On Friday night, I performed stand-up in a library in the tiny town of Monterey, Massachusetts — population 1,030 — to a surprising, standing-room-only full house.
The genesis of this event was interesting.
Back in September, I went to this library on a Saturday evening to talk about my books. My in-laws live in Monterey, nestled in the Berkshires, and their friend and librarian had asked if I might consider making an author visit to their library.
I, of course, agreed. Elysha and the kids came, too.
At the event, I was asked about doing stand-up.
How did I get my start?
What should a person do if they want to begin?
How difficult is it?
I suggested that the person find an open mic and start performing, as I did a few years ago. When he said open mics didn’t exist in Mnterey or anywhere nearby, I told him to start his own.
Then I said, “Start it here, in this library, in this beautiful space.”
I pointed out the surprisingly large turnout for my book talk — every seat was filled, and the room was packed — so maybe he could draw an audience this size to an open mic comedy night.
Then I said, “If you manage to pull it off, let me know. I’ll come back and host your first show.”
Four months later, they did.
I was surprised and impressed. People do a lot of talking but a lot less doing.
In this case, they did the doing.
So I returned to this beautiful library in this tiny town last Friday night, in temperatures well below zero, expecting to find the three people scheduled to perform and a small smattering of audience members.
Instead, the room was packed once again — 50-60 people in chairs and another 30 people streaming online, including my in-laws, who were in New York City that night.
I couldn’t believe it.
They were also recording the show for public access television.
In just four months, the folks of Monterey had really pulled it off.
I opened the show with my own stand-up set, then emceed the event. Two featured performers performed for about 5-10 minutes each, then we opened up the mic for anyone in the room. About a dozen people rose to the challenge. Some told street jokes. Others told amusing anecdotes. A few had crafted some real comedy.
They filled the night with laughter. Some of it was generous, but some of it was real.
As I was explaining how the open mic would work, a police officer entered the room and walked up the center aisle, directly towards me. I stopped speaking and asked if we had done something wrong.
I panic a little when approached by a police officer. It was the mistake in judgment by a police officer in Bourne, Massachusetts, that got me arrested, jailed, and tried for a crime I did not commit. Though I was found not guilty, the decision to arrest me and the officer’s belief that I was guilty upended my life for more than a year and caused me much heartache, struggle, and financial hardship.
Police officers make me nervous.
When I asked if we had done something wrong, she said, “No, I want to tell a joke.”
She was simply excited to take the stage.
I sighed in relief and offered her the mic.
She told a hilarious bit about her early days as a police officer, when she was still waiting tables at a local restaurant to supplement her income. One night, she pulled someone over for speeding who she had also served the previous night in the restaurant. She compared serving customers to policing, illustrating amusing comparisons between the two. The man in the vehicle had recognized her from the previous night in the restaurant, leading to some hilarious dialogue between the two.
She started our open mic with a huge laugh.
I was also able to ask if police officers have access to my arrest and court records when they pull me over, maybe with a flashing warning on their computer screen that says something like, “This one got away. Make him pay.”
“Not exactly,” she said. “But if I want, I can see your complete record.”
Not what I wanted to hear.
In between open mic volunteers, I told jokes and tried out new material. I warned the audience that if they had an inclination to get up and perform tonight but had decided to wait until next time, it would be a mistake.
“You could drive off the edge of the road tonight into a ditch and slowly freeze to death, regretting that decision to remain in your seat and never facing your fear. And if that happens tonight, I want your last thought on this Earth as you slowly freeze to death to be of me, telling you, ‘I told you so’ and wagging my finger at you.”
That warning got two people out of their seats and on the stage to tell jokes.
I give those Monterey citizens a lot of credit. The median age in the room was over 60, and it was really below zero by the time I arrived, yet they filled the space and the time with laughter, hilarity, and, best of all, courage.
I am endlessly impressed by people willing to do the hard, right thing and dodge the demons of regret.
