Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Never Alone


This a story I wrote up for my church's April newsletter;

Never Alone
by Richard Lett
People are more than a little surprised to find out that I have attended church regularly my whole life, and presently sit on the board at Central Presbyterian Church in Vancouver, because I am Richard Lett, one of Canada’s most controversial and edgy stand up comedians. With CD’s entitled “am I being insensitive?” and “At Least There’s Drinking” it’s easy to understand why fans and colleagues would see this in conflict with following the teachings of Christ, or even a belief in God.

“Why do you go to church?” they ask incredulously. I usually joke and say that being in my forties, it’s a pleasure to go anywhere where people say to me, “It’s so nice to see young people here!”

I believe most people have been in, and felt the presence of, God. My faith is not based on wondering if God might exist, for I know he does. My faith wanes when I lose belief in myself, not God.

This story begins, as many of them do with me, with no money, trying to achieve something impossible.

It was my first trip as a stand up comedian to New York City. I was determined to get my New York City debut show. I had performed stand-up comedy in every pub, club or life-threatening situation across Canada, but had never performed in the birthplace of stand-up, and the Holy Mecca for all its practitioners. I finished my shows in Montreal, and took the bus across the border to New York City and see what I could find.

Despite popular opinion, “New Yorkers” are not mean or aloof. I found them to be some of the most engaging and helpful people I have ever met. The reality is that MOST people in Manhattan have been there about 12 hours. If you have been in NYC for a week, you are a wily veteran, giving directions and advice to all the hapless newbies.

I stood in Times Square, on probably the most famous intersection in the world, neon signs bigger than my hometown, June’s morning sun reflecting off infinite towering glass. I was alone and so I took a photo of myself, proving to everyone, and myself, that I had made it there.

I bought a Variety magazine, and found the comedy section. There are more full time comedy clubs in Manhattan then in all of Canada. I bought a phone card, stationed myself at a phone booth outside Trump Towers and started cold calling.
The policy in general at comedy clubs in New York City is that early in the week, you can get on the stage, if you bring friends and family willing to pay the cover and a two drinks minimum. They are called “Bringers” and they are not the most flattering way to achieve stage time, but that’s the way it was. The higher status of the club, the more people you had to bring.

Of all the clubs I got through to on the phone, StandUpNewYork was the most famous. Everybody from Jackie Mason to Jerry Seinfeld plays it. Jodie, the woman who handles the booking of StandUpNewYork tells me that I can do a set the following Tuesday, if I bring ten people. I know the Greek friend I was staying with in Queens, an old girlfriend had promised, and the guy I was talking to on the bus coming in, said he’d bring a bunch! I thought if they could bring just one person each…

“How about six?”

Jody pauses on the phone and says, ”Okay, six. But remember, if your people don’t show up. Not only will you NOT get on, but we won’t LIKE you very much.”

I thank her emphatically. I start hunting down my three friends. It’s Thursday. Lots of time.

Thursday - before Memorial Day weekend… Memorial day, it turns out, is a war memorial and according to homeland insecurity a good time for terrorists to attack, and so Manhattan was armed to the teeth under orange alert. Not surprisingly this made me feel LESS safe. I suspect guarding the subway is an entry-level position in the military, because the five-foot nothing 18 yr old girl with the M-16 and a baggy uniform in the subway station at 5Th Avenue, appeared to be bigger threat than Al Queda. I phoned my daughter, she was eight then. I said “We’re under Orange Alert!” She said, “that sounds pretty!”

Something else I didn’t know; New Yorkers take their long weekends VERY SERIOUSLY. They all leave. As hard is it is to believe, Manhattan is empty of all other people for three days.

