The Funniest Man in America Wasn’t Laughing

The phone rang in my office at 8:01 a.m.  I didn’t even have a cup of coffee yet. 

That wasn’t unusual. In the brokerage business, things got started early and moved fast. 

I recognized the number immediately. It was my largest account, which usually meant one of two things. Either somebody needed my help, or I had a problem.

Quite often, those were the same thing.

I picked up the phone and answered in the clipped, professional tone we were expected to use.

“Joe Hobby.”

It was George, a senior buyer. More often than not, an early call meant I needed to bail him out of some kind of trouble.

Not this time.

George had a question concerning my other occupation - stand-up comedy.

Without so much as a greeting, he fired off a question. “Hey, what did you do to make James Gregory mad?” 

James Gregory was one of the biggest comedy acts in the South. And he was a superstar in Birmingham, Alabama. 

“Huh? What do you mean?” 

“Well, he was just on a morning radio show, and threw you under the bus.”

“Me? Why?”

George continued.

“He had some awful things to say about you. Said you weren't a real comedian. Said you stole other people’s material and changed it around just enough to call it your own.”

I was stunned. I had absolutely no idea where this was coming from. I’d seen James perform several times. We were always cordial. As far as I knew, we were fine.

Apparently, I was wrong.

I certainly hadn’t expected to be the target of a verbal broadside delivered over morning radio to several hundred thousand listeners.

And another thing. By this time, I was a regular joke writer for Jay Leno and several others. I took my writing seriously. Comedy wasn’t just something I fooled around with when I had nothing better to do.

So, being publicly accused of stealing material wasn’t just insulting. It was personal.  

James was very protective of his schtick. A number of comics said that Gregory believed another comic had stolen his act and became rich and famous because of it.

To be clear, James Gregory was not struggling. The self-proclaimed “Funniest Man in America” sold out shows  wherever he went. He was also a pioneer in creating an income stream by selling merchandise featuring his likeness.

However, I knew jealousy and accusations of stealing material were always popular topics in the green room. Comics talked about them constantly. Who had stolen from whom? Who had crossed the line? Who was getting rich using somebody else’s ideas?

I had listened to those conversations plenty of times.

I just never imagined I would find myself in the middle of one.

“Thanks, George,” I said. “I’ll get to the bottom of it and let you know what’s up.”

“Yeah, you be sure and let me know what happens.”

Back then, even my buyers enjoyed following my second career.

I picked up the phone and called Bruce Ayers, the owner of the Stardome Comedy Club.

If anybody knew what had happened, it would be Bruce.

He gave me an answer I did not want to hear.

“Yeah,” he said gravely. “I did hear him say that.” 

“Then I need to clear the air.” 

“Good idea, Joe. I would.”

It was the only thing to do. The last thing I needed was the King of Southern comedy continuing to publicly trash me.

I dialed his number. The phone rang twice.  “Hella.” It was James’ unmistakeable voice. 

“Hey James, Joe Hobby.”

“How are you?”

“I’m not too good right now. A friend just called and said they heard you say some really nasty things about me on the radio this morning.” 

There was no hesitation. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why did you do something like that? You haven’t seen my act.”

“Somebody told me your material was a lot like mine.”

I didn’t ask who said it - didn’t really matter. I was close enough to the world of comedy to understand the business was full of petty, backstabbing people.

“If you have a minute, I think we can settle this right now. I’ve got my set list. Let’s go over it real fast.” Laying in front of me were three pages of single spaced bullet points. It was my entire act line by line, joke by joke. 

To his credit, James agreed.  

I began reading quickly, as if I was a student giving a book report in front of the teacher. James listened for the most part, occasionally saying “okay” or “all right.” 

About a third of the way through, I read one of my jokes about why they make mobile homes in two equal halves - it makes redneck divorce settlements real easy. 

James stopped me and said, “That’s very good, by the way.”  

We soon discovered that while we did talk about some of the same topics, there were no similar jokes. The toxic cloud was cleared. 

Then we began to talk about the comedy industry. James thought if I quit my day job and become a full-time comedian, within two years I would be making a lot of money.  Of course, he wasn’t married and had no kids - and I had three and a wife. It was too late in life to give up a family security, a nice salary, healthcare, and a 401(k).  I had come to accept the fact that I could be a good  comic and make some nice money with a side hustle. 

The last thing James said before he hung up was, “I appreciate you calling. Not everyone would have done this.”

I saw James many times after that, and even worked with him once at the Stardome. I’ve got a picture of both of us him that I treasure. 

My dad was never one to shy away from an uncomfortable conversation. If something needed to be said, he said it. If a problem needed to be addressed, he addressed it. I suppose some of that rubbed off on me.

I’ve learned that most disagreements don’t get better with silence. They just grow bigger in our minds until they turn into a grudge.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is pick up the telephone. And sometimes it’s the smartest.

Besides, I wasn’t about to let the Funniest Man in America think I was stealing his material.

I knew he would be doing a lot more radio interviews. And as for jokes, well, I had plenty of bad ones of my own.