What's So Funny?: My Hilarious Life Read online

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  Contents

  Foreword

  Preface

  Introduction

  My Beginnings

  Growing Up and Liking It

  Chagrin Falls

  School Days: Part Deux

  A Little Higher Learning

  You’re in the Army Now

  Let the Laughs Begin

  Be It Ever So Humbling (and It Was)

  The Importance of Being Ernest Anderson

  Hi Ho Steverino

  Married with Children

  The Family Guy

  Back to Business

  The Importance of Being Ernest Borgnine

  A Salute to Garry Moore

  All Roads Lead to Carol

  Heaven

  Harvey

  The End of the Affair

  Old Friend, New Beginning

  They’re Off and Running!

  A Little Friend-Dropping

  Golf

  The Birth of Dorf

  Trodding the Boards

  Epilogue

  Fooled You!

  Acknowledgments

  Photographs

  About Tim Conway and Jane Scovell

  I want to, well, what I really want to do is kiss my wife and thank her for all the years of happiness she has brought into my life. She’s what makes it fun to write a book. With Charlene around I could fill our library shelves with ease.

  Foreword

  Let me start off with: I absolutely adore Tim Conway. Maybe there are other performers as funny, but in my opinion, I can’t think of anybody funnier. Tim is a true original, with a comedic mind so brilliant that it’s downright scary. His sketches with Harvey Korman deserve a spot in whatever cultural time capsule we’re setting aside for future generations.

  I first became aware of Tim in the early 1960s when he was a guest one week on The Garry Moore Show, where I was a regular performer. We didn’t get to know each other very well at that time because he did a solo performance and appeared in a sketch that I wasn’t in that week. He was also quite shy. However, when he did his routine, he killed the audience (and all the rest of us on the show!).

  Our paths didn’t cross until a few years later when I had my own variety show and we booked Tim as a guest. People assume he was a regular on the show from the get-go. Not so. He was a regular guest one or two times a month until the ninth year, when (Duh! How stupid were we?), we finally asked him to be on every week.

  We would tape two shows on Friday in front of two different audiences. In the early show, Tim would perform a sketch exactly the way we rehearsed it all week. Then when we did the second show, he would pull out all the stops, improvising and coming up with hysterical bits of business none of us had seen before. Many times a four-minute sketch would stretch to ten minutes or more due to the bits he added, plus the added laughter from our audience. The second show was always the one that went on the air, because what Tim came up with was . . . pure gold. Sometimes we were accused of breaking up on purpose. Not true. We all tried our best to keep straight faces, but when Tim got on a roll that was all but impossible.

  However, let me emphasize, he never tried to hog the spotlight. He would only improvise when it was suited to the character he was playing.

  Tim is as wildly inventive in real life as he is on the screen. You never know what’s going to happen when he gets going. In the fall of 1973, our show was chosen to be the first television show to open the newly completed Sydney Opera House. We put together the necessary personnel, crew, and performers and flew off to Sydney where we all stayed at the same hotel. During rehearsal time, we got together in the evenings and visited the restaurants around town. After a few days our group began to shrink as people split off, which often happens when you’re working on location. Caution is thrown to the wind, and mini and major love affairs start popping up. Naturally, the various couples thought their rendezvous were big secrets. Wishful thinking. At the time, I was married to the show’s producer/director, Joe Hamilton. We felt funny about the state of affairs, but these were adults and it was none of our business. Put it this way, we were a long way from home and people were assuming that what happened Down Under would stay Down Under.

  A few nights before the show, Joe and I made a dinner date with Tim, who was traveling alone. He suggested that we pick him up at his suite. At the appointed time we went to get him. Joe knocked on the door, and Tim called out, “Come on in.” The door was unlocked and we entered the living room. Tim was nowhere to be seen. “In here. C’mon in,” he called from the bedroom. Joe and I walked over to the open door and looked into the dimly lit room. There was Tim, bare-chested, lying in the bed, with the covers pulled up to his waist. He was smoking a cigarette with his arm around a realistic, full-size toy sheep whose head was peeking out from underneath the comforter.

  “Hi guys. Be right with you,” he said, waving to us. Tim leaned over, kissed his bed partner on her polyester, wooly brow, and said sweetly, “Don’t wait up, Barbara. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Turning to us with a big wink, he said, “I know you’ll keep this to yourselves.”

  Since the show went off the air, we have remained close. His wife, Charlene (“Sharkey”), who is one of my dearest friends (she was an assistant on The Garry Moore Show), is the perfect companion, supportive and . . . funny in her own right. They are devoted to one another. Sometimes when we all go out to dinner together, we laugh so much that I’ve made myself learn how to do the Heimlich maneuver, just in case.

  I’ve talked about his comedic genius. People often ask, “What’s Tim Conway really like?” Did I mention that he sews? He’s a tailor! Not only can he whip up a new suit for himself, he can upholster furniture! He also builds furniture! I wouldn’t be surprised if he could erect a suspension bridge with his bare hands.

  More importantly, he’s as nice as he is funny. I’ve never heard him say a bad thing about anybody. He’s loyal to his friends, and he never fails to stick his neck out for those he loves.

