what he was saying until it had left his mouth. He didn't think too far ahead, which is why his films, for the most part, were dismal failures. The exception was when he let his guest star take control of the story.

Often we would crack each other up because neither had a clue what the other would be saying. There were no rehearsals. Everything was spontaneous. One of my favorite skits began thus:

Stephen set the tape recorder to record and then began knocking on his chair. Taking my cue, I made a door opening sound and put on my wheezy old man voice. Stephen used his baby-talk old man voice. (Can't describe it other than that. You'd have to hear it.)

ME: Good evening. May I help you?

STEPHEN: (very slowly) I'm looking for a man - who only has - two eyes. (faster) But it doesn't look like he has two eyes because he's wearing a patch over one eye. But he doesn't need the patch because he really has two eyes. Have you seen him?

No. But then it's difficult for me to see because I have this patch over my eye.

Stephen could be very funny. Sometimes he could also be annoying. But he was annoying in a funny sort of way. He had a fascination with certain words. One of those words was hemorrhoids.

STEPHEN: I'm sorry, Challie, but I can't go - bowling - with you on Sa.Tur.Day.Night.

ME: Whaaat's da matter?

(First two words high with expectation.Third word with great letdown.) It's these - hemorrhoids. They're so embarrassing. The other day I went to pick up my ball and - well - it was horrible.

Hemorrhoids! Is that all? Why not try Doc.Tor.Scholl's.Hem.Roid.Al.Suppositories?

Oh, but they're all the same.

Not Doctor Scholl's! They're made with a special blend.

But they all taste so horrible.

I had to explain what suppositories were.

Later, we did another skit.

I'm sorry, Challie, but I can't go to the show tonight.

Whaaat's da matter?

I gotta brush my teeth. My breath. It's so bad.

I see what you mean. Why don't you try Doc.Tor.Scholl's.Breath.Suppositories?

After our suppository skits Stephen would often walk around with his back arched and shoulders back, as though in great discomfort, and exclaim loudly, "It's these - hemorrhoids." Finally, his mother asked him if he really did have hemorrhoids.

Although extremely close to his mother, Stephen took no greater joy than driving her insane. (Unless it was driving me insane.) When I was invited to have supper with them the first time he began the meal with the comment, "Bevie, this isn't a race." That was followed up with his pretending to hit his head on the table. His head would go down and his hand would come up, rapping the table's underside. His mother was never quite sure he wasn't really hitting his head and would get all upset about it.

There were few things Stephen treated seriously. Art and basketball were probably the only two things I can think of. Everything and everyone else was fair game for his sense of humor. Like me, Stephen often showed his love through his sarcasm. As my sister, Judayl, once told Gloria, a friend who broke down and cried under the constant onslaught of Judayl's, Helvie's, and my humor, "We never tease people we like. Wait a minute! No. That's wrong. We only tease people we like."