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STAND-UP MOM!
My Life on the Comedy Stage
Sally Edwards

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STAND-UP MOM!
My Life on the Comedy Stage
Copyright 2013 Sally Edwards

All rights reserved. This book, or parts
thereof, may not be reproduced in any form
without permission.




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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
With heartfelt thanks to Brenda Lung Photography
(BrendaLung.com) for the beautiful cover photos
and to Michelle Leichty (MLcontent.com)
for her wizardry in editing.



DEDICATION
To my Wonderfully Supportive Husband, Bert, and
to our Beautiful and Talented Children
Brendan, Steven and Christine.
I love you!

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE: Why Dont You Wr ite a Book? 6
CHAPTER TWO: Casting Call 11
CHAPTER THREE: Astrophysics 16
CHAPTER FOUR: Comedy in the Womb 20
CHAPTER FIVE: What Am I Thinking About? 25
CHAPTER SIX: Space Aliens 30
CHAPTER SEVEN: Christines Pink Mittens 36
CHAPTER EIGHT: Power Rangers 41
CHAPTER NINE: BIG PEOPLE, little people 47
CHAPTER TEN: Detective Work 54
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Teenagers 62
CHAPTER TWELVE: Breaking Free 69
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Positive Reaps Positive 77
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Finding the Funny 82
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Career in Comedy 87
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Blind Date 91
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Name a Profession and a Location 95
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Going Solo 100
CHAPTER NINETEEN: New Club on the Block 103
CHAPTER TWENTY: Surprise! Youre a Stand-up! 107
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Meager Beginnings 113
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Ber t 116
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Dating the Boss 122
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Smile! 125
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Planning Parenthood 130
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Pet Therapy 138
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Bombing 147
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Go With the Fear! 150
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Couch Stor ies -
Gilbert Gottfried 154
Carrot Top 161
Bobby Vinton 166
CHAPTER THIRTY: One More Show to Make You Squir m
170
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Staying Healthy 177
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Empty Nester 182



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CHAPTER ONE
WHY DONT YOU WRITE A
BOOK?


When do I have time to write a book?
I looked incredulously at my husband, Bert,
like he had just emerged from the land without a
clue. We had three children three, four and five
years old. If they werent laughing, crying,
sleeping, eating or just making it to the potty, they
were requesting a service from me right now!
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(Right now! was physically demonstrated by
running in circles or hanging on my arm like a
young, hyper chimp.)
I really think you should write a book. Youre
a mom. Youre a comedian. You see humor in
everyday life that most people miss. I think people
would really find it interesting.
Bert, I just got to a place where I feel
comfortable going to the bathroom with the door
closed. It would only take two seconds for one of
our kids to kill themselves in this house.
I am always fighting my over-protective nature.
If I had it my way, children under 10 would wear a
helmet for everything. That would include Big
Wheel helmets, car helmets, playing tag helmets
and yes, even house helmets. How anyone lives
past the age of three is a miracle in my mind. (Our
son, Steven, split his lip and needed stitches when
he went to hug Bert while he was shaving in the
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bathroom. I guess bathroom helmets would fall
under the category of house helmets.
Having three children in just four years was my
way of fixing the large gap between siblings I
experienced as a child. My older sister is seven
years older, my next older sister is 10 years older
and my brother is 12 years older than me. People
wonder if I am an Oops! baby, but I am still
convinced I am not a mistake. I imagine after
seven years, a little free time opened up.
At the time of my husbands Write a Book!
declaration, Bert and I were parents to Brendan -
age four, Steven - age three and Christine - age
two. Write a book? At best, I could dictate one
about sleep deprivation, complete abandonment of
social graces, and a huge desire to talk to Big
People.
The idea of writing a book seemed so
ridiculous, that if I did write one, I would have
required that everyone spill milk on the cover or
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use it as a coaster just to make sure the book felt
real. Better yet, give it to the dog and let it chew
on the binding and eat a couple of pages.
Ideally, the book I authored would be a picture
book something that could be easily skimmed
while standing in the grocery store line or
something moms could glance at while eating over
the kitchen sink. I knew I wasnt the only mom
who was busy!
It would be another 15 years before I even
considered this book writing project. Our children
are grown now and spread across the country. Id
be lying if I didnt admit to succumbing to some
heavy Empty Nest Syndrome. I personally
would rename this horrible loss Empty Nest
Affliction, or Empty Nest Chronic Disease or
Empty Nest Stake to the Heart.
Even though I have a career as a corporate
stand-up comedian, Ive fared no better with my
children leaving the nest than a round-the-clock
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homemaker. To fill the void I threw myself into
one of my favorite passions which is animal
rescue. Our children are gone but my need to
mother is not. Our six rescue dogs, four cats
and Fred the fish are testimony to that fact.
So now my nest is empty of children, if not
animals, and time is more plentiful. I write this
book as I look back at my life raising three
beautiful children and performing stand- up
comedy. First lets start with a quick look at a few
reasons why I could not write it a heck of a lot
sooner.

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CHAPTER TWO
CASTING CALL

Mom, Moooooom, Moooooooom! I heard
the screams from Stevens bedroom and I decided
to ignore my desire to drop the telephone and run.
Id only been on the phone for just a few minutes
with my friend Sandy Golami and I really wanted
to be one of those moms who didnt panic every
time her child shouted, Boo! After all, Sandy
didnt drop the phone every time her girls let out a
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yell. I had been in her huge, five bedroom house
and watched construction workers remodel the
living room with pitchforks and chainsaws while
her kids ran freely to and fro. Everyone was still
alive. Why couldnt that work for me?
So as I spoke to my oblivious mom- hero I
decided to let a few more Moooooms! go
unheard. Secretly though, it was killing me.
Mooooom, Mooooom, Mooooom! I couldnt
bear it any longer. Somebody needed me! I knew
I was never going to be the mom who let her
children run with wild abandonment in a Costco
parking lot or play on the tracks in a deserted
railroad yard. I had to know what was going on!
Acknowledging the persistent screams from the
second bedroom, I promised Sandy Id get the full
story about the new set of drapes in her family
room at a better time. To this day, I dont know if
she decided on floral or pinstripes. Slapping the
phone down, I headed to Christines bedroom
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where the screams rang out. To my horror there
was now more to the message. Mooooom! Help
me!
Turning the corner, I saw Steven hanging
upside down like a swinging trapeze artist. One
leg was stuck precariously in the wooden slats of
the barrier that kept Christine from falling out of
her bed. Like the famous Wallenda Brothers, he
hung freely in space without a net. His leg weaved
into one slat while his foot clasped another. There
was no give and he was unable to wiggle himself
free. I was consumed by mother guilt as I helped
Steven free his leg to even more screams as I
placed him back on the bed. I was in shock. I
couldnt believe I had ignored that agonizing
Moooooom! and was amazed the accident had
happened the very first time I struggled against my
instincts and had decided to go rogue.
Flashes to a Department of Children and Family
Services interrogation went through my mind.
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And so Mrs. Edwards you were on the
phone with your girlfriend talking about floral or
striped drapes and you refused to hang up the
phone when you heard your son yelling. Is that
right? And the louder he screamed, the more you
decided it was important to your personal growth
that you not answer every time your name was
uttered at a pre-determined loud volume. Is that
right? And when you entered the bedroom your
son was hanging upside down from his sisters bed
flailing his arms, increasing his pain ten-fold.
Correct? No further questions.
An x-ray quickly confirmed Steven had broken
his leg in the fall. They gave him a cast in the
color of his choice bright red. Why bright red
you say? Because it just so happened that our
tabby cat, Scooter had broken his leg a month
prior and he was limping around the house in a
pink cast. Rather than risk his manhood by picking
a pink cast, Steven got the next best thing.
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If our household didnt scream Family
Services nobodys did. Mrs. Edwards, according
to our records, Steven sustained a broken leg not
long after your CAT broke its leg?! Could you be
in the business of breaking legs?
Yes. Im sure of it. DCFS would definitely
have more questions.


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CHAPTER THREE
ASTROPHYSICS

Mom, whats a black hole? Brendan was six
years old when he called out to me from the back
seat of our green minivan. I felt lost. How could I,
the mother of three young children give an
adequate answer to that infinite question?
I knew Id have to give it my best shot. Steven
and Christine went silent in their car seats. The
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minivan always went silent when Brendan spoke.
From the age of four he always carried a book.
When he took a break from reading, hed watched
science shows, or the History Channel (when the
History Channel was still about history!) Now
hed presented me with a question that begged a
lame answer compared to all of the astronomers
who he had no doubt been watching on TV that
day.
Well, a black hole is in outer space and it
appears black, and they think its a kind of hole
. that as I mention, is in outer space. Yep.
Thats pretty much it.
I looked in my rearview mirror to see Brendan
gazing out his window. Brendan, I said. Do
you have any more questions? No mom, he
said. But when I grow up, Ill tell you whats the
real answer.
--------------------------------------------------------
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Im sure my son is gifted. He talks about
things other kids just dont talk about!
Mrs. Deffers looked at me like she watching a
hologram of every other parent who thought their
kid was special. She covered her mouth to
suppress a yawn and said, Ive seen Brendans
drawings and Id say hes about average with every
other child in his class.
Now I know what an innocent prisoner feels like
as he rattles the cage doors and screams, You
dont get it! Im right! And you my friend -
Youre wrong! You are wrong!
Lets cut right to the chase. Brendan is in
graduate school at Washington University in St.
Louis; he is an assistant to a professor of
Astrophysics as he pursues his masters and
doctorate. In 2010, Brendan was selected by the
University of Chicago (where he graduated with
honors) to work at CERN for an entire year. In
laymans terms, CERN is the facility where they
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are attempting to better understand the Higgs
Particle (a theory explaining why some
fundamental particles have mass). In addition,
scientists at CERN are trying to recreate the Big
Bang by colliding protons in a 20- mile
underground tunnel. Equally as impressive was
the sign located just outside of Brendans working
area, noting the internet was created on that very
spot.
I am providing this information to let you know
that (1) Yes. I am very proud of my son; (2) To
demonstrate there was reason to suspect that
Brendan was gifted at age 7; and (3) Most
importantly to prove to Brendans second grade
teacher that I was right!

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CHAPTER FOUR
COMEDY IN THE WOMB

Fast-forward to Steven, whose genius falls
directly on the creative spectrum. Steven flew into
our lives just one year and nine days after the birth
of Brendan.
Suffice it to say - Steven is hilarious.
When he was only three months old, our senior
citizen babysitter, Eleanor, said, Mark my words.
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This is kid is funny, funny, funny! I dont know
how he knows what to do to make me and
everyone else laugh but he knows! He knows! He
knows! He nails it every time!
All of my children spent a good deal of time on
the comedy stage while in the womb. With each
pregnancy, my protruding belly gave me a great
opening line that I still miss, Hi everybody! I
guess I should start by telling you the obvious, I
said as I patted my big tummy, Im getting
married!
Steven must have been listening intently to the
ebb and flow of comedic timing while in the
womb. He even accompanied me to my television
appearances on Showtimes Comedy Club
Network and A&Es Comedy on the Road. At
eight- months gestation, he was appearing on shows
other developing fetuses could only dream of. I
truly believe part of his natural ability to make
people laugh comes from his hearing a constant
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recitation of set-up, punch line, laugh, set- up,
punch line, laugh. It wasnt Mozart, but it was
certainly highly effective.
The signs came early. I remember watching my
children pick up Easter eggs in the front yard. (No
eggs in the backyard with four Easter-egg-eating
rescue dogs on the premises.)
As Brendan, Steven and Christine entered the
front door, their baskets were full and their mouths
were already covered with the chocolate of
beheaded bunnies. Steven, I said, what do your
Easter eggs taste like? Without missing a beat,
Steven said, Tastes like chicken! He was a four-
year-old Milton Berle!
Steven could be funny when he wasnt even
trying. I remember him standing in the kitchen
doorway in his Batman pajamas with a black terry
cloth towel hanging from his back secured by a
safety pin at the neck. I knew exactly which
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superhero he was portraying but I just had to ask
again.
Who are you Steven?
Im Butt Man!
When Steven was four, his short as sounded
like short us. If you could put adorable and
precious and unforgettable in a bottle and make a
million dollars, this was the potion.
Who did you say you are?
BUTT MAN!
I let my son believe I had an incredibly short
memory just so I could breathe in the hilarity of the
moment again. Kids are awesome and beautiful
and unique! Moments like these bring joy for an
entire lifetime.
Steven now lives in Los Angeles and he is
writing comedy screenplays. In addition, Steven
performs standup comedy. His comedy is clean nd
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brilliant and his timing is impeccable. Id like to
think his talent is genetic. Its possible, however,
he had amazing early listening skills!



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CHAPTER FIVE

WHAT AM I THINKING
ABOUT?

