Growing Up Laughing: My Story and the Story of Funny by Marlo Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

Robin Williams could fuel his own personal power plant. Ever alert, lightning-quick and practically possessed by an enormous cast of characters and voices, the man can’t help but be funny. And we can’t help but be drawn to him and his obvious joy in entertaining us. I worked with Robin on one of my TV specials, and he spent as much time cracking up the crew as he did performing on camera. I have gotten to know Robin over the years, so I’ve had the chance to discover the warm heart at the center of all this hilarious chaos. I was excited to sit down with him to find out how he grew up laughing, and early in our conversation, I asked him if he had a favorite joke. As you’ll see, he had many. But he started by talking about where all the laughter began . . .
    —M.T.
    R obin: The first laugh is always the one that gets you hooked. And it’s usually from a mother or a father. For me, it was my mother. I was always trying to make her laugh.
    My mother was the funny one. My father had a good sense of humor, but it was dry. Both of my parents grew up in the Depression, but they came at life in different ways. Hers was extreme optimism; his was extreme realism.
    My mother was outrageous funny—the only woman who ever rendered Joan Rivers speechless. Mom was once standing next to Carol Channing—who had a frozen smile that looked like Dr. Caligari’s—and cracked, “Whatever you do, Carol, never get plastic surgery.” Mom would say anything.
    I used to love making my mother laugh. She was the comic influence in my life. My dad was more concerned with the acting thing. He had this great advice for me: “You want to be an actor? Then you should have a backup profession. Like welding.”
    Mom would also recite these sly verses. Not the “old man from Nantucket” kind, but stuff like “I love you in blue, I love you in red, but most of all . . . I love you in blue.”
    She wasn’t afraid of the physical stuff, either. She had this bit where she’d pull a rubber band out of her nose. She also wasn’t averse to taking the occasional fashion risk. She’d put on hot pants and a Harpo wig if the mood was right. The cowboy hat and evening gown was not out of her repertoire, either. She had this leopard muff—literally made from a real leopard—and a hat made from the same fur. At least, I think it was the same animal. I’m hoping they didn’t get the whole family. One time she wanted to wear these furs to a zoo benefit. I said, “Jeez, Mom, that’s like wearing a Gestapo uniform to a B’nai B’rith event. It’s gonna be a hard night, you know?”
    So, yes, if you grew up with that, pretty much anything is possible.
    Quick joke. How do you get an eighty-year-old woman to say “fuck”? Yell “Bingo!” before her.
    I was born in Chicago, went to a private high school in Detroit, and lived in California for a while. My father was in the automobile industry, so we moved around a lot. Some comics grew up in tough neighborhoods, but not me. Where I grew up, people had their lawyers beat up someone else’s lawyer. And the neighborhood kids had imaginary agents.
    But I started noticing comedians very early on. Jonathan Winters was my favorite. He could even make my father laugh. As a boy, I realized, “Wow, that’s a tough gig.”
    And I’ve always admired a fast mind. I remember hearing this great story about Elaine May. She was walking across the campus at the University of Chicago, and the wind was blowing her hair straight up into a big mess. This guy walks by and says, “Hey, Elaine, where’s your broomstick?” And she says, “Why, do you need something to shove up your ass?”
    Quick joke. Two old Jews are sent to kill Hitler. They’re sitting in an alleyway with grenades, rifles and bombs, and they’re all ready. Hitler’s supposed to walk by at two o’clock—but at two, he doesn’t arrive. Two-fifteen, no Hitler. Two-thirty, no Hitler. Three o’clock, no Hitler. Finally, one Jew turns to the