THAT TIME I TURNED DOWN A KEVIN NEALON NATIONAL TOUR
By Steven Alan Green
Comedian Steven Alan Green tells one of many tales of being in the belly of the comedy beast known as The Comedy Store.
It was the early part of the 19 ate-ease for me and ¼ the way through my ten year tenure at The Comedy Store. The Comedy Store was my university and I learned from the finest professors of comedy. Learned by watching from the back like an anonymous William Burroughs invisible super spy. Watching the flowing genius of Jim Carrey, thinking what could I shoplift and get away with it. Watching Richard Pryor scare the living daylights out of the audience with his sheer psychological self-exposure and literally thinking, how could I “fake” some of his street cred. Watching Robin Williams, the Ali Baba of joke premise, thinking, after all, what is stealing? Ultimately I broke in, but everything I wanted to steal was glued down. Instead, I let my mind absorb, sort through, and organize in descending order of importance. Maybe when I’m back in my basement comedy laboratory, I would work out how the incredible comedy theories of my comedy heroes really worked and then, possibly, glean some of its brilliance and see, like an old WWII British military Sgt. Pepper jacket with big gold epaulets found in a charity shop off Westboure Park Road (Notting Hill, London), see if it fits and looks right; or do I indeed look like a right American wanker.
I made my way to the stage and was immediately hit with the remnants of a really bad heckler party when most of the witty ones already went home.
I was frustrated. Even though the outside comics envied me for being a Comedy Store Paid Regular, that last word, Regular, was a bit of a canard. There was no regular about it. Not after two months in, me and my date and future girlfriend, were manhandled by Richard Pryor’s bodyguards and how I was literally tossed out the back of the club like so much cat litter. (Another story, another chapter.) Not being actually regular gives a comic a real sense of instability and in a sense, doom, particularly that was the label they sowed onto your skin. The honeymoon was over and Mitzi was no longer giving me 14 spots a week, literally as many as the very top tier of comics. My current state of affairs was calling in each Monday hoping I’d get a spot. The only way I could rest assured I was getting somewhat regular spots was to set up a showcase. Meaning, I would meet some agent or booker and set up a showcase, whereby, Mitzi would schedule me in a real good prime spot, such as 9:30 in the Original Room, but I could only go on if the agent or booker showed up and checked in. Reports would go up to Mitzi the next morning I assume and there must’ve been a condo load of comics faking the showcase. From the period of 1980–1988 (approximately), The Comedy Store stage had literally become the single most valued piece of carpeted real estate this side of Beverly Hills.
So. One time after a very long night of Robin Williams coming in for an hour, and a bunch of “potluckers” running the light, and whoever the emcee was that night, just bloating out the show with unnecessary new “material”, I was ready just to go home. Why stay? The packed house had left in Robin Williams’ limo and the 20 or 30 left were kinda talk amongst yourselves, let me know if you need me, I’m the comedian on stage now. I just thought fuck it. I got in my car and drove back to my ramshackle. And, just as I was to pull into the 1920’s built way too small for modern cars underground parking lot, I realized it would bother me all night and just keep me up, so I put the car in reverse and backed back out onto Franklyn and headed back to the Store. Because it was approaching 2:00am, there were spaces in the club lot. I ran back in, just as they were introducing my name. I made my way to the stage and was immediately hit with the remnants of a really bad heckler party when most of the witty ones already went home. I don’t exactly know how, other than pure exhilaration, but my first swing was a crackin’ home run. Followed up with a double-play and a magnificent bases loaded slide into home. I got off stage to rousing applause. Sweating like the monkey I was, I walked into the kitchen for an after show bevvy. Guy comes up to me. “You were great! Would you like to go on tour with me?” I knew who he was. He was that comic that does this weird thing where he sits at an easel and draws his punchlines. Or something like that. Meh. I don’t know if I thought I would blow his audiences away, making it impossible for his little comedy arts and crafts skit to follow, resulting in me being fired. (That’s happened several times. I was fired for being better than the headliner.). Or maybe I just didn’t think the magic he saw that night could be repeated and it would be dishonest of me to accept the offer. I turned it down. And, thanked him of course.
Kevin Nealon was the comic.