I dont know what goes on in kindergarten, but
I could tell my kids were doing a heck of a lot
more than me when I was five. I know when I was
almost six, David was the longest name Id ever
seen or tried to sound out, and I still had no idea
what M,N,L,O,P was as I entered first grade.
Kids today are reading at a third grade level at a
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time when my father would simply look at me and
say, Dont flunk sandbox.
This was never more apparent than the night I
sat down in Christines bedroom to tell her a story
and she said, Mom. Were going to play a game I
learned in kindergarten today. Standing on her
bed in a red and black flannel nightgown she
closed her eyes and placed her palm into a plaster
handprint hanging on the wall. She spoke with the
innocence of someone who didnt know they were
about to challenge this incredibly competitive
character known as Mommy.
Christine continued matter-of- factly in a soft
voice. Im going think of something in the world
and you get three guesses to figure out what Im
thinking about. Maybe this heavenly being knew
a little more about playing the big slots than I gave
her credit. It seemed that the world is a pretty
big playing field and the human component of
thinking could not be scored in a fair and honest
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manner. I became aware the odds of winning
were stacked in her favor.
I began to guess. Christine, youre thinking
about your big red ball.
No!
Christine, youre thinking about your baby
doll.
No! Christine was twirling in the middle of
her pink room as I became increasingly frustrated
by the scope and nature of this all-absorbing game.
Christine youre thinking about that lamp right
over there.
No!
Three guesses. I was done. I had lost but by
how much? I had to know.
Christine, what may I ask were you thinking
about?
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Christine looked at me in the eyes as if she was
pulling in her winning poker chips. .
I was thinking about Mount Fuji!
I wasnt even close. Id lost and Id lost big.
Christine? I said.
What? she said as bounced on the edge of her
bed.
How was I supposed to guess Mount Fuji?
Christine answered with all the confidence of a
four-year-old know- it-all, You should have
guessed Mount Fuji because thats what I was
thinking about!
Christine is now at The University of San
Francisco where she is getting stellar grades. I am
continually in awe of the leadership qualities she
exhibits in school. Traveling is one of her passions
and some day she just might make it all the way to
Mount Fuji. And then well have a rematch!
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CHAPTER SIX
SPACE ALIENS

Steven, careful! Dont run into anything while
youre doing that! Bert and I watched in wonder
as Steven ran in circles in the middle of the living
room, wearing a bright yellow bucket on his head.
We clocked him at 15 circles in a minute and a
half. In addition to finding his behavior so odd
that it was entertaining, I was amazed at how we
took the behavior in stride. After all, what if
adults acted like kids do? And when in life do we
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cross that invisible line when running around the
living room with a yellow bucket on the head isnt
cute anymore? In short, when do we pass from
cute to commit?
I can tell you right now if my husband stood up
and put a yellow bucket on his head and proceeded
to run around in circles in the middle of the living
room, I am certain I would run for the phone and
call 911. I might even be slightly terrorized by
such odd behavior. What would cause him to go
berserk a clogged blood vessel in the brain or a
neuro pathway turning to mush? I know one thing
for sure if my husband was running around the
living room with a yellow bucket on his head, I
would not fall back laughing into an overstuffed
chair with my hand against my heart marveling at
how cute he was.
My new form of mental entertainment was
born! As I watched my children engage in odd and
unique behaviors that would get a normal mature
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adult put away, I would imagine what would
happen to me if I acted in the exact same way. I
wrote the ideas into my standup comedy because
the comparisons were endless!
When Brendan was five, I bought him a new
pair of gym shoes for school. He liked them so
much he wore them to bed. What would happen if
I bought a new pair of hiking boots and I liked
them so much I put them on and climbed in
between the clean sheets when I went to bed at
night? My husband probably wouldnt call the
authorities right away. He might start with his
mother. And I dont think the conversation would
begin with him saying, You wont believe this
mom. Sally did the cutest thing! She bought new
hiking boots and she likes them so much shes
wearing them to bed! Theres a better chance my
neat-nick husband would grab me by those boots,
slide me out of bed onto the floor and say, Excuse
me, but what exactly are you thinking?
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What would happen if I went out to lunch with
my girlfriends, ordered spaghetti and then
proceeded to wipe the sauce all over my face and
through my hair? After eating, I might choose to
wear some spaghetti like a moustache while falling
asleep in my chair. If my friends woke me up, Id
fuss and wiggle and make a really big scene
causing everyone in the restaurant to shake their
heads and pray for an exorcism.
What would happen if I started crying and
wailing at my corporate job because I wanted to
go play outside? If my boss said, But Sally,
you cant play outside now. You need to sit here at
your desk until 5:00 p.m., I would react with a
primeval yell and kick my legs against my chair
until they decided to escort me to my car because
the fresh air and the permanent ride home might do
me good.
What would happen if I walked into a room at a
dinner party and just fell flat on the floor and
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started laughing? After I laughed myself sick, Id
lay on the floor with my arms and legs spread as if
I was about to make a snow angel. Then I would
look at the ceiling and start to count the perforated
tiles until I counted to 101 to show you that I
knew how. And because it was all so much fun,
Id get up, run around the room and fall down
again! Falling down never gets old!
What would people think if I skipped up the
aisles of the church while the minister or priest was
delivering a profound and magnificent message?
Would people giggle or would they throw me to
the ground and get the restraints?
And most fascinating of all - what if I decided
it was potty time and I simply pulled my pants
down and then ran to the bathroom?
Children can engage in countless behaviors and
be called funny and cute. Why are kids funny
and cute while we adults would be deemed ready
to commit?
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After years of consideration, I can answer that
question with the authority of a scientist who has
studied their subjects at very close range. It is
because their spaceship just landed.
Yes. Their spaceship just landed on earth and
they dont know how to act on this unique and
unfamiliar planet. Theyre just winging it!
From one day to the next they explore, they
taste, they sniff, they bellow all in the effort to
gather information about our species. The full
transformation to certified earthling takes many,
many years. In the meantime, be entertained with
caution. You may observe these aliens from a
distance but dont ever try their stunts at home
or in public!

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CHAPTER SEVEN
CHRISTINES PINK
MITTENS

When my own parents retired to Leisure World,
a senior residence community south of Los
Angeles, Brendan, Steven and Christine
periodically received gift boxes from Nana and
Pop. Everyone knew the boxes were actually
packed by Nana and the contents were sometimes
very hard to digest. Nana was slipping into the
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beginning stages of Alzheimers and the gifts she
sent to our home were usually random and bizarre.
On a hot day in July when Christine was four, a
big box sat in the middle of our living room floor.
What did Nana send? What did Nana send?!
I hesitated to open the large box wrapped in
brown paper because we were running late for a
dentist appointment. Sifting through the boxes
Nana sent could be an exercise in elation or great
disappointment.
The intensity of Christines enthusiasm pushed
me to hurriedly open the box. What is it? What
is it? Christine jumped up and down waving her
hands like an out-of-control marionette. Cutting
through the packaging tape I could see a flash of
pink, and I gingerly opened the cover for fear of
ripping what lay beneath. With a snap of the last
piece of tape, the box flaps flew open and there on
top of two large garbage bags (a favorite packing
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method of Nanas) lay a pair of bright pink
mittens.
Mittens, mittens! Can I put them on now?
Now?! I said. Its 95 degrees out. These are
winter mittens. Christine seemed to miss my
reasoning by shouting even louder, Can I put
them on now? I said, Christine. Were going to
the dentist. Its hot outside. You dont want to
wear them now. Your hands will be hot! In her
sweetest voice and cupid doll face, Christine said,
Please let me wear my new mittens. Nana sent
them for Christine.
Being a parent often means sacrificing all
human dignity whether it is showing up at your
husbands business dinner with baby puke on your
shoulder, singing preschool songs while you
wander the aisles of the grocery store, or taking an
elevator ride to the dentists office in the company
of five strangers on one of the hottest days in July
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while your four-year-old daughter is wearing pink
faux- fur- lined mittens.
Its a little hot for mittens, dont you think? A
professional looking woman in a grey pinstriped
suit had taken the ballpoint pen out of her mouth to
speak. She peered over her glasses to better focus
on Christine and me as we stood cramped near the
door in the crowded elevator. I experienced a
shiver of empathy for the homeless as I imagined
the other elevator patrons surmising that I grabbed
any wearable clothing out of the company
dumpster to cover my children.
To add to the horrors of my current situation, I
could feel Christine start to shift from foot to foot.
She was becoming restless as the elevator stopped
at floors 6, 7, 10 and 12 on our way to 14.
Rubbing her hands together like a miser
contemplating his millions, she started to tug at her
recently gifted outerwear. In her most angelic
voice, Christine looked up at me as sweat formed
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on her brow and said, Mom, when can I take these
mittens off?
What? Now everyone thought I was soccer-
mom- gone-over-the-edge! They imagined me as
the kind of mother you hear about on the evening
news or see in a mug shot on Yahoo Local.
I immediately became the elevator outcast. My
sanity was the elephant in the room. It was my
turn to speak. I knew I had already been judged,
tried and convicted. I was doing the time, and so I
might as well commit the crime.
For effect, I maintained a blank stare of Mom
Gone Wild in my eyes and raised them to look up
at the florescent lights in the grid ceiling. I made
my announcement loud and clear, I think youre
forgetting Christine! Nana sent Christine pink
mittens today isnt that right? Yes. Nana sent
Christine pink mittens today and shes going to
wear them!
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CHAPTER EIGHT
POWER RANGERS

Brendan and Steven were the original Power
Rangers. I can confirm this because they wore
authentic Power Ranger uniforms and engaged in
authentic Power Ranger battle scenes. Initially, I
thought they were wearing Power Ranger costumes
because I bought them at a store but I was
obviously grossly misinformed.
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The Power Rangers were a genuine energizing
force that invaded our home. First, they came
through the TV set. Next, they appeared as
expensive toys thrown and strewn around the
family room as they ripped into action. Later, they
came in silently through the kitchen door and
appeared as plastic plates, paper napkins and
birthday hats on the kitchen table. And finally, the
Power Rangers came for our sons.
I want to be a Power Ranger for Halloween!
This was a repeated mantra in our house and I was
on top of it kind of. I genuinely dreaded buying
Halloween costumes. When I was little, we didnt
buy new costumes every year. If the money wasnt
there for a costume, we made our costume out of
whatever we could find. I lived during the
infamous Hobo era.
Not so at Westgate Grade School in Arlington
Heights. The costumes were made from scratch
from elaborate patterns by helicopter mothers or
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they were ordered weeks in advance from
Halloween catalogues. The neighbor lady who
lived behind us was my worst nightmare. Lori
could sew anything and she proved it. Name your
fantasy costume and Lori could put it together
overnight. Lori could even sew a dinosaur!
Meanwhile, I was still stuck in the 60s and hooked
on the Why cant everybody just be a hobo!
mentality.
On the eve of Halloween, my state of denial
really got me into a jam. Mom, when are you
going to get our Halloween costumes? asked
Steven. Mom, everyones got theirs already,
added Brendan. I was defeated.
A trip to Target confirmed my worst fears. The
aisles were nearly bare. Only oversized M&Ms
hung deflated on lopsided hangers. Even the evil
makeup looked sparse. My mission became a
scavenger hunt as my quest became a desperate
search. I left Target and headed for Walmart, then
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K-Mart, and even the Dollar Store. Nothing. I had
the sinking feeling I was the worst mom in the
world - who was about to have the most
disappointed little boys in the world - who would
grow up with the greatest psychological scars in
the world.
I faced the sad truth. I would have to walk
through the doors of a local costume shop. I would
have to walk through the doors with the word
schmuck written across my forehead as I bought
my children Power Ranger costumes on Halloween
Eve. That will be $72.50, said the smug cashier
whose black lipstick scared me less than her
confident and superior attitude. Enjoy. How she
refrained from using the word sucker really must
have taken a lot of self-control.
But is $72.50 a great deal of money to spend on
the only clothes you will need to buy for your
children for the next six months?
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When Brendan and Steven put on their
costumes that very first time I knew the cult- like
experience was complete. I had not purchased
costumes, I had purchased uniforms. And so began
the Power Ranger internship guaranteeing that
Brendan and Steven would be commissioned and
ready to protect our house and the world.
Brendan and Steven ate, played and slept in
their uniforms. Fortunately, they had to return to
their Clark Kent identities during the school day
or their uniforms would never have seen the inside
of a washing machine. To add insult to my wallet
injury, Christine decided she needed a Power
Ranger uniform too even though shed been an
Indian Princess for Halloween. It wasnt enough
to wear the boys uniforms when they were at
school during the day. She wanted to eat, play and
sleep as the Pink Power Ranger. Back I went to
that costume store after Halloween and the cashier
was just as scary even without the black lipstick.
46

Every year I dress up as the Wicked Witch of
the West and hand out candy to tricker-treaters.
When dusk turns to night and the last tricker-
treater has come to our door, I take off my Wicked
Witch of the West costume and put it away until
next year. I wonder what would happen if I wore
my Wicked Witch of the West costume every day
for the next six months.
I bet I know. I think you know too.



47

.





