"TAKING MY SHOT AT COMEDY"

I’m not much of a risk-taker nor an adrenaline junkie. My adventures have been modest in scope and duration. Though in my mid-twenties, I briefly but boldly pursued stand-up comedy ...

I’m not much of a risk-taker nor an adrenaline junkie. My adventures have been modest in scope and duration. Though in my mid-twenties, I briefly but boldly pursued stand-up comedy, exposing myself to the fears and thrills of being on stage, entertaining a noisy bar, wedding reception and even a packed auditorium.

            At 25 I was working in communications but hopeful for a new side gig as a comic. I had spent much of my life making people laugh, following such beloved comedians as the Marx Brothers and Three Stooges. My first public performance was in December 1977 at a crowded Cleveland Heights (Ohio) bar. I documented that experience in a March 1978 Plain Dealer magazine story: “Taking My Shot at Comedy.”

            The Plain Dealer article was reprinted in a national fraternity magazine, which was gratifying. But I was unprepared for what happened next: a call from the frat’s executive director inviting me to perform at its annual conference in Little Rock, Arkansas.

            The emcee was Bob Barker, a Sigma Nu from Drury University and legendary host of “The Price is Right.” Some 20 years before Barker and Adam Sandler duked it out in the movie “Happy Gilmore,” I raised Bob’s ire by missing dress rehearsal because my flight was late. I quickly made amends, and that night I was in the cavernous Little Rock Convention Center listening to Barker’s melodic voice introduce me as: “Mark Massé, a comic from Cleveland.”

            Malarkey! The audience was expecting a polished performer, and I was a fraud. My throat closed, and my knees began knocking—literally not metaphorically. When the curtain rose, I stood in the blinding light knowing my bluff had been called. Barker was off stage to my left. He stared as I stammered my opening. My first joke triggered some chuckles but louder groans.

I could have folded but didn’t. Anger replaced fear, and I grabbed the reins of my runaway routine to rousing applause. Barker brought me out for a curtain call. “That’s Mark Massé, ladies and gentlemen.” I bowed and shook Bob’s hand. Back stage I asked him for his feedback and an autograph. “You Were a Hit,” he wrote. His praise was the highlight of my short-lived high-wire comedy act.

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