Growing Up Laughing_ My Story and the Story of Funny - Marlo Thomas [62]
The producer bellowed, “My Fair Lady is the biggest moneymaking Broadway hit of all time! Maybe it’s the pretty music. Maybe it’s the great lyrics. And maybe it’s the friggin’ chandelier. Put it in the truck!”
Chapter 31
Fall-Down Funny—George Lopez
My father used to tell us that when he was a little boy, his family was so poor that he and his eight brothers had to take baths together—and they all took turns being the plug. We always laughed at these stories, but they also gave us a feel for the early lives of the immigrant family my grandparents raised in tough economic times. I think that’s why I felt such a warm connection to George Lopez. Our ancestries are different, but the old country influences are much alike. Born and raised in Los Angeles’s Mission Hills district, George, who is Mexican-American, survived a childhood of poverty and an absent father, and recast those experiences as the warm, beating heart of his stand-up act and hit TV series. It was good to talk to George about how it all began—and to learn one of the most amazing things I’ve ever heard about a basketball.
—M.T.
Your stand-up act, your TV show—it’s all a comic reflection on the history of your life, isn’t it?
Yes, it’s like that reality show Cops. A lot of the stories on that show are reenactments of real-life events. That’s what I do in my comedy: I talk about experiences from my life, and try to make them funny.
My life’s never been easy, but I wouldn’t have changed any of it, because when I do stand-up—and it’s been almost thirty years now—it serves me well. When I’m on stage, I feel like a five-star general, because I’ve made it through all the other ranks.
You make a lot of jokes about growing up poor.
Right—and that stuff is still funny to me. Like going to the store and having to put things back that we couldn’t afford. For my family, shopping was like The Price Is Right. We’d go up to the counter and say, “How much is all of this stuff together? Is it more than five dollars?” And the guy would say, “No.” And we’d say, “Okay—we’ll buy it all!”
You let us in on some pretty sobering memories, but you have fun with it.
Because there’s humor in pain. For instance, I never had a jacket when I was a kid. That’s funny to me because, even now, I have a hundred jackets, and I’ll still leave the house without one. I don’t even think about taking one. I was in Chicago once, it was cold, and I wasn’t wearing a jacket. A homeless guy walked by me and said, “Boy, where’s your jacket?” Or I’ll be golfing and it’ll start to rain—and everyone will have on the right clothes, and I won’t. I am continually unprepared for things, even when I have more than my share. This is a constant thread in my life.
So, yeah, a lot of my comedy is about not having much, and learning to deal with it. Like waiting for the sun to blow up my basketball because we couldn’t afford a pump. The heat of the sun actually expands the air—so you just put the ball in the sun to get it to fill up. Those recollections can be funny, and at the same time remind you of times when things were more simple. A lot of people can relate to that. I’m sure poor kids everywhere put basketballs on top of their houses.
Where do you think you got your sense of humor? Were your mom and dad funny?
I never knew my father, and my mom was more goofy than anything else. In my family nobody was funny without falling. If they fell down, my grandmother would laugh and say, “I wish I had my camera.”
Someone once wrote that if it wasn’t for your grandmother, you wouldn’t have a career in comedy.
Yes, and it took me a while to put that together. So much of my comedy comes from her. She was like a tragic clown, my grandma, because her life was so tough, but the ridiculousness of it all made it funny. Like, if I was crying, she’d say, “Why you cryin’?”—not “Why are you crying?” but “Why you cryin’?” I’d say, “Because I fell.” And she’d say, “No you didn’t—that was