CHAPTER NINE
BIG PEOPLE, little people

When our children were born I had been
performing stand-up comedy for over 15 years.
My comedy topics covered a rather broad spectrum
of relatable topics people would encounter from
day-to-day. Truthfully, the writing felt more
mechanical than fulfilling. It seemed lacking in
48

inspiration. However, the birth of our first child
changed all that!
Looking at the helplessness of my first
newborn, I felt the pull of a newly formed soul.
My maternal nature emerged in a very big way. It
was upsetting to leave my baby even to drive to
Chicago to do a 30 minute show or downtown
radio interview.
Over the next three and a half years and two
more births later, I devised a solution to keep my
children near. I wrote jokes about the home front.
If I wasnt able to be with my new posse, I
certainly would find a way to keep them close.
The material seemed to flow effortlessly as divine
inspiration came into play.
I think many women are surprised at the effect a
new tiny baby can have on their psyche. How
many times have you heard a woman swear she
will be returning to work a few short months (or
weeks) after giving birth? Who can prepare for the
49

invisible bond that makes time away from home
torturous? The sacrifices of todays mothers are
immeasurable. Gripping a newborns tiny hand
provides a stunning revelation as to the amount of
love a heart can feel.
Talking about life as a mom made any time
away from my children bearable:
I dont understand community carnivals. All
year long you take such good care of your children
and teach them to exercise caution. You watch
them cross the street, you dont let them play with
fire, and you dont drop them off at the
neighborhood playground with cab money and tell
them to find a way home. Yet once a year, you
take them to the community carnival and hand
them over to the toothless Midway worker who is
running the dragon ride held together with
toothpicks!
50

When my first baby, Brendan, was born I
bought myself a front pack. My friend Sandy told
me it can make the baby feel just like it did in the
womb. So I put him in upside down.
I joined a health club when the kids were little.
I never worked out. I just found out they had a
nursery so Id drop the kids off and go home and
take a nap!
Even on the longest performing nights I could
leave the house and return home in three to five
hours. In only a matter of hours, I went from
reveling in the comedy spotlight to changing an
overflowing dirty diaper pail. As I rocked a
wakened, wailing baby back to sleep, some
evenings seemed very surreal.
To meld my two passions, I wrote a one-woman
show called BIG PEOPLE, little people! The
humor in the show captured the hilarity of daily
interactions of moms, dads, grandparents and little
51

people. I give my husband full credit for
inspiration.
Why dont you write a one-woman show?
Bert! You want me to write a book, now a
one- woman show! Where do you get these
ideas?
Its surprising the most severe injury that
occurred in our house was Steven falling off the
bed!
I must admit I had a lot of help writing the one-
woman show. All I had to do was listen to the
space alien conversation taking place all around
me.
Brendan: Mom, who was Martin Luther
King? (I listened, I wrote, and I knew their words
were something I could never simply imitate.)
Mom: Well Brendan, Martin Luther King
defended the black man.
52

Brendan: Oh. . Which black man?
I named the show BIG PEOPLE, little people
because even though I totally loved being
immersed in conversation with my children, there
were times when I desperately missed adult
conversation. By the fifteenth Fruit Loop
necklace, its only natural the brain cells are
headed for a leave of absence. The night I had an
erotic dream about Tommy the green Power
Ranger - I knew I better get to the real world
pronto!
I performed BIG PEOPLE, little people at
The Victory Gardens Theater on Lincoln Avenue
in Chicago for six consecutive weeks. This would
be my first time performing at a professional
theater. I was assigned a stage manager. That
stage manager made me laugh every night quite
unwittingly. I was the only person on the show.
Yet every night immediately prior to show time,
53

the stage manager would frantically clap his hands
together as if there were 100 people in the cast.
Its time now everyone! he would shout.
Get ready. The show is about to start! Its time!
Its time! The curtain is going up! PLACES!
PLACES! PLACES!


54




CHAPTER TEN
DETECTIVE WORK

What is your gift? Do you know? Are you still
searching? Do you feel like you dont have a gift?
Do you feel lost? Unappreciated? Unfulfilled?
Be assured you are special, and with a little self-
discovery youll be on your way to finding out the
important qualities you are meant to share. Do you
have children? Grandchildren? If you do, you can
catch a glimpse of their futures - with a little
detective work.
55

One of the most fantastic aspects of life is that
we are all born with special gifts a gift entirely
unique to us. To discover our gift, we simply need
to increase our level of awareness. The reason
some people believe they dont have a gift is
because they assume everyone else can do
everything they themselves do. Nothing could be
further from the truth!
The presence of special gifts became most
apparent to me when my children were born.
Watching three unique individuals grow and
develop was a real eye opener! The signs of a
childs awesome capabilities come up slowly and
are often overlooked or not given much thought.
Watch your child and watch yourself. What are
you doing that other people cannot do? Your gift
has been within you all of these years and it has
been in your child since birth. This is a wonderful
self-discovery game to play.
56

With my own children, the signs were evident
as early as two. One morning, Brendan was
drawing at the kitchen table. He was all set up
with a big pad of paper and new crayons. I was
thrilled this recent purchase would give me time to
empty the dishwasher or at least throw in a load of
laundry without interruption.
I was wrong!
Minutes later Brendan was crying and holding
up his paper. He personified a human train wreck.
I said, Brendan, what on earth is the matter?
Brendan looked up with tear-streaked cheeks
and said, Look what I did Mama!
I said, Brendan, I like your picture. Its
Daddy. Whats the matter?
Wiping his face with tears still falling Brendan
said, I colored outside the lines!
57

Oh boy. Here we go. (I immediately used the
moment to entertain myself with the humor of
another DCFS visit, I am willing to believe, Ms.
Edwards, that you flew into a rage whenever your
child colored outside the lines thus causing him to
cry whenever he tried to draw a pretty picture. I
would desperately claim my innocence. No sir. I
was minding my own business and emptying the
dishwasher and I was hoping to start a load of
wash...) Facing this new crisis, I needed to return
my thoughts to comforting Brendan. I stifled a
chuckle as I said, Brendan, youre two! Thats
what two-year-olds do! Its O.K.! Have fun!
Yippee! Were just having some fun drawing!
Getting out my mental detective handbook, I
noted Brendans amazing attention to detail. This
wasnt enough to crack any code but I knew subtle
signs were beginning to form. It would be another
four years before the black hole question was
raised and his desire for perfection became
mirrored in the universe.
58

-------------------------------------------------------
Since Steven always had everyone laughing, his
very evident gift was common knowledge. Could
this be a peek into his future? His creativity had to
be addressed. This fast-paced comedic mind
would self-destruct if someday forced to reside in a
corporate cubicle.
Steven, youre looking at colleges. What are
you thinking of studying?
My son sat at his computer with a glum face
and no expression. He shrugged his shoulders, I
dont know. Maybe history.
History! I said, I dont think Ive ever seen
you read a history book. Ive never even seen a
history book in your hand or in your backpack.
Why do you want to study history?
Steven remarked with a big red verbal flag, It
just seems like the least of the evils.
59

Steven, you are so quick thinking and a
comedic genius! You know what to say to make
people laugh. Youre a natural. Lets look at some
creative options.
Stevens four years at Columbia College in
Chicago studying Television and Internet
Broadcasting turned his natural instincts into an
art form.
When you think positively about a gift rather
than avoiding the evils you propel yourself
forward in gift detective work!
-------------------------------------------------------
Mom, can we go to Walgreens and get some
graph paper? said Christine with the urgency in
her voice of an incoming 911 call.
Why? Do you have a project? I asked.
Whats the rush? (Everything is urgent or a
rush for Christine. Id be tempted to criticize
60

that element of her personality but it was inherited
by someone near, dear and here.)
No I just want to draw a diagram-to-scale of
my room. You said I might get a new bed and I
want to rearrange the furniture and see if
everything is going to fit.
If you look at your child and think, Who the
heck would want to do something like that at your
age? you may be on the hot trail to recognizing
one of their gifts. Equally as thrilling, if someone
looks at you and says, Why would anyone want to
do that?! you may be getting a big clue as to one
of your own outstanding capabilities.
A quick, urgent trip to Walgreens gave
Christine the freedom to draw the interior of her
room to scale. She then proceeded to draw
furniture to scale and rearrange those pieces on her
graph paper. Had I been given the same mission,
my plan would be to bring a tape measure to IKEA
61

(if I remembered one) or maybe I would have just
bought the ideal bed only to find it wouldnt fit
through the door after all.
Eight years later Christine is studying
architecture at the University of San Francisco
with a minor in Engineering. One of her favorite
activities is volunteering at Habitat for Humanity
where students use their talents to build full size
homes.
Looking at your own life in retrospect is a good
way to learn the mystery of your lifes gifts, as
well as those you may pass on to your children.
What were the very first signs that pointed you in
the direction of something you love? What
continues to make you special? What makes your
children special? Finding your gift and sharing it
is one of the secrets to having a very fulfilling and
successful life.

62






CHAPTER ELEVEN
TEENAGERS NEVER
STOOP TO THE LEVEL OF
YOUR HECKLER

Im not sure how a mom nosedives from being
the greatest person in the world - who gets hugs,
kisses and reassurances of love all day - every day
to being lame pathetic and kinda creepy -
but it happens. The plummet comes unexpectedly.
Sometimes it starts at such an early age one is
63

totally caught off guard or, at the other extreme, it
starts late - long after youve bragged to your
friends you dont have that problem with your
teenager.
I can tell you right now raising boys is easier.
For years parents told me, Wait until your sons
become teenagers. Youre going to have so much
comedy material! I kept waiting and waiting
nothing . nothing. No new jokes about
teenagers. They seemed so rational compared to
my own female way of thinking. They got along
well with their friends. There was no arguing,
gossiping, backstabbing or giggling or worrying
about who liked whom. (It was then I realized men
dont exchange any personal information. Its as if
my teenage boys were in the Witness Protection
Program!)
Life for Brendan and Steven revolved around
video games, online computer games, studying,
listening to music and sports scores. If I knew men
64

were so uncomplicated when I was single, I would
have had a heck of a lot easier time dating. I
wouldnt have spent any time trying to figure them
out. Theyre very easy to figure out. What you
see is what you get!
Then came Christine.
She turned 14 and I thought I was home free
no traumas, no crying fits and no crises. I thought
I was on Easy Street. Its frightening how those
emotional teenage years sneak up even though I
was warned they were coming. As middle school
turned to high school, drama reared its ugly head.
The volume in the house seemed to increase daily.
One thing is for sure - when a teenage girl suffers,
everybody suffers. Teenage girls make sure of
that.
How could I have been so clueless when things
started to change? Was my daughter transforming
the day the word Mom! subtly turned into the
words Oh god, Mom!! Could I have missed the
65

nuance? Or maybe it started with a bit of teasing
when we were out shopping together.
Mom, youre not really going to buy that, are
you?
I looked up at Christine as I sifted through the
50% off dresses and clutched my 20% off Kohls
coupon in my hand. Yes. Why?
Christine shook her head, I thought you picked
it out as a joke.
I placed the dress back on the rack. Were my
choices really that bad?
Having attended a Catholic all girls school for
thirteen years (K through 12), I still have no
confidence in the way I dress myself. I dont find
joy in shopping (much to the delight of my
husband!) I walk around department stores
aimlessly. My fantasy is to desperately latch on to
a stylishly dressed career woman, fall to my knees
and beg, Wont you please tell me what looks
66

good? I dont have a clue! Would you adopt me
as your own for a day?
My best bet is to wear what I know. Id be
perfectly happy leaving the house every day
wearing a plaid skirt, a white blouse, a navy blue
blazer, navy blue knee socks and saddle shoes. It
could work. I always thought I looked pretty
decent getting off the school bus.
Mom, that dress was lame! Christine said.
Thats probably why its on the 50%-off rack
anyway. If you go on stage, you want to look
good, not creepy. Find some clothes that dont
look so pathetic. Lame, creepy and pathetic in
that order. I won the trifecta! I was administered
my dose of This aint gonna get any easier
reality while accepting the fact that my adoring
little girl was becoming an all-knowing teenager.
From that point on, I was reminded I was oblivious
to all that is good and cool in the world.
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Performing stand-up comedy helps a comedian
develop people skills that can be effectively
transferred to everyday living. While raising my
teenage daughter, I kept one skill very close to the
vest. Never stoop to the level of your heckler!
If a comedian is experiencing a torturous night of
being heckled on stage, the best advice for that
comedian is to take the high road. Like a teenager,
a heckler is usually out-of-control, irrational and
loud. Words are meant to injure. If you stoop to
the level of your heckler, it can get really ugly.
I tried summoning the same control at home I
use on stage when dealing with a heckler. I
desperately tried to stay above the fray. Some days
I was more successful than others, but the
consequence of failure was always on my mind.
It is so important for moms to set the standard
for behavior just as a comedian sets the standard
for his or her own show. Calm interaction with a
heckler includes no disrespectful name calling, no
68

cussing, no criticism and no emotional outbursts.
Calm interaction with a teenager includes no
disrespectful name calling, no cussing, no criticism
and no emotional outbursts.
Its no easy task, and in the words of every
teenage daughter, Good luck with that!

69





CHAPTER TWELVE
BREAKING FREE

Del Close was a well-known director at
Chicagos Second City where he taught
improvisation. He later went on to direct
Saturday Night Live. His brilliant mind made
him a legendary figure and people were often
heard quoting his observations about life that
related directly to our craft. One of his first
lessons, and my personal favorite, was
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Comedy = Pain + Time. Our class seemed very
sensitive to that formula.
As I got to know my fellow comic actors, I
realized nearly all of us shared a common thread of
some sort of impressionable parental rejection.
Regardless of whether the parent meant to hurt or
control, or criticized because of ignorance, it all
felt the same. We were all looking for that pat on
the back growing up. We wanted those words of
reassurance. Youre doing good. Youre so
smart! Were proud of you! If you have never
spoken these words to your own children, I
recommend making it a priority. Approving words
can move mountains!
I grew up in Glenview, Illinois, the youngest of
four children, in a large split level home on a busy
corner street surrounded by an acre of property.
Although I loved our large yard, I was alone most
of the time. Having a home physically separated
from the other neighborhood homes by a row of
71

privacy bushes is not an ideal setting for meeting
other children. It was particularly difficult for me
because I was very shy.
During the summers I rode my bicycle a mile
and a half down Glenview Road past a half mile of
forest preserve, crossed two busy streets and
arrived at a community park. I stayed there
making crafts and playing baseball until 3:00 p.m.
Then I took my bike and rode home alone again
crossing the busy streets and passing the forest
preserve. It was an all-day personal adventure.
(Can you even imagine a child doing that now?!)
My father was a corporate attorney at a very
large law firm in the city (where I later worked as a
legal secretary immediately following college). We
rarely heard my father talk at home and we had
minimal personal interaction with him. Every
morning hed lie on the living room floor with his
eyes closed and my mother would sit on the sofa
across the room. The atmosphere was strained and
72

