There’s gratification in making somebody laugh. It’s a wonderful sound. I find myself, to this day, doing it, wanting to make people laugh.
I kind of do it in my head, then I’ll try pieces of it on stage and if it looks promising, I’ll put it together.
I’ve been married forty-five years. I think laughter is the secret.
There are a lot of questions I keep asking myself about why I do comedy. I guess I laugh to keep from crying. And I guess if you ever get me crying, I might not stop. This is the way I look at tragedy or else I’ll cry.
When you’re going for a joke, you’re stuck out there if it doesn’t work. There’s nowhere to go. You’ve done the drum role and the cymbal clash and you’re out on the end of the plank.
I don’t know how many sacred cows there are today. I think there’s a little confusion between humor and gross passing for humor. That’s kind of regrettable.
I think there’s a part, just a part of comedians, that is still childlike.
All comedians are, in a way, anarchists. Our job is to make fun of the existing world.
I love portraying the totally indifferent person.
The problem is that we live in an uptight country. Why don’t we just laugh at ourselves? We are funny. Gays are funny. Straights are funny. Women are funny. Men are funny. We are all funny, and we all do funny things. Let’s laugh about it.
The first time I got up in front of an audience was terror, abject terror, which continued for another four or five years. There still is, a little bit.
When I started out in 1960, I thought it might possibly last a couple of years. I never expected it to last 42. I take great satisfaction in that longevity.
Jack Benny was, without a doubt, the bravest comedian I have ever seen work. He wasn’t afraid of silence. He would take as long as it took to tell the story.
I was not influenced by Jack Benny, and people have remarked on my timing and Jack’s timing, but I don’t think you can teach timing. It’s something you hear in your head.
I’m very open to the up-and-comers.
More and more, as I get older, people come up to me and say, ‘Thank you for all the laughter.’ And my standard answer is, ‘It was my pleasure.’ But that’s the truth.
I never had an aversion because I was active in the drama club. If I had that aversion I certainly wouldn’t put myself in the position of being on stage. Of course, in the drama club you’re hiding behind a character.
The only way to survive is to have a sense of humour.
I think you should be a child for as long as you can. I have been successful for 74 years being able to do that.
Here are some of the towns I played last year: Carmel, Indiana; Hutchinson, Kansas; and Huntsville, Alabama. I even played Peoria. So why not limit my dates to easy-to-reach cities like Toronto, Chicago, and Reno? Easier still, why not just retire?
The closer you get to understanding humor, the more you begin to lose your sense of humor.