Finally Tuesday comes around and the city is back up and running. My friends had assured me that after the weekend they would make it out to see my New York Debut, but now they talk of being exhausted and needing to stay in tonight. It becomes clear to me by about noon, that none of my people would be showing. “Darling, no one goes out the day after a long weekend.” A sense of doom follows me as I wander around Hell’s Kitchen and sit in Memorial Park. This park was to remember the fireman of 911, not war.
I sat on my regular bench on 5th Avenue, eating one of the doughy pretzels New York vendors are famous for. I noticed a crew in front of the Trump Tower putting up scaffolding and hanging lights. A guy walks over to me with a handful of purple flyers and says, “Free concert today with Jewel.” I squinted at him, “JEWEL Jewel?” “Yeah” he laughed, “JEWEL Jewel” I was a big fan of this beautiful Alaskan poet and songstress! My daughter had often teased me that I was in love with Jewel, and frankly, it was hard to deny.

“When?” “Right away.” “Where?” “Right here.” “Why?”

She’s launching her new CD on Good Morning America. I look up to see a huge CBS sign being hoisted up onstage.

“Cool” is all I can muster.

This scion of beauty and song took me away from my worries, and I listened for the first time, to songs that I had heard many times since, each time returning me to my bench on Fifth Avenue.

When she finishes and leaves, my troubles return. I try talking to tourists to tell them about my show, but with no free tickets or even a flyer, the effort quickly proves futile. It’s mid afternoon, and still several hours until my scheduled show, but I can think of no way to get six people there. I give up and slump against my bench. I checked my subway map, and the only thing between me and Stand Up New York, was Central Park. According to my map, StandUpNewYork is on w57th. What lies between me and the club, as the crow flies, is the most famous park in the world. Central Park. I decide to take a walk in the Park.
I had always thought of Central Park in a bad light, a place to get mugged or worse. What I didn’t know is that in late spring, Central Park is the most glorious, most beautiful place in the world. Endless paths of moss and green, lakes upon lakes upon lakes, and boulders cropping up, an eternal connection to the earth. The most compelling thing that you notice almost immediately is the peace and quiet. Situated in the middle the busiest, noisiest city of 14 million people, somehow the Park absorbs it, and only the breeze in the leaves and a distant clipclop of a horse carriage can be heard. I strolled past ball diamonds, Woody Allen sets, paddle wheelers and pretzel stands, finding myself a part of it.
As I walked, an irony struck me. “How strange,” I thought (or said, I can’t be sure) “to be in such a beautiful place and have no one to share it with, to be here alone. And then in a voice as clear as mine (and less raspy) I heard three words which have kept me going through even the harshest of circumstances. He said, “You’re not alone.”

I smiled. “Right. Of course, how could I forget that?”

I found a boulder and I climbed up, took off my boots, and socks, rubbed me feet, and prayed. Prayed as hard as I ever had. I said, “Lord, don’t worry about the show. If this is it, if this is where my little jokes have gotten me, to be in this beautiful place with you, then I’m good.”

I sat at Strawberry Fields and tried to Imagine what John Lennon had.

Then I took out my notebook and looked at my set. Jody said I had seven minutes, so I went over the jokes. If by some miracle I did get onstage, won’t matter if I bombed.



I walked through the park, found StandUpNewYork in time to watch the end of the show before mine. Posted on the marquee was a photocopy with a list of names. Mine was third. The headliner’s a guy in western gear named Dustin. “I’m from Texas. Which means I was born in a trailer and I’ve seen a UFO.”I talked to him after the show. I ask him what happens if your people don’t show up. He said, “Why, are they late?” I said “No, I think they’re in Vancouver.” “Oh, well, tell ‘em there late and maybe they’ll let you on anyway…” Right then Jody walks up. “Richard, where are your people? It’s quarter to, they’re s’posed to be here by now.” “I think they’re late.” “Well can you call them?” I said, “sure”.I stepped outside with my dead cell phone to my ear, pretending to call, pacing and looking at my watch.

