Looking Back on Florida

Looking Back on Florida

It's been almost a year and a half since I moved from Florida to Los Angeles and so far things are going very well. One of the things that I miss about living in Florida though, is that I used to do a lot of work as an opening act in theaters all around the State. There is nothing quite like performing at a theater. Clubs are great. But in theaters the acoustics are perfect, the lighting is perfect and most of the time, so are the audiences.

After the show, people with backstage passes come up to YOU and tell you how much they enjoyed your performance. I always act as though I take it in stride but I never do. Every single time it's a thrill to work a theater gig.

Two weeks ago I went back to Florida to open for Steven Wright for four shows over four nights in four different cities. I've worked with him many times over the past ten years. He is still a huge draw in theaters, which is a real testament to the power of his material. The show in Ft. Lauderdale was a 2700 seat sell out.

I remember back in 1983 or 1984 when Steven Wright made his debut on the Tonight Show. I happened to be watching that night. His material was so different. There were no gimmicks. It was just a guy and his thoughts. What a way to make a living. Comedy was something that I knew I wanted to do. I was working for an Insurance Company up in Philadelphia at the time and I remember going in to work the next day and there were other people at work who had seen his appearance and they were quoting his lines. I remember being so excited about the possibilities of comedy. That appearance of course is now almost legendary. Johnny Carson liked him so much that he had him back on the show a week later. As soon as that first Steven Wright album, I Have a Pony, came out, I bought it and listened to it over and over again. It never wore thin and it was partially responsible for moving me one step closer to a career in comedy. So every time I've gotten to work with Steven Wright over the years I've always appreciated it.

I flew in to Tampa and rented a car and as I drove from town to town I had some time to think about all the good times working in front of large crowds in the great state of Florida. There were some odd times too.

A few years ago, I did three shows opening for Aretha Franklin. The shows went very well. On the first two nights she had a regular announcer that would give her a big booming offstage introduction. For some reason, on night three, this guy was not around. So during intermission, the powers that be started searching around for someone who could do the offstage intro. They found me. And at first I thought, well, this will be very nice. I'll get to introduce Aretha Franklin to this great crowd who is dying to see her. They set up a microphone right off stage and all I had to do was read the introduction as it was written down. And obviously, I would have to put a little umph into it as well. We're talkin' Queen of Soul here. Sounds simple enough. But then just before I'm about to do so, who comes walking by to stand right next to me but the Aretha Franklin herself. She's a foot away from me right on my shoulder. Then I started thinking, wait a minute, this is one of the great performers of all time. And now she's going to stand right next to me as I introduce her. The thing about doing an offstage introduction is that there is no upside. There is only a horrible downside. If it goes great, no one will remember it. But if you really butcher it, you'll never hear the end of it. So now I'm starting to panic. I'm more nervous about having to do her introduction than I was about doing my own twenty-minute set in front of a full theater. I started picturing Aretha Franklin sitting around someday after a show telling showbiz stories and saying "I'll never forget that boy in down in Jacksonville messin' up that intro." So I took four deep breaths, and perhaps a little inspiration from Aretha herself, and I'm very happy to report, I avoided complete disaster - which was my goal at the time. I can still remember the intro. "Ladies and Gentleman, Welcome to the Florida Theater. Please welcome to the stage, Arista Recording Artist and Grammy Award Winner, The Queen of Sooouuuullllll, Arethaaaaaa Franklinnnnn." And oh yes, I gave it all the umph that I could. I'll bet she's still talking about that guy down in Jacksonville who nailed her intro.

Most theater crowds are great. But every now and then something just isn't right. I once opened for Michael Bolton at this cavernous monstrosity of a venue called the Tampa Sun Dome. I had done some shows in front of as many as 4,000 people and there's nothing better. But I don't think comedy can go much higher than five or six thousand. This place was a 9,000 seater. It was more like a hockey rink. And not only that, they were there to see Michael Bolton. I was supposed to do thirty minutes. When I went on, the place was still filling up. I did every thing I could to get their attention. Within three minutes, entire sections were chanting "Mich-ael Bol-ton. Mich-ael Bol-ton." They were united in their hatred of me. New people were entering the show. "Hey, what's going on?" "We're hating that guy." "Oh cool. Get off the stage! Mich-ael Bol-Ton. Mich-ael Bol-Ton."

Uh oh. I still have 27 minutes to go in order to get paid. I can't really say that I heard any actual booing but there were definitely some calls for me to leave the stage. And I knew the boos were not far behind. All it takes is one boo. As long as there are enough others who agree with that one boo, you got yourself a problem. It's amazing how optimistic you can get in a situation like this. I'm up there thinking, "well, once they hear my baking soda bit, they'll change their mind oh yes they will." Somehow, and I still can't imagine how or why, I did 21 minutes and finally left the stage when I sensed that the sandbags were about to give. As I left they were cheering. And something tells me they weren't cheering FOR me. When I got back stage, some road manager guy is all upset because I went eight minutes short. And I'm standing there thinking that I went 21 minutes too long. I should've bailed on "Hey, how's everybody doin' out there?" I learned something that night. I will probably never be an arena act.

