How does a girl from Saskatchewan become a comedian? Some folks throw questions at you like this and you wonder if they really want to find an answer – or perhaps the judgement is in the question? You know those questions – like if you’re pregnant and huge and total strangers ask “when are you due”. They’re not sending you flowers – they’re just WOWED at how HUGE you are according to their judgy-judgy pregnancy/size calendar in their minds.
But what if you really wanted to know how someone could go from a farm a ¼ mile from Dodsland, SK. to a comedian? Well, to be honest, finding comedy in Saskatchewan, apart from the obvious dog running away for 3 days joke, was hard at times. Growing up there were Ukrainian jokes, Helen Keller jokes, Jesus jokes and Bob Hope. More slim pickings for chuckles also included glimpses of the jokes in the Readers Digest and Wall and Den, a morning radio team out of Saskatoon. One day over cereal we heard them saying that “out in Dodsland there’s a man named Weldon Bacon….you know, Well-done Bacon.” See? This is what we had to work with.
You had to look and listen hard for the good stuff. Once in a friend’s rumpus room in BC, we heard Steve Martin’s Wild and Crazy Guy. An epiphany. Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of Laugh Inn or a Dean Martin Roast. I’d try Red Button’s bits… “I did ALL the dishes and dusted and NEVER got a dinner”. My parents would stare blankly and shake their heads. Anarchy! I need more comedy!
One fateful year, my folks had tickets to see Bill Cosby at the Jubilee in Saskatoon. Mom got the flu and last minute I got to go with my dad and our neighbours. A four hour round trip from the farm to see a man sit on a stool with his cigar and his mind and our imaginations and weave words for hour after hour. I thought my dad would fall off his chair or quite possibly the balcony. My cheeks hurt and my mind was racing. For months after, we relived the words, the images – repeating them to anyone who’d listen. I couldn’t get over how much of it we remembered – and the connection each of us in the audience felt to him and his stories.
Small town folk know the excitement of something happening – we used to pray folks would get married so we would have SOMETHING to do! And if there is a wedding dance, not only is there something to do – we’re all doing something together. A comedy show is like a wedding dance (except there’s no open bar). Stay with me - we all agree to go on the ride together - anticipating, breathing and sensing something’s about to happen – we buckle up and hear what we hear – see what we see - and at the end of the time – we leave. And more often than not we leave with more than when we went in with – connections and opinions and funny stories to tell. One thing is certain, regardless of what we take home from the show, that adventure we shared is never ever going to be the same for anyone else. That comedian and the audience combined with the words and intentions of that time together will never exist in the exact same combination. That is what makes doing comedy both dangerous and full of possibility. And exactly why comedy terrifies some and why comedy is a compelling, undeniable calling for others…like me. Long story, not so short.
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