uncomfortable. My mother would talk endlessly in
a low tone and my father would respond with one
or two word answers. A wrong word by any of us
would send my mother into a rant that did not stop
until my father let out a yell or one of us was
crying.
None of us understood why my parents stayed
together. Looking back, we wonder if our mother
could have had an undiagnosed bipolar disorder.
On any given day, her mood shifts went from
generous and giving to complaining incessantly
about how her children were the worst children in
the world. Nobody here appreciates me! Bury
me in a pine box. Youre all killing me and Ive
got news for you, youre killing your father too!
Adding to the torment, my mother insisted she
was sick every day of her life and the sickness
stemmed from the behavior of her children. Not
only did we make her sick, we didnt care if she
was sick. Sickness leads to death and in no time at
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all she had hopped back on the pine box rant. No
one was spared. I would listen to the same
incessant speech and think, Someday I will be
free. Someday I will escape these negative words
and this house. I was emotionally exhausted. I
never knew what to expect from my mother from
minute to minute.
It wasnt until my mother was diagnosed with
Alzheimers I began to find peace. The personal
assistants at the nursing home would look at me
with downcast eyes and say how sorry they were
that my mother could no longer recognize me.
However, it was only in these later stages of the
disease that I could visit her and not be frightened
of the things she would say to me.
My mothers behavior is still something that no
one in our family understands. There was
definitely was an undiagnosed disorder that kept
our house in an emotional whirlwind. I forgive my
mother for her ranting because something must
74

have been tormenting her that wasnt addressed. I
wish her generous spirit was allowed to thrive. I
know she felt very alone.
At sixteen, I began to board full- time at my
Catholic girls high school and returned home on
the weekends. It was a genuine relief from the
trauma of home. My parents sent me to
Woodlands Academy of the Sacred Heart in Lake
Forest (an hour bus ride away) because of over-
crowding at the local Catholic school. I had
previously attended Our Lady of Perpetual Help
School in Glenview but classes were filled beyond
capacity because of all of us baby boomers.
When my parents attended the parent-teacher
conference in fifth grade, the teacher did not even
know my name.
We all left that beautiful split level home as if it
was a house on fire. My brother joined the
Marines immediately after high school. My sister,
Peggy, who was ten years older than me completed
75

two years of college and married her first
boyfriend who was only eighteen. My sister Susan
moved into her own apartment immediately upon
returning home from college and married at 24.
Ultimately, I was left at home with a seven- year
sentence of emotional torment. I felt totally
abandoned.
I spent many hours in my room trying to find
peace. My favorite thing to do was to listen to the
soundtracks of the popular musicals like
Oklahoma, South Pacific, Gypsy, Bye, Bye Birdie
and The Sound of Music and act them out. I would
rifle through my older sisters closets and try to
find the perfect outfit to match the words of each
song. I set up a mirror and Id sing and dance for
hours on end. It was a glorious escape and the
upbeat music would make my heart race.
I imagined how I would one day be able to live
on my own as a positive individual. I would
cherish my freedom and see the beauty in life. I
76

remember this promise vividly and I appreciate it
every day. There is no place for criticism and fear
in the life of a child.
My sisters and I wonder why my father never
rescued us from my mothers outbursts. My father
seemed to have good intentions but he buried his
frustrations and energies in his work. It wasnt
until years later when my older sister and I spent
some time working at his law firm that we
discovered my father was an incredibly funny man
and well liked. When we first discovered my
fathers true personality outside of the house, we
looked at each other wide-eyed and said, Dad
talks! He talks! Dad is funny and he has friends!
People love and admire him. How wild!
We were proud when we discovered the talents
of this amazing corporate attorney and awesome
man. As it turned out, he was considered a genius
at the law firm of Winston & Strawn. We
repeatedly heard the words photographic
77

memory as the other attorneys described his
amazing recall abilities. If a young attorney
needed to reference a case they would go to the
library or they would go to my father. He was a
legend at the firm and his laughter echoed
incessantly down the hallways. How unfortunate
that we grew up as children not knowing his full
true character.
I chose to call myself Sally Edwards when
performing comedy shows because Edward was
my fathers first name. He lived to be 96. The day
before he died, my husband, Bert, and I sat in his
hospital room where my father struggled to speak.
Even then, in a severely weakened condition, he
had us laughing at his funny observations about
life. He was a genuinely funny man. I consider
his amazing spirit a true gift.

78





CHAPTER THIRTEEN
POSITIVE REAPS POSITIVE

In an effort to break the cycle of negativity and
criticism, I censored myself daily to the very best
of my ability as I raised my own children. I made
it a mental practice to put my words through a
positive filter. Before I spoke, I imagined the
words as if they were being said to me as a child
and I would do my best to empathize with my own
childrens reactions. Daily, I made a conscious
79

effort to phrase things so my children would feel
good about themselves and grow to possess
excellent self-esteem. Exercising a few seconds of
control can shape your son or daughter into a
confident, happy person who finds joy in doing
what is right.
When a baby is born, parents generally set out
on a journey with the most positive of attitudes.
They dote on their precious new baby in the
hospital. They oooh and ahhhh its every
movement and are overcome by the miracle of
birth. Why does that appreciation for life slow
down or even stop? Why is it that many parents
often see their own child as less and less perfect as
they grow? Why do parents criticize their own
offspring and complain? Imagine if all parents
chose to see their child as glorious and beautiful as
the day they were born at the ages of 9, 12, 18, 24
or even 30 years old. If you see your child as
unique and fantastic, you will be seeing them as
possessing limitless positive qualities. Concentrate
80

on the positive and your child will grow daily
toward that very special mental image.
In addition to performing as a clean corporate
comedian, I teach piano lessons to young children.
I am continually dumbstruck by the negative and
critical way parents talk to children. Many times
they will apply labels to their own child that start
to form a students young mind. Hes lazy. He
doesnt like music. My husband isnt musical so
she might not be either. Shes a fidgety girl and
unmotivated. At each word, my heart breaks and
the childhood memories become vivid again.
Teaching piano includes a certain amount of
damage control.
If you want positive happy children, speak to
them as if they are already successful. Youre
smart. I can see youre putting your best effort
into your school work. Youre to be admired.
You inspire me and most importantly Im
proud of you! Positive words will confirm any
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doubts your child may have about his or her own
self-worth. You can mold your childs inner
beauty by acknowledging their unspoken strengths.










82






CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FINDING THE FUNNY

People often ask me When did you know when
you were funny?
Most self-discovery takes place in high school,
which was true for me when I attended Woodlands
Academy. I realized I was funny when I found
myself entertaining my mind with funny thoughts
in otherwise monotonous or stressful situations. If
I said my thoughts aloud, my friends would laugh
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and I was continually surprised everyone wasnt
thinking the same way. I started to realize that my
observations had value.
I found funny everywhere. If a class seemed
to drag for hours and I noticed that half the class
was asleep and slumped back in their chairs, Id
see the fascinating similarities to a Greyhound Bus
Station and I thought it was funny. If a new
freshman thought she could get past the uniform
code and appear cool by rolling up her skirt until
it could be mistaken for a plaid belt, I thought it
was funny. If a nun could put a Kleenex up one
sleeve of her habit and pull three out of the other
sleeve . I thought it was funny - and magical.
Finding the funny is a sure-cure for boredom
and great outlet for creativity. If the school system
doesnt generally cater to the creative mind, the
creative mind eventually finds a way to burst its
way out!
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Living at an all- girls Catholic boarding school
did not keep me from pushing the envelope with
my imagination and the limits of proper Catholic
school girl behavior.
When I was a senior in high school, our class
decided to perform a parody of The Miss
America pageant to serve as a fundraiser for
impoverished children overseas. We called it The
Miss Woodlands contest. In order to audition for
the contest, we had to perform a talent in the
cafeteria to show we were ready to compete.
While other girls were practicing dance steps and
folk songs, I had a more bizarre talent in mind.
Sister Lacey, I would like to wear six layers of
clothing and strip down to knit leggings and a
turtle neck with the Lake Forest boys basketball
uniform over the knit leggings and the turtle neck.
Ill be using the music Soul Kitchen by The
Doors. Sister Lacey didnt realize that I watched
the movie Gypsy at age eight and had been
85

singing Let Me Entertain You alone in my room
for years. Despite the oddity of my request in this
strict environment where people curtsied on cue
and were even chastised for wearing sleeveless
white cotton blouses (indecent to be sure), Sister
Lacey simply chuckled and said, Yes.
The next day while the other girls took turns
dancing and singing folk songs, I appeared on
stage as the Doors began to wail and the cafeteria
was filled with an aching bass beat. I approached
the makeshift runway and my heart was thumping
so hard I could barely catch my breath. Once on
stage, I relaxed and took on the role of an
emotionally intense stripper. I removed each layer
of my carefully planned costume until I was down
to the tremendously scandalous leggings, tights,
turtle neck and the New Trier boys high school
basketball uniform. Not once did I smile or break
character because I knew there was humor in this
parody of a totally self-absorbed dancer. With
each move of the hips, the room exploded with
86

laughter and applause. I became the very first
Miss Woodlands and no doubt the only student
who has won a contest by stripping in front of
room full of girls and Catholic nuns.

87








CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CAREER IN COMEDY

My senior year at Woodlands was one of great
confusion. Being a recognized prep school, my
high school was supposed to be a stepping stone to
college and hopefully a bright fruitful career in
something. My something could not be
identified. When asked, What do you want to do
or be? Id shake my head and say, I really dont
88

know. The fact is I knew who I wanted to be but
I was afraid to say it out loud. I wanted to be Carol
Burnett and I wanted to do everything Carol
Burnett did. I wanted to be on prime time TV.
There was no college major or institution of
learning on the horizon that bore even a vague
resemblance to the thing that made me tick.
Afraid to venture too far out into the real world,
I applied to St. Marys of Notre Dame in South
Bend, Indiana. I was accepted but I was flying
blindly and I knew it. The environment was
simply a close reproduction of the schools I had
attended all my life. That was all I had known
since I was five years old.
I attended St. Marys of Notre Dame for only
one year. The size of the school accompanied by
the close proximity to Notre Dame was
overwhelming. I was lost at sea. I started looking
for a school that allowed creatures called boys. I
heard of them, knew of them, but couldnt recall
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the last time Id seen one up close. My brother- in-
law suggested I look at Denison University in
Granville, Ohio which is the school he had
attended. I applied, got in, and continued to swim
aimlessly.
I picked psychology as my major because it
seemed the least of the evils. I enjoyed people
watching and it seemed like a good enough fit.
The fact that my grades hovered in the B-/C+
range (with great struggle) is a reflection of what
type of fit my chosen major turned out to be.
Things in the psyche world came crashing down
for me when we started experimenting with
animals. It was enough to break my heart and my
spirit.
One afternoon in psychology lab, we were told
that we would be opening the head of a mouse and
be sticking and probing the poor little creature with
pins.
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Today we are going to get an up close look at
the hippocampus, said Dr. Thedus. He was a tall
dark man with a long face who would probably
flourish in a career as an undertaker in case this
psychology professor gig did not work well for
him. While the other students soaked up the sight
of the delicate mouse brain and freshly opened
tissue, I began to sob silently. I sobbed and I
sobbed and I sobbed long after the class was over.
We turned that sweet creature into a little mouse
Frankenstein just for curiositys sake. Mr. Mouse
should have been romping in a grassy field living
life to fullest. Instead we turned a small life tragic.
That was the day I knew in my heart the life of a
psychologist was definitely not for me. Two years
later, I accepted my diploma and headed back to
my parents house to an uncertain future.

91





CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BLIND DATE

On a summer night in the early 80s I went on
one of the worst blind dates imaginable. I had had
a haircut that afternoon and it was the first time in
my life I cried over the damage. My hair had been
cut shorter than any mans and I was horrified.
Feeling the coarse bristles at the back of my neck, I
was sure my date would wonder about his friends
taste in women. I was so traumatized by the hair
butcher that Ive cut my own hair ever since.
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My date, on the other hand, was a nice enough
looking dark- haired guy (with a much better
haircut than me!) who had also just graduated from
college. The old joke goes that one person is often
horribly disappointed by the looks of their partner
on a blind date. If the guy looks O.K., then its
probably you! That night I was sure that it was
me.
My date picked me up at my Lincoln Park
studio apartment on Chicagos north side where I
had moved shortly after returning home from
college. After giving him a tour of my lavish
spread of a studio apartment (Thats the kitchen
and were standing in the living room, family
room, bedroom and foyer), he told me that we
would be going to Second City for a night of
watching improvisation. (Second City is the
Midwest home of improvisational comedy. It has
been the launching pad for many of the comedians
that you see on Saturday Night Live.)
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A short, fast, hair-raising cab ride took us to
Wells Street in Old Town. The cab zoomed up in
front of a two story brownstone building like it was
getting a quick tire change in the Indy 500.
Standing on the sidewalk, I was awestruck by the
fact that we were standing in front of the
birthplace of Chicago funny. Walking up a few
steps into the main lobby and ticket booth, I could
smell the scent of musty old wood and beer stained
floors mixed with light icing of Pine Sol. It would
become a familiar scent to me as I spent the next
25 years in comedy showrooms.
Joining a line that stretched four to six deep
from one massive stair bannister to the other
massive bannister, we climbed a gently curving
staircase. Coming to a short stop at the second
level, we passed a large oak paneled bar where
waitresses shouted drink orders to the bartender
with the kindness of drill sergeants. We turned the
corner to enter a large open room housing the main
stage. All the walls of the showroom were black
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and it was as cozy as it was invigorating. In the
midst of a sea of two-top tables, the nicely
groomed hostess held her drink menus tight against
her chest as if they were a deflating life jacket.
With a curt turn, she led us to one of the small
round tables on the first balcony.
Watching the improvisational actors fill the
stage with rapid movement, instantaneous thought
and captured- in-a-bottle creativity put words to a
career choice taking physical form - I wanted to be
on stage and make people laugh. This option had
not been on any student career survey I had taken
at St. Marys of Notre Dame or Denison
University. (I did take one aptitude test at Denison
and my scores indicated that I possessed the life
skills to be a good shepherd.) Finally, I was
witnessing a life choice that I could pursue. I felt
like I was home. The next day I signed up for
classes to learn the art of improvisation at
Chicagos Second City.
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