Out of the dark bounds two beautiful blonde girls. “Oh here it is!” one of them squeals. I said, “Are you here to see the comedy?” “Yes” they spout in unison, jumping up and down excitedly. I said ”Are you here to see anyone one in particular?” “No, we’re just here to see comedy.” I don’t know if, in the history of New York comedy and it’s “bringer shows”, this idea has ever been used before but I swear I just acted on impulse. I said, “Are you sure you’re not here to see …” I pointed to my name on the sign,” Richard Lett?”.The girls looked a me, and bit hard. They’re eyes sparkled with stars. “Are you Richard Lett?”. I smiled. “Yes, yes. We’re here to see Richard Lett!!!” And older man follows up. The father of the two, obvious by his tired but enthusiastic smile, standsd behind them on the street. I said to him, “Would you mind telling them at the box office, that you’re here to see me.” He said “Sure, as soon as the rest of our people get here…” A cab pulls up, and three guys jump out. Jody walks out and I grin. She says, “I knew your peeps would show”. Nobody bothered to ask how this family from Biloxi, Mississippi knew this comedian from Vancouver,BC but being the Tuesday night after a long weekend, they represented a full third of the audience, and that’s all that mattered. I was sitting at the bar going over my notes in my book when Ellen Cleghorn came in. Very recognizable from her years on Saturday Night Live, she had dropped in to do a set, and so a few comics got bumped. Not me though, I had my people out there. As Ellen’s getting ready to go on she looks over at me with my book and beams a smile and points at my book. “It’s all funny. I can tell.” Wow! While Ellen is on Carolyn Rhea shows up. If the backstage wasn’t buzzing before, it is now. Jody walks around telling some other comics the bad news, and then she walks up to me. “Carolyn’s talk show got cancelled so Carolyn’s probably gonna do about half an hour, then you’re on for seven.” As planned, my material is well thought out and smooth on delivery. The audience hits for me right away, and my family from Biloxi are thrilled. My two angels sit front and center, their peels of laughter emanating as the room filled up. At exactly 7 minutes I close with my talking car bit, and my first New York audience erupt with their ovation. As I’m crossing the floor I can see a crowd of comics gathering by the booth. I find out what the hubbub is. A kid I grabs my arm, “Chris Rock is here.” And sure enough he is. Before I can think about my own set, one the world’s best comics, and a personal hero of mine, follows me to the stage and does an hour.

The Buloxi family could care less about Chris Rock. They loved me. Waving over at me, giving me the thumbs up. I even have to gesture for them to return their attention to the stage. After the show, I stood surrounded by my newly acquired fan club(Biloxi chapter), Chris walked by. I said, “Good set Chris.” He said, “thanks, you too.” The girls scoffed. “You were the best!” As Dad bought my CD with a crisp American twenty, I explained to the girls that Chris had been working on new material, and I was doing my “A” stuff, but it didn’t matter to them. That day, wasn’t about Chris Rock for them. For them that day was about Richard Lett. A memorial day to be sure.

As I rode the subways back to Queens, I was left with one of those unwipeable grins on my face, as I considered the events of my day. The path from Jewel to sharing the stage with Chris Rock, from a prayer on a rock, to my New York city debut, to credibility and purpose. And His kind and knowing hand it all of it. His Presence not just in beautiful parks and churches, but late shows at comedy clubs too.

And that’s why, if you attend a Presbyterian church anywhere in North America, you might see me some Sunday, looking like I don’t quite belong. A road comic – on his own. But never, ever, alone.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

my blog fans


had to post this, cause my readers keep me going. thanks


Anonymous said...
I feel like I'm on that road with you. Your journey is like an epic novel. I read your blog every chance I get. Please update it more often, you are starting to get cult following.
6:44 AM
Anonymous said...
cULt fOlLoWiNg Ye$dick... U R THE MAN
6:59 AM
Anonymous said...
I'll join the gangway to do dude!!! more updates pleasejohn from kits
5:02 PM
Anonymous said...
How can you be the asshole of comedy when people love you so much?