Growing Up Laughing_ My Story and the Story of Funny - Marlo Thomas [20]
A funny joke, to be sure. But my dad was a storyteller, and in his hands, it became a small play, complete with the Kol Nidre, a chanted prayer of the Jewish High Holy Days (which he had learned when he played the son of a rabbi in the 1952 remake of the movie The Jazz Singer). Here’s what his audience heard at the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas—music, dialects, and all . . .
Danny: This is a story about a little man, whom I ask you now to picture in your mind’s eye—a middle-aged man on the healthy side of the financial ledger, walking in the business district of his hometown on a balmy summer’s evening. And he happens to be passing a pet shop.
Dad was never happier than when he was on stage. Look at those shining eyes.
It’s a warm night, and the pet shop door is wide open, and through that open door, over the yelping of little canines and the screeching of the canaries, there comes to this man’s ears a most familiar strain of music. And he slackens his pace and he listens. And he hears:
[Slowly chants] “Kol, Kol, Kol nidre . . .”
This man stands cemented in his tracks, for this is the music of his faith. The chanting continues, and the man walks into that little pet shop as though hypnotized. He gets inside and stands in complete awe and amazement at what he sees and what he hears. And he hears:
[Continues chant] “Veesore vacharom . . .”
“Ve’esarei, Vacharamei, Vekonamei, Vechinuyei . . .”
. . . coming from a parrot! But there it was, unbelievable though it may be, this little parrot on its perch, chanting away the sacred and semi-sacred Hebraic hymns! And a costly bird it was. But no matter what its price, the man had to buy it—and buy it he did. And every night he would sit in his favorite rocking chair, and the parrot would chant to him, oftentimes simple little Sabbath hymns like . . .
“L’cha dodi likrat kala
“P’nei shabbat n’kabla . . .”
The man was so happy with life, he could hardly wait for the High Holy Days to come.
Finally the week of Rosh Hashanah rolled around—Rosh Hashanah, taken from the ancient Aramaic, rosh hashshanah. It means the head of the year, the new year. A very happy holiday.
Off the old man goes to a tailor shop and has a tallis made for the parrot. That’s a prayer shawl. Also a little yarmulke. That’s a black skullcap. He has the same outfit made for himself, and they walk out of the tailor shop, father and parrot.
Now it’s the day of Rosh Hashanah, and off they go to the synagogue—the old man sprightly running up the steps with the parrot following closely behind. They get to the front door—there’s a fellow there called the shamos, like a sexton. Takes care of the synagogue. Also takes tickets on High Holidays.
And the shamos says, “Vait! Vere you going vith da boid? Vat you tink we’re running here, a zoo?”
And the old man says, “Don’t be so smart. Dat boid—dat boid—could chant better from you, da cantor, da rabbi and me put togeddah.”
Naturally, from the shamos, comes the inevitable of all clichés:
“Put da money vare da mouth is.”
So they make a slight wager. While they’re betting, other members of the congregation come up the steps, get into the argument, and before you know it there’s $4800 bet. On a handshake, of course. They do not carry money on this day.
Now there is $4800 bet! And the old man looks at the fellas and says, “You’re crazy! You lost already da money. Vait till you hear dat boid.”
[To bird] “Okay, darling, make a chant. [Pause] Sveetheart, ve’re vaiting—go ahead, make a chant. Don’t be noivous. Could be something simple, like . . .”
[Hums a little Hebrew melody]
Nothing comes out of the bird. Not a peep. Not even “Polly wants a matzoh!” Nothing! One hour—begging, pleading, prodding, pushing—nothing comes outa the bird! And he loses the bet. He blows $4800!
Now he’s incensed. He grabs the parrot by the throat, runs home and throws it on the floor. Goes into the kitchen, begins to cry for what he’s gonna do. Gets the biggest butcher knife he can find, and he starts to sharpen