NAME A PROFESSION AND
A LOCATION

If you are looking for a challenge in fast
thinking and facing your fears, improvisation class
is a good place to start. I was taught by the best of
the best. I just happened to be at the right place at
the right time for stellar instruction. Josephine
Forsberg and Del Close (who later went on to
direct Saturday Night Live) were legendary
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instructors in their own time. They also had
completely different styles of teaching.
Josephine Forsberg taught her classes by way
of improvisational games. She would gather new
students in a classroom and give exact instructions
as how to play each game.
Youll be standing in a circle on stage. One
person will start a story with one sentence. The
next person uses the last word of that sentence to
continue to tell the story with one sentence in their
own words and so on The games are designed
to break the ice and bring even the most
introverted individuals out of their shell.
Del Close, on the other hand went full throttle
into the most difficult type of improvisation. Del
Close was a tall imposing figure with a greying
beard and coke-bottle glasses who walked at the
pace of man twice his age. He was a genuine
product of the hippy generation right down to all of
the drugs he had taken. Del taught his classes on
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Second Citys main stage and his huge voice
would ring out and fill the dark room. I want two
people on stage now! hed shout. With that, two
young comic actors would take the stage. Give
these two fine individuals their professions and a
location. The class would swing into gear,
Fireman! Heart Surgeon! Las Vegas
Casino! Podiatrist! Day Care Center!
Veterinarian! Hotel Lobby! The list would go
on until Del Close called Stop! From there, the
students were expected to develop a totally
improvised scene of top- notch comedy.
While on stage with a partner, students were
expected to take verbal and physical risks to
generate action in the scene. If Del Close sensed
hesitation in his student actors, he would stand-up
and bellow, Go with the fear! If you want to
grow, if you want to move forward, if you want
action, you cant hold back! Now, go with the
fear!
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I spent two-and-a-half years learning the art of
improvisation acting from these completely unique
instructors, but I soon realized that classes are
not a career choice. I knew it was time to enter
the real world of performing. Secure in my day
job as a legal secretary, I would use the night to
comb the near north side of Chicago for
performing venues for myself and my fellow
improvisational actors.
It didnt take long for me to realize struggling
improvisational actors are not a reliable bunch.
Is Glen coming to perform tonight?
No. Glen said he has to go to a wedding.
Hell be gone all weekend.
What about Carol?
Carol cant get a ride and last night she
sprained her index finger putting away her little
brothers trumpet.
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And Mike?
Mike got a real job. Hes not coming
anymore.
Three beleaguering showcases with no show
actors convinced me I needed to find a way to
perform solo. I considered my solo performing
qualifications. Im reliable. I show up. Im a
time freak which means Im never late and most
importantly, I dont know anybody who plays the
trumpet.

100






CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GOING SOLO

I never wanted to perform a solo stand-up
comedy act. I always envisioned myself
performing with an ensemble of talented comic
actors. However, the recent turn of events was
about to put me way out of my comfort zone.
------------------------------------
101

At sixteen years old, I remember sitting in my
parents kitchen watching George Plimpton on TV.
George Plimpton was a risk taker and a very
unusual trailblazer. His adventures would bring
him to the precipice of an unusual career or
activity and he would attempt to master that career
or activity in just a few short weeks.
The night I saw George Plimpton on television,
he was trying his hand at stand- up comedy in front
of a full house at a Las Vegas night club. Having
never performed stand-up comedy, he was a new
talent. To prepare him for his adventure, he was
coached for just a couple of weeks in the art of
joke telling, timing and performance skills.
Being a natural showman and using top- notch
comedy writers gave George Plimpton an edge on
the comedy stage that night, but I still viewed the
entire challenge as terrifying. I remember thinking
to myself, I would never, ever want to do
anything like that! No! Never! That is not for
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me! The irony of this mental note makes me
believe mental notes are meant to be altered.
Ten years later, those fearful thoughts were
fresh in my mind the day I decided it was time to
leave improvisational performing. I fully realized
that I had to continue my comedy career alone.
The first time I took the stage at Zanies Comedy
Club in Chicago I still appreciated and
remembered the fortitude of George Plimpton.





103





CHAPTER NINETEEN
NEW CLUB ON THE BLOCK

It would be weeks before I gathered enough
nerve to take a cab from my Chicago near north
apartment to Zanies Comedy Club on Wells Street
in Chicago. Zanies Comedy Club had just opened
its doors to the world of stand- up comedy. It was
only one block away from the front doors of
Second City, but the type of comedy it
encompassed was vastly different.
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In the early 80s, stand- up comedy was as new
to the city as Zanies Comedy Club was new to the
block. Many patrons had not even heard of stand-
up comedy, prompting questions such as Whats
stand-up comedy? Does the audience stand up?
Every Sunday, Zanies held a New Talent Night
for people wanting to test their ability to stand on
stage for five minutes and try to make people
laugh. On a warm summers night, I pushed open
the massive front door of Zanies Comedy Club not
knowing what to expect. As my eyes adjusted to
the darkness I could see a long dimly lit room with
white stucco walls and gaudy black and red
carpeting. The stage was immediately to the left
of the entrance and the bar was in the way back.
The now familiar musty smell of old cigarettes and
Pine Sol filled the room. I took a seat by the wall
near the rear of the room and watched as more
prospective new talents entered in wary silence.
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If youre here to go on stage, the sign- up sheet
is over there on the bar, said the lone waitress
trolling the room. Seeing I was making no effort
to move, she repeated, Youre sitting back here so
youre going up, right? You can go over to the
sign-up sheet and put your name down.
Okay. I said Ill do that in a minute. Frozen
in my chair, I wasnt even able to take that first
step towards a piece of paper that lay on the bar.
There were only about 25 people in the room
that night but it felt like 100. The new comedians
(and one improvisational group) took their turns
performing to the sparse house. The audience
greeted their efforts with wan applause. I could
not fathom climbing the three steps that would get
me onto the stage in order to stand there alone. I
stayed silent in my seat and left quietly when the
show ended. I repeated this weekly ritual for
another two months. If facing your fears is a
positive forward action, I can tell you I was knee
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deep in sticky, thick, wet, gooey mud. I could not
summon the courage to speak in front of even the
smallest groups. Every week, I plodded out of
Zanies Comedy Club in my mud-caked Im too
scared to go up sewer boots.

107





CHAPTER TWENTY

SURPRISE! YOURE A
STAND-UP!

After several weeks of showing up at Zanies
Comedy Club and never having the nerve to
perform, a group of my friends who were
improvisational actors from Second City came to
test their ability to perform as a group on a stand-
up stage. They invited me to join their team and I
felt the comfort and encouragement involved in
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working with fellow comic actors again. It was a
good feeling.
Come on Sally. Well just goof around up
there a little bit. It will be fun!
The thought of having company with me on
stage was finally the encouragement I needed to
walk up the steps of the Zanies stage. As I stood
on stage and faced the stares of the meager
audience, Jim Fey, an extremely talented
improvisational comedian grabbed the microphone
off of the stand. He said in his most commanding
and professional emcee voice, Ladies and
gentlemen, we have a stand- up comedian with us
in our group tonight. She is standing right here
and shed like to tell you a few jokes. Ladies and
Gentlemen Sally Edwards! A clever comedy
ninja had grabbed me by the heart and pierced me
right to the core. The other actors blocked my exit
and they left me standing there alone with the
microphone.
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I often have heard stories about people killing
(performing a super show) their first time on stage
and Ive wondered if these people were either lying
or totally delusional. The experience of facing an
audience for the first time with the intent to make
them laugh is very surreal. They say giving a
speech is a fear second only to death. Frankly,
death seemed a lot easier than my ability to deliver
a stand-up routine to the small audience who
looked up at me with crossed arms, drinks still
fresh and the attitude of They say youre a stand-
up. O.K. Prove yourself. My hands shook, I felt
weak and I felt betrayed.
As an improvisational artist there is a certain
amount of being oblivious to eyes- in-the-room
staring at you. Interacting with other comics actors
on stage, it becomes second nature to put up a
fourth wall to the faces of the nearby audience. As
a stand-up comedian, you must face those eyes as
they stare directly into you, turn you inside out and
soak up your soul. As I stood on that stage at
110

Zanies Comedy Club, stand-up comedy seemed
like an exercise in self- inflicted terror. I had
memorized a few jokes I had written just in case I
should ever have the nerve to add my name to the
roster of comedians who wanted to perform. As I
looked at the strangers below me I began to speak
as my movements became wooden. A 20-
something woman in a white lace blouse and knee-
high boots looked amused at my desperate, yet
determined, efforts.
Dont you hate it when you go in a dressing
room and the saleslady barges in on you? I heard
myself say. She stands there with the curtain
open and says Does it fit? Does what fit? Does
she think youre trying on a used pair of
underwear?
I heard a chuckle but that was not enough to
keep my memory alive. This was an out-of-body
experience and my brain was on a lunch break. I
recited a few more lines and I prepared to leave the
111

stage with a Thank you. Good night. after three
and a half minutes.
I took one more look at the faces a few feet
from where I stood on the stage. I wanted to
forever capture that mental picture. Practicing
jokes at home or while walking down the street is a
completely different experience from saying those
jokes to so many pairs of eyes staring up from the
shadows. My initial reaction had been to look
away. Meanwhile, my internal voice was shouting,
I cant think at all when all you people are
looking at me!
I left the stage to a slight smattering of
applause. Walking to the back of the room I felt
my entire being decompressing. I thought, I did
it! Im alive! Its over! Nobody got hurt.
Nobody complained or threw sharp objects. I felt
I had thrown off a tremendous weight that had
been consuming me for the last two months.
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That night, I left Zanies Comedy Club feeling
as if I could touch the sky. I could now call myself
a stand-up comedian! Or, um, wait a minute, I
thought. If Im going to call myself a stand- up
comedian, Ill need to go on stage next week, and
the week after that, and the week after that. In
order to be a professional stand- up comedian, Ill
have to write an hour of material that is good and
strong. Ill need stage presence and self-
confidence. It might take years.
Id stepped onto a comedy treadmill that had
no stop button. I knew I was in it for the long
haul. That night I was bitten by the stand-up bug -
it is both a blessing and a very odd lifelong
addiction that includes seeking personal approval
from rooms full of strangers.

113







CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MEAGER BEGINNINGS

Those first years of stand-up comedy were a
blur of shows. There were numerous New Talent
Nights in the area but the biggest and best were
Zanies Comedy Club in Chicago and the Comedy
Cottage in Rosemont, Illinois. The Comedy
Cottage in Rosemont paid $5.00 a show and
performing comedians thought theyd hit the
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jackpot by earning gas money. Comedians could
perform numerous times in one week at the
Comedy Cottage by calling the owner on the phone
and setting up stage time. The owner, Big Ed,
whose frame matched his name, had the physical
appearance of a comedy Santa Claus. Big Ed was
always smiling and laughing and his jovial manner
made him a big part of the Comedy Cottage
experience. As crowds lined the sidewalk circling
the small square building, Big Ed would exchange
one- liners and insults with the customers. The
message was fun and the Comedy Cottage
delivered.
One of the regulars of The Cottage was
Arsenio Hall, whose friendly, easy manner and
stunning stage presence filled the room like a
bright, shining star. His big smile and smooth
delivery rocked the room and people laughed until
they cried. Arsenio Hall was one of the first
comedians I knew who would move to Los
Angeles to pursue his dream of being a television
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(and movie!) star. Arsenios instincts were right
and shortly after his move to LA, he was starring
in his own talk show, The Arsenio Hall Show.
Although the show only ran for five years, it is
now revived and Arsenio is back on late night TV.
What was exciting about Arsenios move to LA
and subsequent success was the fact that stardom
was possible even if you were on stage performing
for only $5.00 a night in Rosemont, Illinois. Other
young comedians from Chicago followed suit and
made the move to LA to be closer to the industry.
Their careers took the shape of sitcom stars, sitcom
writers and sitcom producers. Those of us who
stayed in the Midwest generally chose the career
path of a corporate comedian or humorous keynote
speaker.