  In reading his story (both hilarious and thought-provoking) you’ll gain a great deal of insight into the events that fashioned him into the kind and funny genius he turned out to be.

  Did I mention that I adore him?

  —Carol Burnett

  Preface

  I’ve written books with a number of celebrities; each experience was special, and yet I never enjoyed working with anyone as much as I enjoyed working with Tim Conway. He’s a unique combination of a genuinely funny man and a real old-fashioned gentleman. At once bold as brass and, at the same time, disarmingly humble. There isn’t a sanctimonious bone among all his funny ones. He never boasts about his accomplishments, and that’s precisely why I’m using this Preface to say things about him (things the reader should know) that he’d never say about himself. So here goes.

  At our first meeting in Los Angeles, Tim came to my hotel. The front desk called to say he was on his way up. I went into the hallway to wait for him. The elevator was at the opposite end of the corridor. In the middle of the hallway, a man, wearing headphones, was vacuuming. Tim stepped out of the elevator at the same moment the cleaning man left the vacuum running in the center of the hallway as he turned to dust a side table. Tim started down the corridor. He reached the upright vacuum and, without breaking stride, grabbed the handle with one hand and, waving to me with
the other, called out, “I’ll be right there, just have to finish my work.” He put his head down and began to vacuum. The cleaning man, oblivious to what was happening, thanks to his headphones, finished dusting and turned around to recover his vacuum only to discover Tim pushing it around. For a moment, the man looked befuddled. Then, he got it. He smiled and gingerly tapped Tim on the shoulder. Immediately, Tim dropped the vacuum and threw himself against the wall with his arms spread above his head waiting to be frisked. That’s when I learned that Tim Conway seizes any opportunity to amuse. Moreover, he is as delighted to make one or two people laugh as he is to entertain huge audiences.

  Shenanigans aside, Tim is a really grounded person. For one thing, he’s had the same friends for decades. Although their names read like a Who’s Who of Emmy and Oscar winners, they, like Tim, are down-to-earth people leading normal lives in the abnormal world of show business. And here’s another Hollywood anomaly: Tim’s second marriage to Charlene Beatty has been going strong for nearly three decades. It’s a match made in heaven, but it took Tim one divorce, and Charlene two, to find that out. They play off each other brilliantly. If you ask Tim what Charlene’s father did for a living, he’ll say, “He was a bookie.” Ask Charlene the same question, and she’ll tell you her father was a trumpet player who performed with the big bands until they went out of fashion. He still had to earn a living and the only other thing he knew was betting the horses. “My father was a musician for most of his life,” says Charlene with a laugh. “But my husband calls him a bookie because it sounds funnier.”

  Charlene and Tim Conway are their own reality show with Charlene providing the reality. She’s his leveler, the straight man who keeps him honest. Tim knows what a difference Charlene has made in his life and finds ample opportunities to acknowledge it.

  While receiving one of his many awards, Tim stood at the podium and thanked everyone for the wonderful honor. “I wouldn’t be standing in front of you right now,” he said, “if it weren’t for the way my wife looks out for me. She takes charge of everything, including my diet. She’s been feeding me so much fiber, I’m now passing wicker furniture.”

  Tim’s fundamentally a cheerful person yet he has a reflective side; a quiet wisdom informs his art and his life. The right comic conditions, however, will always conquer any guardedness, and he becomes totally playful. He is a combination clown and comic. Generally speaking, comedians pursue one tradition or the other. Tim has the funny bone to do slapstick and the wit to do stand-up. It’s a rare gift.

  “Funny” has become an archaic word; it’s been replaced by “edgy.” Once upon a time most comedians were not looking to shock you into laughter; they wanted you to enjoy yourself. Today’s comics tend to be in your face. They’ll sacrifice anything for the laugh and have no qualms about making someone else the butt of the joke. Too many rely on confrontational techniques. If nothing else works, hurl a vulgarity at a guy in the front row, and you’ll get a laugh. Tim would never do that. He masterminds the gag and takes the onus upon himself, as illustrated by the vacuum cleaner story. He didn’t need to make a fool of the cleaning man; he was content to make a fool of himself. That self-effacing modus operandi has characterized his career, with one glorious exception—his work with the late Harvey Korman.

  While each of them performed successfully without the other, their transcendent partnership on The Carol Burnett Show was a genuine marvel. Professionally and personally, theirs was a remarkable relationship, one in which Tim, the runt, always got the better of Harvey, who towered over him. Though Tim Conway is the kindest of men, there was nothing he wouldn’t stoop to in order to get Harvey Korman.

  From the beginning, Tim was content with being an ensemble player. He didn’t need to be the star. The networks did not feel the same and pushed him into a number of shows as the headliner. They all failed. Why was such an outrageously gifted man unable to carry his own show? In the opinion of those who know him best, and that includes Tim, he wasn’t comfortable in the starring role. Tim Conway is a sublime second banana. Like Falstaff, he is not only witty in himself “but the cause that wit is in other men.”

