My Real Memoir

Life With a Capital L: My first introduction to Life beyond my neighborhood came from a tiny black-and-white TV. And by “Life,” I mean storytelling–which virtually defines who I am–some subtly-inserted human values, and humor; if storytelling is my Lone Ranger, humor is my Tonto.

When I was around age six, two classic kid’s shows, The Mickey Mouse Club and Captain Kangaroo, made my world a little bigger. And funnier.

“Who’s the Leader of the Club…

…that’s made for you and me? M-I-C-K-E-Y  M-O-U-S-E. Mickey Mouse!” (Donald: “Donald Duck!”) From Mickey I learned kindness and humility (alright, I’m still working on those). And from Donald I got my first taste of funny. I’d shout, “Donald Duck!” in Quacklish and bust myself up. It was a while before I learned to bust anyone else up.

The Mouseketeers introduced me to:

• Romance – My first crush, along with every other kid in America, was an Italian-American girl named Annette Funicello, who, by the 60s, would look even hotter (but still virtuous) on a surfboard. I also had a thing for Betty Boop.
• Entertainment – Those kids had talent! (Did I?) Host Jimmy Dodd introduced me to the guitar, which would later become my instrument, and the Mouseketeers taught me to sing and dance! Years later, I would do my first post-high school musical under the direction of one of the original Mouseketeers, Dennis Day!

Captain Kangaroo Was…

…a lovable guy with a Beatles haircut before The Beatles had them, who taught me to accept everyone for who they were. I mean, the guy’s best friends were a Dancing Bear and a yokel named Mr. Greenjeans. But most of all, he taught me to be wonderfully, gloriously silly.

My First Effort…

…at public silliness, however, was problematic. I’d decided nonsense words were the funniest thing ever. So, on one of my earliest visits to a screen much, much larger than our TV (and in color!), I delivered my first official punchline!

The old Paramount Theater in Los Angeles was spectacular. Along with its classic movie palace architecture, it was landmarked by a giant neon “P.” Which stood for Paramount, of course, but I didn’t care about that. All I knew was that, amid a thick crowd of people, I’d just thought of a funny-sounding word. “What’s that stand for,” I shouted, so everyone could enjoy the quip, “Penis?”

After dragging me away, Mommandad quietly explained that the word I’d just “made-up” actually meant (quick glance downward) that.

“Oh!” I said. But honestly? I thought it was even funnier after that. So I giggled all the way through the movie. I was learning about life with a capital L and a capital P. But I still had a lot to learn about capital A — appropriateness. Come to think of it…

I still do.