That's Funny

By Laura Koss-Feder

"Senior citizens. People say they don't know how to drive. You think it's so easy to maneuver a car on the sidewalk?"

--Jack Rothman, 78, Los Angeles

Like many retirees, Jack Rothman, a former professor of public affairs at UCLA, devotes himself to a favorite activity in his senior years. But Rothman's is not one of the customary retirement pastimes--not golf or travel or genealogy or a reading club. No, Rothman's pursuit is a lot more laughs than those, but it's also more difficult and, to some, much scarier. It's stand-up comedy.

Rothman's performing instincts blossomed when his three children gave him a gift certificate for stand-up-comedy classes on his 75th birthday. In May, after taking part in contests and open-mike nights, Rothman and two acquaintances formed a trio called Baby Boomers Plus. So far, they have played three shows before community and social-service groups like the American Red Cross. They charge $300 to appear, and each of the three does a few minutes of jokes based on his or her life experiences. Says Rothman: "I just love doing this, and I feel like we're giving back to the community in our own way."

Rothman may be offbeat in his choice of avocation, but he is not alone. A growing number of seniors across the nation are taking the plunge into stand-up comedy. They are attending comedy workshops, performing in the open-mike circuits in their regions and even getting paying gigs at clubs, conventions and nonprofit organizations. Managers, club owners and comedy instructors estimate that the phenomenon has grown 25% to 50% in the past five years.

What's behind it? A turbulent world that needs some making fun of, the inspiration of new comic venues like cable TV's Comedy Central Network, the increased time that seniors have in their lives to explore passions and hobbies, and a sense of not caring what others think and of doing their own thing that characterizes the baby-boomer mind-set.

"Comedy is tragedy plus time. These funny people have a lifetime of things to say and are enough distance away from any pain to talk about it," says Judy Carter, a Los Angeles comic, comedy teacher and author of Comedy Bible: From Stand-Up to Sitcom--The Comedy Writer's Ultimate "How To" Guide.

Among those who have taken to the stage is self-employed life coach Cary Bayer, 52. He performs in the guise of the 4,000-year-old Wise Guy Swami, who offers the audience proverbs and jokes in an Indian accent ("Give a man a fish, feed him for a day. Teach him to fish, give him a lifetime of body odor"). Bayer, who wrote sketch comedy years ago and studied meditation with an Indian guru, found in his late 40s that he could crack up people at parties with his swami witticisms. He took a chance on open-mike nights near his two homes, in Woodstock, N.Y., and Hillsboro Beach, Fla., and now he performs once a month at clubs and private parties for $100 to $200 a gig. "This gives me a sense of exhilaration, to be able to make a roomful of people laugh," says Bayer. "And it's good for you. Look how long comedians like George Burns lived."

Barbara Sehr, 57, a technical writer from Seattle, enrolled in her first comedy class in January, then joined a local group of 45 female comics called the Ha Ha Sisterhood. Political humor is what draws her to two to four open-mike nights a week and one paid appearance a month. "It's hard being a woman in this world today," goes one of her routines. "Even the president of Harvard says women are just not equipped to do mathematics. Can you believe that? A recent poll says 30% of women believe Mr. Summers is all wrong. The other 80% of us are glad that Mr. Summers lives in Massachusetts and can marry a man!"

Parlaying one-liners into a paying gig requires time and patience. That is particularly true for older performers, who despite the upsurge in their numbers may encounter age discrimination in comedy clubs, where twentysomethings and thirtysomethings predominate. Comedy teacher and author Carter advises hopefuls to take part regularly in open-mike nights in smaller, suburban venues as a way to become known to club managers.

Another route to work that pays is through local churches, synagogues, nonprofits and community and civic groups, which may be looking for some humor to liven up a function or a meeting. They are more likely to be open to a baby-boomer comedian--as long as expletives are deleted and mentions of sexual anatomy are kept to a minimum.

Comedy classes--at clubs, community centers and university continuing-education programs--can sometimes lead to a breakthrough. Carter offers a weekly four-hour workshop that meets for eight sessions and costs $485. Commencement consists of a five-minute gig onstage at the Hollywood Improv in front of a real audience. Half of Carter's students are 50 and older. Jeff Justice, a comedian and teacher in Atlanta, charges $349 for a six-session course that meets three hours a week. His students graduate with a four-minute spot at the Punchline Comedy Club in Atlanta.

Even with training, it takes lots of writing and even more rewriting to refine a comedy act, Carter cautions. To come up with five minutes' worth of really funny jokes, you should start with 20 to 30 minutes' worth of material. "You also need a clever line or some kind of shtick that's just yours," Carter adds. "Think Roseanne's domestic goddess."

A would-be domestic goddess is Charlotte Drennen, 54, a housewife from Cartersville, Ga., who occasionally commands as much as $1,500 for her once- or twice-a-month performances at nonprofits, conventions and clubs. "Hillary Rodham Clinton said it takes a village to raise a child," Drennen tells her audiences. "I just didn't know that I would have to marry all of them."

And then there are those who get into performing without really intending to. Tom Richards, 67, is a retired newspaper reporter and columnist in Appleton, Wis. Five years ago, he was writing an article on what it's like to be a stand-up comedian, and the local Skyline Comedy Cafe allowed him a few minutes of stage time. "I got some laughs, to my amazement, despite my nerves," Richards says. "I became addicted." Sample gag: "I told my wife that I wanted to let my hair grow into a ponytail. She said, 'If you do that, I'll divorce you.' I didn't know it was that easy." He currently does about two gigs a month at the Skyline and other clubs in Wisconsin and Michigan.

Richards has discovered the lure that since time immemorial has drawn comedians, young and old, to the spotlight. "I get to say whatever the hell I want, as long as it gets laughs," he says. "It's also cathartic for me, since I can get things off my chest and deal with the craziness in our world through humor."