Stoddard Brush with Second City Greatness

I do not know if Lewis Grizzard ever went to The Second City while he lived in Chicago. If he had he would have enjoyed political incorrectness, the likes of which he made famous shortly after his return to Atlanta in 1977.

Had he gone during his Chicago years he would have seen John Belushi, Gilda Radner, John Candy, Dan Aykroyd, Jane Curtain, Eugene Levy and Bill Murray. Would he have related to them? Maybe not. But how could he not think they were funny.

Fast forward to 1996. I lived in Chicago and was in the trade show business with a global company called Giltspur. It primarily made exhibits but was the first to introduce innovative Marketing Services. I was the Chicago Giltspur account executive who at least somewhat understood Marketing Services.

For instance, at a Sherwin Williams national convention at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville we hired about 20 caricature artists to allow a division of Sherwin Williams enough time to deliver a chemical coatings message to Sherwin Williams store managers while they sat to have their caricatures done.

So I got a call from the Marketing Services honcho out of Giltspur Corporate in Pittsburgh to ask if I am available for a sales call the following week. She could not tell me who we were calling on, but I was available.

I welcomed any chance to sell something that was not reliant on our union carpentry shop that routinely blew budgets out of the water by virtue of their union mentality and frequent breaks so they could milk jobs into overtime. Don’t get me started.

The day before the sales call the Pittsburgh lady said we were calling on a Joyce Sloane at The Second City about the prospect of collaborating to do “business theater” for Giltspur clients at trade shows and special events.

My jaw dropped. I did not know Joyce Sloane real well by name but had heard of her. I missed very few Second City shows when I lived in Chicago. During my Chicago years the cast included Steve Carrell, Stephen Colbert, Tina Fey, Amy Poehler and George Wendt. I was about to wet my pants. Okay, I did wet my pants, but they were dark pants.

So we go on this sales call and meet in Joyce Sloane’s office. I had no time to prepare anything and was not expected to present anything. If things clicked I would be the local liaison.

That day I could tell there was little chemistry between the very high energy Pittsburgh lady and the relaxed Joyce Sloane. Second City had an abundance of talent - not the already famous folks - who needed work. In my mind I could think of a half dozen of only my own clients whose jaws would drop if I could bring them Second City talent for some edgy entertainment.

But again, I detected a chemistry issue. I feared nothing was going to happen if things were left as they were after that meeting. Without asking or telling anyone I called Joyce Sloane and requested a one on one appointment. She readily agreed saying something like, “You didn’t say much the other day.”

When we hung up I wet my dark pants all over again. By this time I knew who Joyce Sloan was. And I had an idea.

That summer TS2, the trade show for trade show people, was to be held at McCormick Place in Chicago. Their programs were no doubt booked, but they would surely squeeze in a program involving national powerhouse Giltspur and Chicago powerhouse The Second City.

So I hand wrote a script. It included lines like, “How many teamsters does it take to hang a picture in a McCormick Place exhibit during show setup?” Answer: “None you moron. If the picture hangs with pinch cleats dat’s carpenters’ union work. If the picture hangs with velcro dat’s decorators’ union work.”

When I met with Joyce I asked her to spill about John Belushi sleeping on her couch, Gilda Radner crying on her shoulder and a whole lot else. I had early internet and dial up AOL and had done my homework. Joyce had probably told those stories a bunch of times but apparently did not tire of telling them. When I could tell my time might be running out - after about an hour - I made my pitch.

The Second City and Giltspur needed to pull off a coup at the TS2 that summer. We needed to do it fast, and I had the script the audience would love - except for maybe union members. The trade show people in the audience largely detested unions, who cost them tens of thousands of dollars each year, especially in places like Chicago where shop stewards would bicker on the exhibitor’s clock about what union had jurisdiction over hanging pictures any moron could hang if allowed.

Joyce looked over my maybe 10 page handwritten script as I sat silent. She grinned and actually laughed a few times, so I felt good. Then she put down the script and said, “I detest scripts.”