116





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BERT

I think it fitting my husband get his own chapter
in this book since it was his idea that I write it! He
is my best friend and soulmate and we have been
married since 1987. Ours is a happy ending to a
tumultuous courtship wrought with numerous
break-ups and reunions. Having both been raised
by protective and controlling parents, we were two
socially slowed individuals who met, dated, fell in
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love, and somehow managed to stay together as we
figured out how to grow up. Combine the drama
of an over-emotional woman and the personal
indecisiveness of an emotionally-distant young
businessman and youll get more excitement and
fireworks than the average Lifetime movie.
The first time I met Bert he had just been
promoted from a waiter to the manager of Zanies
Comedy Club. His evening stint as a waiter started
as an effort to get out of his parents home at night
after working a full- time day job. However, it
ultimately developed into a brilliant 35- year career.
He is now Executive Vice President of Zanies
Comedy Clubs and I could not be prouder of him.
As a young manager, he was still finding his
way with his new nighttime career, yet he operated
Zanies Comedy Club in Chicago with precision
and earnestness. In sharp contrast to his very
youthful look, he would strike the pose of a serious
tax accountant with an anal retentive glow as he
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stood at the bar studying the receipts from the
nightly sales. Because he rarely smiled, I kept my
distance and didnt choose to interact with him. It
would be another two years before I returned to
Zanies and found myself attempting to engage in
pleasant conversation with Bert Haas so as to mask
the awkwardness of being in the same room with
him.
See you guys later. Im taking off. Meet you
downstairs. I sat in the upstairs green room at
Zanies Comedy Club and was enjoying the
company of a few Chicago comics and Bert Haas
when the former decided it was time to move on to
the late night bars. Wells Street had plenty of
options for anyone seeking drink or entertainment
at 1:30 a.m. on a Saturday night. The third show at
Zanies ended at 1:00 and as if on cue the three
remaining comics stood and filed down the stairs
like the last school bell had rung. I felt like the
only life boat had been lowered into the sea as I
found myself being left alone in the green room
119

with Bert Haas. Shaking my head, I knew I had
just missed my chance to run out the back door
with the other acts. Id only hesitated because
there was no guarantee any one of them would
break from the pack and walk me through the
dimly lit parking lot to my car. Now I was reliant
on the managers exit and he sat across the small
room from me on a large sofa, saying nothing.
Shifting uncomfortably in my chair I reviewed
the evening in mind and wondered how I could
have gotten myself in this predicament. Next
time, I thought, Ill be sure to leave with the
audience en masse when the show ends. Looking
up at Bert, I saw him staring blankly ahead as if he
was still trying to figure out the nights receipts. I
just wanted to go home.
Good shows tonight, dont you think? There
were a lot of people here, I said trying to relate to
what Bert knew best.
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Yeah, good, he said offering no new insight.
He readjusted himself on the sofa and continued
staring forward at the bannister railing of the
staircase.
I continued, I think its supposed to rain
tomorrow. You can almost smell it in the air.
Already I was out of ideas as to what to say. These
moments were even more agonizing than Id
anticipated. We sat in silence as I waited for Bert
to break from his trance and offer to get me to my
car. What came next was a shock to my system.
Bert raised his after-hours beer to his lips. He
took one big final swig and said, Ill walk you
out. With one big flick of the wrist he threw the
bottle at the far wall and it bounced in perfect time
down the steps. I was stunned, horrified and
unable to move. With a self-satisfied grin, a shrug
of the shoulders and a glimmer in his eye he broke
into a rare smile and said, They always break in
the movies.
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If you want me to explain my immediate
attraction to Bert after that bizarre tale, it would
not be rational. I was immediately drawn to this
mysterious character who obviously had a strange,
yet fascinating, sense of humor. The bottle
incident was a glimpse into someone who was
amazingly complex and much more than a
numbers man studying receipts. My instincts were
correct. Bert is a gentleman, a serious
businessman and the funniest man I have ever been
around. Im still hooked.


122






CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

DATING THE BOSS

Being a comedian and dating the
manager/booker is not as beneficial to a career as
one might think. It is even when trickier when that
boss is Bert Haas who is almost compulsive in his
desire to be fair to the countless comics who
contact him daily for bookings.
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Even today, comedians think I have a special
edge into his booking decisions. Tell Bert I have
November open. My immediate mental response
is Do you think he listens to me? Im his wife!
You must be kidding. Hes a businessman. He
makes his own decisions.
Young comedians think there are shortcuts but
even dating the booker did not provide any for me.
I auditioned for one entire year delivering 10
minutes sets on New Talent Nights in order to get
an opening spot at a Zanies Comedy Club weekend
show. I honestly believe Bert expected more of me
because he wanted to make certain no one accused
him of favoritism. Adding to the dilemma was that
the competing clubs where I worked tended to
view me as a spy into their operations. (I find that
very funny because all of my concentration is
focused on my act. What comedian has time to
think about anything else?!)
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Now Im married to the booker who is also the
Executive Vice President which means Im still
swirling in a Catch-22. Performing my humor in a
comedy club is still tricky even today.
125





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SMILE!

Smile!
I am smiling!
No. Youre not smiling!
Oh. I really thought I was.
The hardest personal criticism to hear is from
someone near and dear to you. For me, that near
126

and dear person was Bert. After five years of
tumultuous dating, we finally settled into a
relationship and decided that we were, in fact,
ready to be married. Our children quickly
followed and in between the crying, nursing,
running and pooping, Bert would look and me and
say, Sally, I love you, but you know something?
You have to start smiling. And most importantly,
you have to smile on stage.
I am firmly convinced that there are two types
of people who wander the earth - (1) natural gifted
smilers who willingly and effortlessly smile
throughout the day and (2) those who don't. The
gifted smilers are the people to whom you are
immediately attracted because a big smile is a sign
of acceptance. Gifted smilers tend to make friends
easily. Theyre most often outgoing and fun
extroverts. Those who are not natural smilers feel
like they are smiling, but guess what theyre not!
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I was not a gifted smiler and my husband made
it very clear I had to make the effort to learn to
smile if I wanted to be a successful performer.
Smiling and happiness do not go hand-in- hand.
I know many very happy people who don' t show
their internal happiness through facial expression.
I recognize these people because for twenty- five
years, I was one of them. Happy on the inside, I
had no idea it wasnt reaching all the way up to my
face. I really thought I was smiling and I was
shocked to find out that I wasnt.
Bert insisted I teach myself to smile. I began
forcibly making myself smile on stage and in the
company of friends. It was a major and constant
initial effort. It felt completely unnatural and
insincere because I was always thinking about
forcing a smile and it seemed contrived. I felt I
was putting on an act and not truly being myself.
However, I quickly realized the irony! If I feel
happy on the inside, a smile on my face is actually
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a truer reflection of my spirit. It was time to catch
up to the gifted smilers and to discover what it felt
like to portray true happiness. The effect was
instantaneous!
I immediately found putting a smile on my face
changed my interaction with friends, family and
acquaintances. As I learned to smile my
confidence grew in both my personal life and on
stage. People more willingly approached me and I
experienced a notable influx of positive energy.
Smiling also provided a tremendous improvement
in communication skills. Making the effort to
smile has made me more comfortable in my own
skin.
Do you know someone at work or in your
neighborhood whose expression rarely changes?
Dont be too quick to judge these people. They
may feel joy on the inside and do not realize
theyre communicating gloom and doom on the
outside. A stock line of the comedy club comic is
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Sir, are you having a good time? . Then why
dont you tell your face about it!
Smiling is a gift from my husband and I am
incredibly grateful for his lessons. I no longer envy
the natural smilers and their natural gift. I believe
smiling is a genetic blessing and it also can be a
learned behavior. How wonderful we can learn to
smile as easily as those who are gifted! It is a
positive way to live and grow.
Look in the mirror. If youre happy on the
inside but you see no smile on the outside, you
might want to tell your face about it!

130





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
PLANNING PARENTHOOD

Im a woman who has given birth to three
children and I still dont understand childbirth. I
have never been able to visualize the actual process
of giving birth (with myself involved).
Experiencing the awesome nature of a drug- free
birth is something I never even had a desire to
consider. Signing up for Lamaze classes made me
the house hypocrite. Did these other women have
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any idea what they were getting into? Quick little
breaths will get you through the pain and now
relax, relax.quick little breaths
No. No it wont get you through the pain.
Theyre lying to you! Heavy medication will get
you through the pain. If youre considering
pushing a giant baby head through a keyhole in
your den or living room with no pain relief in
sight, you might want to draw a diagram and
reconsider.
My sister, Susan, indoctrinated me into this way
of thinking after the birth of her first child. She
would look at me unblinking and say, If you ever
have kids, get an epidural! Dont even mess
around. Dont even think of doing anything else!
The word epidural was never mentioned in our
Lamaze class which made me think the instructor,
Dinah, was poorly informed or completely out of
her mind.
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Sitting on the floor in a circle, Dinah would
relate serene stories of home bed births, home bath
births and home foyer births with lovely music
playing and the moon rising. The gel-on-the- lens
birth stories were told like whimsical and
fascinating dreams. While my classmate moms
giggled and wooed, I wanted out.
I kept this little secret to myself as I attended
class each week. I didnt want to look like a bad
sport. My husband would put his hand on my big
belly as I attempted the whoot-whoot breathing
exercise. Instead of relaxing, it would cause me to
laugh uncontrollably. I quickly realized that
despite my efforts, I was sure to be a Lamaze class
drop-out.
At nine months, none of my children wanted to
emerge from the womb. I like to think they were
enjoying themselves and having a pretty good time
- or maybe my own subconscious convinced them
the exit ramp was really meant for a squirrel.
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Each of my babies stayed two weeks past their
limit. Our first son, Brendan, put up a good fight
to maintain his residency in the womb but Dr.
Watts finally shouted the command, Were goin
in!
After a full 24-hour labor, a rushed decision
was made to initiate a cesarean-section. As my
babys heart rate slowed, Dr. Wattss medical team
flew into high gear. With no time for coffee and
donuts, the surgeon cut into my stomach like he
was late serving Thanksgiving turkey.
To this day, I can still imagine the first touch of
the knife blade because they couldnt wait for the
anesthesia to become fully effective.
I was screaming like the Bride of Frankenstein,
It hurts! Its a knife blade. Its sharp and youre
cutting me. I can feel it!
How did I manage to mix the remarkable
qualities of the drug- free Lamaze method with the
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sausage slicing barbarianism of a knife-wielding
obstetrician?
After Brendan was born, I was certain I wanted
neither a vaginal birth nor a cesarean-section ever
again. Since we wanted more children, this could
prove to be tricky. With no initial plan of delivery,
I again became pregnant and one year later Steven
was born by way of another cesarean-section. My
confidence increased a bit after Stevens birth and I
decided perhaps I should consider the possibility of
a v-back, or vaginal birth after cesarean for our
third child. Maybe I could put that Lamaze
training to work after all!
A year and three quarters later I had the chance
to prove myself as a mom so superior to other
reproducing women that I could, in fact, have a
baby the natural way. After all, the rest of the
human race was doing it. And, I had had more
time to think about it.
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When Baby No. 3, Christine, was close to term, I
was given the choice of having the baby naturally
or once again by way of cesarean section. I
decided to wait patiently for our third childs due
date and attempt a v-back. I pretended to be cool
about the whole thing like the Lamaze moms on
cable TV. Two weeks past the due date, my efforts
were rewarded with contractions the same morning
the doctor suggested a cesarean be scheduled.
Bert, Ive got to go to the hospital now. Im
having contractions. Maybe I should try to have
this baby the regular way.
My husband looked me as if Id grown another
head and didnt know which Sally head to talk to.
Are you kidding me? You think you want to
have a vaginal birth? Are you sure? Okay. Well,
Dr. Pearson said you could give it a try.
Once in the hospital and secure in my room, I
began to panic. I must be insane! I thought. I
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dont know how to push ten pounds of potatoes
through the eye of a needle!
My panic produced even more irrational
thoughts that just maybe it would be OK to not
give birth at all. Why couldnt I go through life
like this? I was happy! I started to hyperventilate.
I realized the doctors and nurses had cornered me.
If I didnt give them an answer about how I wanted
to give birth, they were going to come and get me
anyway! I started to cry and the cries turned to
sobs. I hid in the covers of my bed knowing they
would soon be taking me by force.
At the urging of the obstetrical nurses, Dr.
Pearson appeared at my hospital room door. He
initially scheduled a visit to wish me well but
instead he found a horrible sobbing neurotic mess.
Whats the matter? I thought you wanted a
vaginal birth if you started contractions. Why are
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you crying? Have you changed her mind? Do you
want a cesarean birth now?
My husband, in all his grace, took Dr. Pearson
by the elbow and led him silently into the hallway.
With a half- smile on his face, he laid his chips on
the table, Doctor, you dont understand. What
Sally is really looking for, what Sally really needs
and what Sally really wants right now - is a third
option.
-------------------------------------------------
In support of all pregnant women everywhere, I
empathize with your pain and all of your
trepidations. For this reason, I am urging the
institution of third type of baby delivery Birth by
Magic!