  His solo failings notwithstanding, Tim reigned supreme as a cast member on The Steve Allen Show, McHale’s Navy, and The Carol Burnett Show. During that time he became one of the most familiar and beloved figures of the entertainment world. “Beloved” is a much-bandied word in show business, but one that fits Tim Conway to a T.

  In the years since the Burnett show Tim has appeared as a guest star on TV variety programs, talk shows, and sitcoms. And, he continues to entertain in person, performing via an underground railroad of dinner theatres and arenas. In working with Tim, I learned that old television performers never die: They continue to delight the public in cities and towns located, for the most part, in America’s heartland. The most famous of these showbiz Valhallas is Branson, Missouri. Branson—population six thousand—has at least one hundred different showcases. In Branson, as in other hamlets spread throughout the country, classic performers—such as Tim, Carol Burnett, Pat Boone, Charo, Bill Cosby, Barbara Eden, Gladys Knight, Barbara Mandrell, Wayne Newton, Kenny Rogers—still delight audiences hungry for pure entertainment. Tim was one of the first to recognize the potential in these golden-age venues and he easily transitioned from television to stage. The change went smoothly because, from the very beginning of his career, Tim either wrote his own material or collaborated with staff writers.

  Can this septuagenarian verging on octogenarian still hold large audiences in his thrall? You bet! Not long ago, Tim performed before some four thousand people at the Nokia Theatre in Los Angeles for AARP’s annual gathering. The show featured a host of familiar names including Jane Goodall, Martina Navratilova, Carol Burnett, and sportscaster James Brown. Tim was scheduled to do a bit of stand-up following the Goodall segment, after which he was to introduce Burnett. The two of them would reminisce and take questions from the audience.

  Tim was in his dressing room when a young program organizer came to the door with a message from Martina Navratilova. The tennis legend asked if it would be okay for her to drop by and say hello. Tim eagerly said yes.

  Another knock on the door and Navratilova was ushered in. Tim and she shook hands and began chatting. Tim thought that she was from Romania, where his mother’s family originated, and said so. Navratilova quickly responded, saying, “I’m Czech!”

  “Oh,” said Tim, pleasantly, “Isn’t that the same as Romanian?”

  “No!” she said with a touch of nationalistic fervor.

  “Really? I thought it was,” Tim answered.

  Navratilova looked at him. She grinned. Tim was playing, and she got it. They continued to converse. At one point, she told him that when she came to the United States she had a hard time because she didn’t speak the language.

  “I actually learned English watching your show,” she confided.

  They talked a little longer, and then it was time for Tim to go onstage.

  In the auditorium, huge screens were scattered around so that the thousands gathered there could get a closer look. James Brown was speaking onstage.

  “We all thank Jane Goodall for her wonderful work, and now we’ll get on with the show as soon as the crew removes the tables and chairs.”

  The stagehands came out from behind the curtain and headed toward the furniture. Suddenly, screams of laughter filled the theatre when they caught sight of Tim Conway working along with the crew. He had not planned this beforehand. He simply got in line with the stagehands and did his thing. The stagehands were laughing, James Brown was laughing, everyone was laughing, except for Tim. Straight-faced, he picked up a chair, and disappeared through the curtains—a perfect example of his instinctive playful reaction to the moment.

  Tim is a good man to know for many reasons, and I’ve saved one of the best for last. I received a call from him one afternoon, and at the end of the conversation he said, “I don’t know if you’re a betting woman, but the jockey
s in the Breeders’ Cup race are all talking about one particular horse. So, if you feel like it, put some money on number three.”

  I thanked him for the tip and hung up. I had never bet on a horse race before, yet there was something in the way Tim spoke that made me think this was the time to do it. I went online, got to an offtrack betting site, located the five million dollar Breeders’ Cup race, and filled in the necessary information. But, when I was prompted to key in my Social Security number I balked, and clicked off the computer.

  That night I turned on the evening news and was brushing my teeth when I heard the sports announcer say, “In a thrilling race, the Breeders’ Cup was won by Drosselmeyer, and here’s a look at the finish.”

  Toothbrush in hand, I ran to the set and watched as a scrum of horses galloped toward the finish line. Drosselmeyer lurched forward and nosed out the rest. The number emblazoned on the side of his saddle was “3”.

  There’s so much more I could say but, at this point, I’m going to turn the show over to Tim. I think you are in for a real treat, hearing him tell his story in his own words. Remember, Tim is a savvy guy in rube’s clothing, so don’t be fooled by his unassuming, aw-shucks manner. It’s a ploy that has been used, to good advantage, by quite a few American humorists, from Mark Twain to Will Rogers to Andy Rooney.

  —Jane Scovell

  Dear Jane,

  Without your assistance, this would have been a pamphlet.

  ––Tim

  Introduction

  People have often asked me, “If you weren’t in show business, what would you be doing?” The truth is, I don’t think there’s anything else I could be doing, so the answer would have to be, nothing. Then again, there’s nothing I love more than making people laugh, so I guess you could say I’m in the only business I could be in. I was born to enjoy life and I’ve always wanted everyone to enjoy it along with me. That’s why I can’t see myself any place other than standing in front of an audience with one purpose in mind—to make people feel a little bit happier than when they came in.