I may have wet my pants again, this time not in a good way. I waited, and Joyce explained. “We have tried shows with scripts before. They have always failed miserably. Our talent thrives on improv. Give them a concept and let them run with it.”

“But our new people need work. You know the trade show arena, and they do not. If this can work perhaps you can give them some latitude to not adhere to a strict script. Perhaps you can sit in on some try run sessions to make sure they do not step out of bounds.” I wet my pants again, we agreed to meet again and I bid a hasty exit before urine soaked her office guest seat.

Weeks passed but we stayed in touch. Joane departed for Second City Toronto, then a vacation maybe to Europe. We each recognized urgency to resume when she returned. I still told no one until I knew what to tell someone about anything.

My biggest client was AT&T Network Systems, soon a/k/a Lucent. Big budgets disappeared overnight. I was recruited by a company who did corporate hospitality at the Super Bowl, the NCAA Final Four, Kentucky Derby and more. In one of untold monumentally bad decisions in my career, I left Giltspur and sent Joyce a letter that I was leaving. Why did I not ask her for a job? Because they probably could not have paid me. Their staff was lean - all their money went to on stage talent. Still, I could have paid my own way given the chance and a telephone.

Not too long thereafter my now ex-wife and I left Chicago.

I never contacted Joyce again. At some point Joyce and others launched Second City Works.

Since moving back to Georgia I contacted the head of the current version of Wits’ End Players, Atlanta’s closest thing to The Second City. Dick Van Dyke got it started with the parents of the current head, who went to my high school. He kinda blew me off over lunch saying there was little market for “business theater” or whatever one wants to call it. “Think Wits”, as the outfit is now known, does “Brand Experiences” and other stuff that to me sounds a lot like business theater.

A Possible Afternoon With Larry & Lewis

I don’t know if I am the only one, but I have many dreams about hanging around with famous people. In most of the dreams I have a great interaction with the celeb or celebs, and they like me.  

Before waking up I think to myself “How cool will it be when I tell friends that Paul Newman and I talked about my old Datsun 280Z.” That dream came close to being true. Before moving to Chicago I got my 280Z worked on at “The Z Shop” in Chamblee. The owner Ben was a friend and possible business partner of Newman, who raced Datsun Z cars. Ben said Paul would kill him if he told me or any other customer when Paul was expected, but if I happened to be there Paul was an easy guy to talk to. I was tempted to go hang out and just wait on Paul but had a day job mismanaging conventions that made it not very practical.

Not long after Larry Munson left us in 2011 I dreamt that I hung out with Larry and Lewis. I still lived in the Redneck Riviera selling swampland, but on Saturdays for more than a decade I pulled off to the side of the road to hear Munson call UGA games on whatever radio station I could pull in - I think from Mobile.

Larry leaving us when old affected me as much as Lewis leaving us young way back in 1994. Many will likely attest to the same.

The dream went something like this. We were in someone’s living room, the three of us minding our own business in relative quiet. Maybe Larry and Lewis were reading something. Larry was not wearing headphones, but this picture works as well as any.

Out of nowhere Larry said, “Lewis, who is this other guy in the room?”. Lewis replies, “No idea. I thought you let him in.”

Suddenly having been noticed, I was at a loss for words, which never happens in my dreams. I pondered what to say to these two legends. I finally came up with, “Larry and Lewis, I am a 1979 UGA grad who loves the Dawgs as much as you did and loved both of you when you were alive, loved in a manly, heterosexual sense that is. I am not sure who let me in this room or how I got here. But I promise to behave and be quiet if you do not kick me out.”

Lewis said something like, “If you are going to behave and remain quiet we are a whole lot more likely to kick you out. Larry and I have little interest in quiet people who behave.”

I replied, “Okay, I grew up in Sandy Springs, having moved to Georgia in 1967 when I was age 9. Larry was new at broadcasting UGA games, and I was new to listening to them. When I went from reading the comics to the Atlanta Journal sports page I vaguely remember reading some of Lewis’s columns.  I was a Junior at UGA when Lewis came back from Chicago and after a short spell began writing humor columns. My fraternity brothers and I used to pass around the paper laughing at those columns, which at that time were in the Atlanta Constitution.”