138





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
PET THERAPY

If you happen to have three babies in four years
and youre working a night job, getting little sleep
(or no sleep at all) and your personality is taking a
turn for the worse, I recommend getting a pet. Get
lots of pets. They teach compassion, they offer a
comforting ear in stressful situations and they are
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overall an excellent choice for a childs healthy
development. It worked for us!
Foster, rescue, rehabilitate, release Ive done it
all. Our house has always been a place where
furry creatures are welcome. Along the way, we
have enjoyed tremendously rewarding experiences
in rescuing - and survived some that were not so
successful.
The most unfortunate story that comes to mind
is when I rescued three baby birds right out of the
eggshells I found on the lawn in our backyard. I
read every book on baby bird care and I made
concoctions to hopefully mirror their own mothers
regurgitated recipe. Even with three children, I
made my baby bird care a round the clock vigil.
The three babies grew into a motley looking
crew of fledglings but they were able to hold on to
life until it was time to go out and test their wings.
I placed their makeshift cage outside with the top
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open. They flipped and they flapped and tried to
make their way to the sky. I went into the house
confident that I had done a very good thing helping
them grow and setting them free. Unfortunately,
the event coincided perfectly with the day someone
left the back door open when he went outside to
play. Within minutes, the cat ate every one of
them.
There are happier stories. For example, I
adopted a 12 year old toothless Yorkie from a local
shelter because I saw some of the caretakers
laughing at it and making fun of the poor little
thing. He shivered helplessly in a dark corner. I
couldnt imagine a more demeaning senior living
accommodation or fate. I purchased the five
pound ball of matted sweetness even though we
already had four dogs at home. After a bath and
quick comb through, that little pup was ready to
shine. He turned on his senior charm and found
himself a loving home with one of my piano
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students within 24 hours. He was doted on and
lived in the lap of luxury forever after.
Accidents can and do occur with so many live
creatures running through the interior of a three
bedroom split level.
Scooter was a tabby cat who lived his life as a
pillow of affection. One day Scooter didnt look
so well. He spent the entire afternoon scratching in
the litter box and I decided he needed to go to the
vet pronto! I made a desperate call to our vet who
was kind enough to see Scooter even though their
animal hospital doors had just closed for the
evening. We brought Scooter in to find his recent
yowls and growls were due to a urinary tract
infection. Scooter was treated and released. On a
good night, that might have been the end of the
story.
Within the hour, we all arrived back home.
Scooter was in the front seat and Brendan, Steven
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and Christine were in their car seats in the back.
The garage door closed and we were about to
emerge from our minivan. Unloading the three car
seats in the back and the cat carrier in the front seat
required a bit of unloading finesse. With Scooter
desperate to escape from his confinement I decided
to open the release hatch of the cat carrier so he
could have his freedom. Mommy, let me out of
car! cried Brendan. Like a quick draw sheriff, I
jumped out of the car to release the car seats. Now
Brendan, Steven and Christine were free too. And
thats when I heard the car door slam - and the
scream. An ear piercing wailing scream.
Brendan had hopped up in order to jump out of
the car in sync with Scooter. The car door
slammed shut and the cat was trapped by the car
door. Scooter now hung by one leg from the
closed door flailing and growling. Brendan!
Open the door! Let the cat out! Hes caught! At
five, Brendan made a stellar effort to yank the door
open. I ran around to the passenger door and was
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at his side in a moment. Grabbing the car handle, I
struggled to get it open. And thats when I felt the
first chomp.
The cats agony came through in its yowls and a
dead-on bite through the back of my hand. I
learned what genuine state of shock meant that
day. Thats when a cat is biting through your hand
and it registers as almost painless. There is
pressure without full pain. I continued to struggle
with the door and chomp, chomp more biting
as I desperately tried to free the cat. This time,
though, one of Scooters teeth pierced my vein.
Blood spurted in the air with the rapidity of a live
volcano. For a moment I experienced a welcome
flash of brain activity. I get it, I thought. The
door isnt stuck. Its locked!
I ran around to the inside of the car and opened
the locked door with my one good hand. The cat
fell with a thud to the cement floor and
disappeared. I ran up the back stairs to the kitchen
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leaving a trail of fresh blood. Collapsing against
the refrigerator, I sat on the floor and watched
blood spurt from my hand at quick steady
intervals. It was as fascinating as it was gruesome.
Slowed in thinking by the shock, I could only put
together the simplest of thoughts. Time to call for
help. This one might kill me.
Grabbing a rag in an effort to control the
spurting, I reached for the house phone and dialed
Bert who was working at Zanies Comedy Club in
Mount Prospect.
Bert, I think you need to come home and
watch the kids. The first comedy show had just
ended and I could hear the sounds of the boisterous
crowd in the background. No doubt there was a
long line to enter the club and it was time to seat
the 250 seat room for the next show. Bert could
not fathom that this was a dire drop everything
emergency.
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I continued, Scooter bit me. He got caught in
the car door. Im bleeding everywhere its on the
rug, on the cabinets, there are pools of blood on the
floor. Experiencing shock, my voice was calm
and monotone as I described the crime scene.
Bert strained to hear me at the other end and
questioned me again if there was really any
emergency at all. Sally, are you joking? Really?
Is this a joke? Ive got 250 people here. Cant it
wait? No. I said, It really cant. I hung up
and called 911.
Three paramedics came to the door. Their full
gear made me wonder if Id also told them the
house was on fire. Two of the paramedics helped
me into a wheelchair. The third paramedics job
was to find the supposedly rabid and insane animal
that did this to me. As he searched for the cat, I
tried so hard to explain. Scooter is really nice.
Hes a really, really nice cat. You dont
understand! I continued to babble as they
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wheeled me out of the kitchen towards the front
door.
Brendan, Steven and Christine sat like porcelain
dolls on the living room sofa as they were
introduced to their new uniformed babysitter.
Call Dad. Call Grandma! I shouted as my
guardians wheeled me down the front stoop.
I felt completely helpless as I looked back at
my childrens sweet faces and the brutal crime
scene Id created. Blood soaked the carpet and
bloody hand prints covered the kitchen door and
cabinets. There was blood dripping from the
telephone cord and there were bloodstains on the
steps and on the walls that leading to the garage
door.
Quite impressive, I thought. Just like in the
movies.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
BOMBING

Bombing is a term that stand-up comedians
use to describe a horrible show. That horrible
show may be one in which (1) jokes are met with
silence; (2) the audience becomes out of control
due to poor management; or (3) there is an
interruption of the comedians act with loud
talking or personal assaults, known as heckling.
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Bombing causes personal angst, including a
horrible, sinking feeling that often resulting in a
comedian experiencing short-term depression as
he/she repeatedly reexamines their career and life
choice. The only way to recover from the bombing
experience is to go on stage again (get back on that
horse) and perform a great show. With that, nearly
all former pain is magically forgotten.
That last act was terrible! She seemed really
nervous. It was only my second time on stage at
the Comedy Womb in Lyons, Illinois. I stood
inside one of the restroom stalls of the ladies room
and listened to the conversation that the two
twenty-something women were having at the sinks.
The roar of the blow dryers made it necessary for
them to shout their criticisms even louder.
I think she was nervous too, Number-two-
girl-at-the-sink shouted. Ive seen better! I
couldnt have gotten any more comedy intelligence
concerning my own act if I worked for the FBI.
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I leaned against the cold steel of one of the stall
walls and waited for these mean girls to leave. I
knew they were wrong in their assessment of my
abilities. Despite having a bad show I could
imagine exactly how the jokes should be told. I
could see myself relaxed on stage as if I was in the
company of old friends and I knew one day I
would get there. I knew one day my timing would
be crisp and clean and Id have the confidence that
comes with years of experience. These women
didnt know. They didnt have my vision.
I emerged from the bathroom and peaked
around the door to see if my harsh reviewers were
in sight. Another comedian was on stage and
there was new energy in the room.
Grabbing my coat off of a wobbling bar stool I
hurried out the side exit door. In a moment I was
running down a long flight of rattling metal steps
to my car.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
GO WITH THE FEAR!

What? I jolted back to reality as I heard Father
Greg deliver the rest of his homily with
conviction. Whenever I performed stand-up on a
Saturday night, I often fell into a state of
exhaustion during Sundays church service as soon
as I heard the words, Please be seated.

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I was alert now as Father proclaimed, I want
to repeat this so everyone understands. If God
gives you a gift, you use that gift to the best of
your abilities. Never let fear stand in the way of
accepting Gods gift and sharing it with others!
You go with the fear!

There were those words again. I knew this was
Gods way of talking about something very
important to me. It all sounded familiar from years
ago but how did God know I was still in hiding? I
had taken a leave from performing because I
couldnt stand the performance anxiety. I thought
I could camouflage myself next to the other soccer
moms and pretend it all never happened. Even
though standup comedy was one of the true joys of
my life, I was very much in denial.

Seventeen years of performances across the
country had been full of adventure and good times,
but I let fear win. I quit the business. I was hiding
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and keeping quiet. But now, in church today, God
caught up with me. He jolted me back to reality
and He was talking really loud!

Never let fear stand in the way of accepting
Gods gift and sharing it with others!

I was sure that God was talking to me about my
comedic gift. No one suspected my insecurities
because I knew how to carry myself. The night I
filmed my segment of Showtimes Comedy Club
Network at Zanies in Chicago, I felt overwhelmed
with both the stress of performing and raising my
young children. In the past six months, my weight
had dropped significantly and I looked gaunt. I
studied my reflection in the mirror. This cannot
be a healthy way to live, I thought. Why am I
doing this to myself? And the answer was always
the same. This is what makes me tick. In my
self-questioning, I held onto a vision of the
performer I could become.

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The Showtime taping went well but at a cost. I
was emotionally drained and I continued to lose
weight. I grew weary and gave up the fight. I let
fear win. I quit. I hid from my dreams.

Nobody could understand why I ran away from
something I loved so much. It seemed quite a
mystery. But today God found me hiding in His
church. He had a voice in Father Greg and He was
using it. There was no denying the seriousness of
this message.

----------------------------------------------

Discovering a gift is the first step to discovering
a beautiful life. Overcoming the fear in order to
share it is the second.

154





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
COUCH STORIES -
GILBERT GOTTFRIED

The unfortunate adventures that stand-up
comedians may experience over the years are often
referred to as couch stories. They generally
contain elements of pain and embarrassment for
the performer and repeating them has a cathartic
effect until they become funny and tolerable. A
good storytelling comedian knows pain becomes
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funny over time. A great story is memorable gold
when riffing on the couch with a talk show host -
should that welcome opportunity arise.
One of my favorite couch stories concerns a
very talented comedian by the name of Gilbert
Gottfried. (Now a favorite face on the line up of
comic roasters as seen on Comedy Central.)
Gilbert is a very unique comedian from New
York who delivers his material in a whiny voice
while squinting his eyes. What is most unique,
however, is his very original material emerges
from the deep recesses of his twisted imagination.
Gilbert Gottfrieds appearance is as unique as the
jokes he tells. His height and weight border petite.
I was a bit star struck driving up to Milwaukee
where I would be performing with Gilbert at The
Comedy Caf an intimate room where the
crowds are always pumped and ready to laugh.
Gilbert is a true talent and I knew the three days of
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performing with him were going to be top-notch.
One of the thrills of being a comedian is working
with people whose comedy I admire.
Hi. How are ya? Hi, how are ya? Nice to
meet you. Good. Good. Gilbert Gottfried made
his way through the standing-room-only crowd of
fans. His intended goal was the swinging door on
the far side of the room that would take him to the
long narrow hall that led to the green room. Head
down, eyes squinting, he rarely made eye contact
with those he passed.
Reaching the swinging door at the same time,
we bumped into each other long enough for me to
say, Hi Gilbert. Im Sally and Ill be your feature
act tonight.
Hi. Very nice. Pleasure to meet you. Good.
Good.
And those were the only words we exchanged
that week. He seemed to neither see nor hear me
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when I ran into him again and again over the
course of four days.
As a young comedian, it is very exciting to
know while you are on stage your act is being
watched by someone in the business you admire.
It is also in the best interest of the headliner (the
star of the show or closing act) to watch his or
her opening act to ensure they do not repeat the
same premises and/or jokes to the same audience.
It is a type of self-preservation. As a headliner, it
is humiliating to bring up a topic your opening act
has explored. It is embarrassing to repeat subject
matter and reduces perceived professionalism.
Gilbert Gottfried never watched my act. He
wasnt worried Id bring up any of his very
original premises. He wasnt concerned with the
possibility I might be so funny he could not follow
me. He never made an effort to see my show or
engage in friendly conversation with me. I was
invisible to him.
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Gilbert Gottfried went on stage that night and
he reeled the audience in with his incredible
imagination. He talked about the bizarre and he
intrigued his fans as they listened to a personal
story about how he went outside one morning and
found a turtle in the radiator of his car. He talked
for twenty minutes about that turtle and the
audience stayed with him. Anything is possible in
Gilbert Gottfrieds world. As he exited the stage,
two very tall, big-breasted blondes became his
moveable bookends as he made his way directly
past me down the hallway and to the green room.
It had been four days since Gilbert Gottfried
had acknowledged me as an acquaintance and
fellow performer. In four days, I grew tired of
being invisible and decided it was time for a prank
that would shake Gilbert Gottfried out of his big-
breasted, blonde stupor.
Saturday night, I approached Gilbert in the green
room. He looked at me as if he was seeing me for
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the first time. I said, Gilbert, Ive been opening
for you all week.
Ah, yeah, Gilbert responded with no
expression in his voice.
Gilbert, I continued. Have you watched any
of my shows?
Ah no. I havent had a chance to get up
there.
Well Gilbert, I have something to tell you that
may be very important to you.
What? Theres something important to
me? Gilbert leaned in closer and listened with
great interest.
I continued, You know those jokes that you
tell about finding a turtle in the radiator of your
car?
Yeah, he said.
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Well Gilbert, you wont believe this but I do
jokes about finding a turtle in the radiator of MY
CAR!
Gilbert let out a loud long excruciating moan.
Gilbert Gottfried grabbed his chest and fell
forward on his knees yelling, Oh my god. No!
Tell me No! Oh my god. No! Its not true! It
cant be! Oh my god! Oh my god!
He completed his descent until he was on all
fours at my feet.
Gilbert! I shouted. He raised his head as he
brought himself up to a genuflecting position.
Gilbert! I said. Its O.K. Get a hold of
yourself. Im only kidding!

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CARROT TOP

Before Carrot Top landed a very sweet
consistent gig in Las Vegas, he took his very funny
prop comedy act on the road. I first met Carrot
Top at Zanies Comedy Club in Chicago. Carrot
Top was headlining for the week and I was the
feature act.
I knew I had a rough road ahead of me because
pre-plastic surgery Carrot Top was a very cute
redhead and he already had a huge fan base. When
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a comedian becomes semi- famous and draws a
crowd, his or her fans do not relish the twenty to
thirty minutes they spend watching the feature, or
middle act.
The room was packed and Carrot Top Fever was
in the air. I delivered the best show I could but the
impatient crowd did not return my energy. I felt
defeated. That sense of defeat was amplified when
Carrot Top hit the stage. The crowd went wild
with his first How you guys doin?
Carrot Top can work a room. Each prop and
joke surpasses the cleverness of the one preceding
it. At the time, his piece de resistance was a joke
about fellow comedian Pee Wee Herman who had
recently been arrested for indecent exposure. Pee
Wee Herman starred in his own funny childrens
show even adults enjoyed. However, he fell out of
grace when he was caught playing around in a
movie theater with his privates.
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Carrot Top held up a jumbo popcorn container
with a big hole in the bottom and shouted out, Pee
Wee Hermans Popcorn Box! The crowd went
wild. It was a true eruption. The audience was
totally in sync with their comedy hero and it was in
stark contrast to the ambivalent way they had
welcomed me.
I wanted to level the playing field. I decided to
play a joke on Carrot Top during the second show
scheduled for that night.
Following Carrot Tops awesome performance,
he chatted with fans and then made a beeline for
the second floor green room where he could rest,
relax and gather his thoughts for the second show.
Carrot Top did not watch my show and I decided
to take advantage of that fact. He would not know
what I was planning while on stage.
The second show started and I was met with the
same ambivalence as the first. They wanted Carrot
Top. I decided to get in on Carrot Top Fever.
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Because he left his trunk full of props on stage I
had access to Carrot Tops entire act. I opened the
trunk and saw the giant popcorn container with the
hole in the bottom. I held it up to the audience I
said, This is one of Carrot Tops favorite jokes.
Lets play a trick on him. When he holds up this
container and says, Pee Wee Hermans popcorn
box (big laugh), dont make a sound not a
sound! I could see the delight in the faces of
Carrot Tops fans. Everyone loves a good joke.
----------------------------------------------------------
Carrot Top was at his best. The crowd was with
him and he was getting ready for the kill. He
reached into his trunk of wonders and pulled out
the popcorn container. Ladies and gentlemen, he
said in a booming voice, Pee Wee Hermans
popcorn box! . Silence. Not a sound!
Ladies and gentlemen Pee Wee Hermans
popcorn box! he shouted again. Nothing! The
Carrot Top fans were pulling through for me! I
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was stunned, delighted and even a little bit scared
(of who might be kind of upset!)
Ladies and gentlemen, Carrot Top said as he
stooped forward toward the crowd, What dont
you guys get? This is funny. Really. This is
funny! How can you not laugh at that? Carrot
Top held it up one last time, waved it around and
dejectedly gave it a long toss into his long black
trunk.
Facing a sea of Carrot Top fans, his loyal
audience let me into their circle to have some fun
that night. Carrot Top demonstrated great
sportsmanship when he found out the audience was
in on the joke. He took it all in good spirits and
that night he was generous enough to let everyone
share in the spotlight.

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BOBBY VINTON

At 26, I stood on stage at the Joliet Theater and
tried to remember my act. There were 150 senior
citizens in a 600-seat room waiting to see the
legendary crooner, Bobby Vinton, whose
popularity I was sure must have passed nearly
twenty years prior. I was on stage desperately
trying to perform for 30 minutes and I could not
think of anything even mildly entertaining for this
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crowd. Flashes of PMS material, boyfriend
laments and interfering parent jokes filled my brain
but were censored due to a quick read of the
audience. I could see some patrons shaking their
heads in the front row. That was enough for me to
close my show.
Thank you ladies and gentlemen and good
afternoon. (Bobby Vinton had the sense not to
schedule his appearances after dark.) Kindly
applause allowed me to make it off the stage
without appearing totally defeated. Silently, I
climbed down a flight of stairs and followed a
hallway that twisted and turned until it opened up
to the main floor. I was anxious to find a seat in
the audience because I wanted to see what Bobby
Vinton would do with this theater filled with
disapproving comedy fans. Before I even arrived
at a seat, I could hear Bobby Vinton flirting
outrageously with his snow-haired worshipers.
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Hi doll, how ya doing today? You look
gorgeous. You want to meet me after the show?
Sure how about my place?
I would have found this fawning much more
adorable if I could stop imagining that this aging
crooner no doubt had a 20-something assistant he
was singing ballads to in his limo after 6:00 p.m.
I hurried to an empty seat with my head down
to avoid being noticed. Bobby Vinton made a few
sexual innuendos to a woman in her eighties and
he began to snap his fingers. He moved in a come
hither groove to the first row. A few whistles
pierced the air and the theater turned into the
Bobby Vinton Worshipping Grounds.
I sat low in my red velvet theater seat and
watched the senior madness unfold. Despite the
discrepancy of age and taste between me and this
older crowd, my comedic ego was wounded. Still
dazed by my 30 minute trauma, I wanted to
169

understand what type of show this audience really
wanted.
Excuse me. Excuse me Miss. I looked up
to see an elderly gentlemen a few seats down
trying to get my attention. He must recognize
me, I thought. Maybe hed give me my one and
only Good show! of the evening.
The man extended a frail hand to draw me
closer. Did you just get here? he asked looking
as if he did not recognize my face even though I
had just been on stage.
Did I just get here? I asked. Now I was
confused. Maybe he was referring to the seat I had
just chosen. I said, Yes. I just got here.
And with a verbal spear to my heart, he gave
his best stage whisper. Good. Cuz trust me, you
didnt miss anything!

170





CHAPTER THIRTY
ONE MORE SHOW TO
MAKE YOU SQUIRM

One of the things that makes a professional
comedian special is the ability to appear confident
and in control at all times. However, you can be
sure there are glitches that come from live
performing which secretly make a comedian
squirm. The most common ones occur when
interacting with a member of the audience because
171

everyone is truly improvising. Since my show has
a lot of audience participation, Ive found myself
running full speed into a brick wall with only a
moment to turn and save myself. Years of
performing on stage keep surprises like these from
spiraling downward.
How is everyone today?! Are you ready to
have fun?! It was early afternoon and I was
performing at a local Christian community church
for a group of middle-aged patrons and seniors.
An afternoon show can be the trickiest of shows to
work because successful comedy shows rely
heavily on the physical environment. Ideally,
comedy is performed on stage in a dark crowded
room with great acoustics and a good amount of
energy. During an afternoon show, daylight pours
through the windows, the supplied sound system is
generally of questionable quality and there is no
opening act to warm up the crowd. A comedian
can expect to supply A LOT of time and energy to
get the crowd laughing.
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The introductions provided at church events,
womens events and senior groups also differ
dramatically from the introductions given by
professional comedians and emcees at a comedy
club. When performing at a comedy club, the
emcee attempts to fire up an audience knowing
how important that boost of energy is in order to
get people excited and ready to laugh. Ladies and
gentlemen our next comedian is very funny and
he/she plays clubs and colleges and special events
all across America! Please welcome!
Introductions at church events are more low
key and can follow local announcements, prayers
and yes, perhaps a remembrance of those who
have died. Even more uncomfortable than the
died introduction was the announcement made
by a womens club president. Holding up a small
brown basket she said, We have to raise our dues
by $10 this year because all of the current talent is
costing so much. OK - Sally Edwards is coming to
the stage.
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Performing alone is not for the squeamish and it
is up to the comedian to overcome barriers like
these in order to get the show moving and the
people laughing!
On the afternoon I performed at the local
Christian community church, I was introduced by a
woman with graying hair who read my credits
directly from my brochure in a pleasant voice. To
energize the audience I often play music and walk
through the crowd while noticing things that make
each person special. The audience was in need of
a pick-me-up and I began shaking hands and
talking to all my new friends. Suddenly, an
elderly gentleman caught my eye. He stared at the
floor and made no effort to engage. I decided to
investigate because it is very unsettling to see even
one person in the room looking upset or genuinely
unhappy.
Excuse me sir. Whats your name? The man
with the downcast eyes looked up surprised that
174

anyone had noticed him. My name is Mel. I
continued on, Mel you look kind of down today.
Whats the matter? What seems to be the
problem?
A busy woman standing next to him shouted an
answer without giving Mel a chance to digest the
question. His wife died two weeks ago! My
heart seemed to stopping pumping at the heaviness
of the message. Fortunately, my mouth still
worked. Im sorry to hear that. Nearby patrons
echoed the news as if they were making this
unfortunate announcement for the first time. Is
that Mel? Yeah, his wife died. Its been about two
weeks now.
I realized I had walked directly into a big dark
hole and the show had just started! Instinctively, I
knew the important thing to do was to keep
moving forward. Id approached Mel because I
wanted to see him smile. He needed to get
175

involved. It was important to generate momentum
and bring him on stage.
One of the most fantastic parts about
performing stand-up comedy is that focus, pressure
and concentration wipe the mental slate clean. As
a performer, I know standing in front of a room
full of people is an automatic mind cleanser. There
is no time to think sad, negative or repetitive
thoughts. Instead, there is an awareness of a room
full of eyes waiting in anticipation of your next
word. It is a wonderful, soul- lifting experience. I
needed Mel to feel that too.
When Mel joined me on stage we talked, we
sang and we even danced a bit. He did not
disappoint. Mel was the true star of the show that
day! When exiting the building, I passed Mel in
the hallway surrounded by a new enthusiastic fan
entourage. They were laughing and talking and
showering him with compliments. It was such a
176

joy to see the change in this man! For me, shows
like this are truly the most fulfilling.

177





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
STAYING HEALTHY

Thank goodness for stand-up comedy. Thank
goodness for the digital cameras and video
cameras Ive repeatedly used to record my act.
Hooray for stages that stand tall and show no
mercy when it comes to displaying every pound
that goes on the hips, belly and thighs.
178

I was taken by surprise the summer I
performed on the Zanies Comedy Club stage at the
Taste of Chicago in Grant Park on a hot summer
day in June. That morning while getting dressed
for my show, I became out of breath when I bent
over to put on my shoes. I knew my weight was
up but I was living in denial. Im thin, I thought.
I must be. I was thin in high school. (I theorize
that woman have a mental image of themselves
that is somehow perpetually related to the way they
looked as teens.)
All through my teenage and young adult years,
friends referred to me as skinny and very thin.
The fact that I now weighed the same as I did
when nine months pregnant simply caused me to
feel confused. I decided to test the waters and see
if other people were noticing my weight gain.
That afternoon I was riding with my son Steven
and daughter Christine and a fellow comedian as
we headed downtown to Taste of Chicago. I made
179

a calm announcement, I think Im going to go on
a diet. To my horror no one shouted, Not you!
Youre so thin. You dont need to diet! Are you
crazy?! Instead, my friend simply said, That
sounds like a good idea.
It was confirmed. My experiment had yielded
the most pathetic of results. My shoe tying
incident was no accident. What was even more
jarring is that my comic friend weighed in at about
350 pounds. Yes. Even my 350 pound friend was
agreeing, You need to go on a diet and you better
do it right now!
The realization I was 30 pounds overweight
struck me like a sledgehammer. In pet owner
terms, that meant I was carrying four eight-pound
bags of cat litter on my stomach and hips! Ive
spoken to other women about the incident that
shakes them to weight loss reality. Usually, its a
two piece bathing suit that begs for a cover-up or
the birthday party picture where we witness
180

ourselves putting yet one more piece of chocolate
cake in our mouth. I looked down at my white
laced baby doll top and noticed that the only thing
missing was the baby.
My son offered to videotape my show at Taste
of Chicago and I knew this would be the ultimate
blow. The day I watched that tape play back in our
family room I writhed off the couch like a snake.
The mental image I had of myself since the kids
were born was skewed and twisted. How could I
be medically obese from eating a few favorite
treats ice cream cones, yogurt, movie theater
popcorn and of course, fries with that. This
humbling Ah-ha video made me realize how
important it is to be health conscious throughout
life.
Stand- up comedy is a great physical fitness
motivator. Glancing at pictures taken on stage
gives a quick glimpse into what the world sees. I
hold on to that Taste of Chicago image as if it were
181

a bloated photo slapped on our refrigerator door to
discourage access. It continues to be my mental
go to picture that pops up whenever I feel Im
neglecting my health.
Good health is important in every profession. A
healthy weight will make you feel better and
appear younger. Dont overlook it. Invest in it.
And if youre not sure of your current physical
condition, stand on stage and have your son take a
video. That could be just the inspiration you need
to run out and drop a couple of bags of cat litter off
the hips.

182






CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
EMPTY NESTER

All of my children are grown now and I am
knee-deep in Empty Nest Syndrome. It hit me
unexpectedly, head-on like a car veering out of
control on a desolate highway. I loved having my
gang around. This eight-year-old kid with a
checkbook got to wander the aisles of toy stores
183

and marvel at the gigantic stuffed tigers and puppy
dogs or play on the waterslides and climb into
roller coasters Now this theme park is closed and
the patrons have moved on to other life adventures.
Empty Nest Syndrome is celebrated like an
unimaginable personal freedom by some people,
but not me. When I perform stand- up comedy, I
often ask, Are any of you empty nesters? Dont
you wish your kids were around? Many times I
get a resounding No! That surprises me because
I still feel Im the kid left at home while my friends
have gone off to summer camp.
Now I surround myself with rescue dogs. I
particularly like caring for the abused, sick or
wounded dogs that need an extra dose of care. I
love watching a dog that has been caged discover
his freedom as he runs through the sixty-five acre
dog park just a few miles from our home.
184

Ive often joked to my husband. This is why
God starts over. This is why He continues to
create! Have you ever seen the enthusiasm of a
puppy playing in the snow? Have you seen a dog
whose legs have atrophied in a crate start to run for
the first time? Do you know how exciting it is to
open a kennel door and offer the gift of freedom?
The personal key to happiness is found in these
lessons. It is to hold on to that same appreciation
and excitement for life and to communicate it and
share it.
---------------------------------------------------
Every day I am so happy to be a comedian and
a performer. With my grown children on the move
to bigger and grander things, I still have my career
and I continue to move forward. Even though I
dont have my posse to join me for lifes daily ride,
we do have a great time laughing and catching up
when we join together as a family for the holidays.
185

I recommend that you take every opportunity to
interpret your life as good, exciting, interesting,
spectacular and fun! Why chose any other way?
With eyes open for adventure you will guarantee
that the next chapter is going to be fantastic! Live
life to the fullest and remember it is the challenges
that make you grow. Should you come to a
crossroads - go with the fear!








186











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