“I do not want to get too far into the weeds, but I was pledge trainer to Danny Anderson, Loran Smith’s first cousin. Loran was kinda sore at Danny for not running track at UGA like Loran did. Danny wanted to have fun instead, and I trained Danny to have fun, something he is very good at today. He is President of a company that insures whatever they call the Gator Bowl, and he has a box at every Georgia-Florida game. Danny invites me to that box only during years when he knows I can not attend. Otherwise he will meet me tailgating, bum a cigar off of me before saying he must depart for the box with no room for me.”

Lewis chimed in, “You do talk a lot. Maybe the quiet you would be better. Larry and I were reading before we saw you broke in.”

I was going to explain that I did not break in, but that would be whining. I gathered Larry and Lewis had zero tolerance for whining. So I meandered and changed the subject with this:

“Lewis, remember the Run Lindsay Run play you missed because you had given up on the Dawgs? I was not there, but the same Danny Anderson and I went to the Auburn game at Auburn the following week. That was the one Dorsey Hill drove to straight from Jacksonville, or so you wrote. After the Dawgs victory I met Loran for the first time. Danny wanted to beat traffic out of wretched Auburn, but I insisted that we meet his cousin.”

Lewis again, “If you are going to keep yammering let’s hear about you not behaving. Larry and I might kick you out yet.”

Me again, “Danny and I did a lot of not behaving at UGA. But there is still a remote chance he might invite me to that box for a Georgia Florida game. I would do well to not incriminate Danny. How about New Years Eve before the National Championship game in New Orleans. Lewis, you were in the French Quarter selling Lucky Dogs. My hot date and I ate a bunch of Lucky Dogs but somehow missed the stand you took over. My date and I were scared to go back to our ‘kinda near the Quarter’ dangerous lodging, so we got very little sleep that night.”

Lewis again, “That’s a little better. Did you get NEKKID with that date, or were you too afraid to go back to that dive hotel?”

Me again, “Now Lewis, a gentleman does not kiss and tell or get NEKKID and tell. Do you really want me to answer that question?”

Larry now, “Lewis, the kid is right. Let’s mind our manners.”

Me again, “Thank you Larry. In 1984 I moved to Chicago, where I could not hear Larry, read Lewis or get any University of Georgia news, same as Lewis. But I loved Chicago for 14 years.”

Lewis again, “You LOVED Chicago?! We are for certain going to kick you out. My guess is you might be a closet Yankee.”

I held my tongue on that one. In particular I did not want to mention being William Tecumseh Sherman’s cousin.

Larry again, “Lewis, this kid seems to be okay despite years in Chicago. Remember, he pulled off to Redneck Riviera roadsides for a decade just to listen to scratchy me on the radio.”

Me again, “Thank you Larry. Since this is a dream let’s time travel to 2020. I found this 1986 you two celebrating a Dawgs victory over someone. It is the only photo anyone I know has of you two together. Do either of you have a photo box in Heaven?”

(OK, I embellished that paragraph. I had to show off this photo.)

Lewis again, “My ex-wives ended up with all of my photo boxes. Why did you not drop by and raise a toast with Larry and me?”

Larry again, “Lewis, in 1986 the kid lived in Chicago. Pay attention. Kid, did you ask Loran if he has a photo of Lewis and me? I would ask him like this. 'Whaddaya got Loran?' He likes that a lot and always answered to me with something clever.”

Me again, “Well Larry, I am not you, but I did ask Loran only weeks ago. He is still busy writing books. But that was 2020, and this dream is 2011. I have already embellished too much. It might be a good idea to skip Varsity Chili Dawgs before bed.”

Lewis now, “No, don’t do that. You need to bark at night. For that last comment I will forgive you for liking Chicago and maybe being a closet Yankee. Hey, has anyone written a book about me?”

Me finally, “Well Lewis, funny you ask … “

Then my alarm went off so I could go sell Redneck Riviera swampland. That is my story and I am sticking to it.