One time I opened for Regis Philbin at the Ruth Eckard Hall in Clearwater, Florida. He was doing this show with a full 13-piece orchestra, where he sang some songs and told funny stories. It was a good show and the people loved it. I had a good show myself. I was feeling very satisfied as I came off stage and who was standing there but Regis Philbin. And he goes, "Are you Ryan? Tom Ryan? You were great. Very funny. I was sitting in my dressing room and I could hear you over the speaker and I was laughing. You're good Ryan. You're very good." The inflections on every word were exactly where they were supposed to be if those words were being delivered by Regis Philbin. And they were. It almost sounded like the Dana Carvey impression of Regis Philbin. Then he says to his orchestra leader who was standing right there. "Did you hear Ryan? He's very good." He was the coolest.

So he goes out and does his show. And I stayed around and watched the whole thing even though I had to make the four hour drive back to West Palm Beach that night so that I could go to my temp job which was starting the next day. This was at the time when things were a little shaky on the comedy club scene so I used to supplement my income by doing office temp work. At the time, the only temp agency that was getting me any work was a company called Girl Friday. It's a little humbling to be a man in your mid-thirties, and get sent out on a job and have to walk in to an office and say, "Hi, my name's Tom Ryan. And I'm… the… guy… from… Girl… Friday…" You can almost hear how slowly those words used to leave my mouth. I'm sure everyone within earshot was thinking "did that guy just announce to the receptionist that he was the guy… from… Girl… Friday?" Anytime I would introduce myself as such, it was always followed by an awkward pause.

After the Regis show, he did a book signing and there was a line of literally hundreds of people waiting to meet him. Most of them were middle-aged women. As I'm leaving, about 6 women peel off from the back of the line and begin telling me how much they enjoyed my portion of the show. Then one of them asks for my autograph. And then they all ask for my autograph. Have you ever seen the way a major league baseball player signs autographs for a group of people? He'll grab the pen and program from one person as he cracks a joke to someone else as he's signing this and answering a question about that. It was one of those kinds of scenes.

My ego drove me home that night on a bubble of pure show business joy. I got about three hours sleep, returned my rental car and then took the local city bus to my new temp job. I make my standard guy from Girl Friday introduction and within fifteen minutes I'm kneeling on the floor going though a stack of invoices and putting them in alphabetical order. One of the young ladies from the office came over to me and asked me how it was going. I told her everything was fine. And then she said, well, just to let you know, we have a dress code in the office and you really should be wearing a tie. The temp agency had forgotten to inform me that this particular office had a pretty strict dress code. So it wasn't bad enough that I'm on my knees filing invoices. Now I'm the guy… without… the… tie. By now, my ego was long gone. I felt like telling her my little show business story just to prove to her that I had some good moments in my life too.

But do you really think she would've believed me if I had told her that about ten hours ago I was signing autographs like a major leaguer in front of a semi-circle of giggly, middle aged women who were huge fans of Regis Philbin? Probably not. I think she would have slowly turned away and gone right in to her boss's office and said, "Hi Marge. Yeah. I think The guy… from… Girl… Friday is starting to have some really bizarre delusional fantasies. What do you think we should do?"

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	Looking Back on Florida It's been almost a year and a half since I moved from Florida to Los Angeles and so far things are going very well. One of the things that I miss about living in Florida though, is that I used to do a lot of work as an opening act in theaters all around the State. There is nothing quite like performing at a theater. Clubs are great. But in theaters the acoustics are perfect, the lighting is perfect and most of the time, so are the audiences. After the show, people with backstage passes come up to YOU and tell you how much they enjoyed your performance. I always act as though I take it in stride but I never do. Every single time it's a thrill to work a theater gig. Two weeks ago I went back to Florida to open for Steven Wright for four shows over four nights in four different cities. I've worked with him many times over the past ten years. He is still a huge draw in theaters, which is a real testament to the power of his material. The show in Ft. Lauderdale was a 2700 seat sell out. I remember back in 1983 or 1984 when Steven Wright made his debut on the Tonight Show. I happened to be watching that night. His material was so different. There were no gimmicks. It was just a guy and his thoughts. What a way to make a living. Comedy was something that I knew I wanted to do. I was working for an Insurance Company up in Philadelphia at the time and I remember going in to work the next day and there were other people at work who had seen his appearance and they were quoting his lines. I remember being so excited about the possibilities of comedy. That appearance of course is now almost legendary. Johnny Carson liked him so much that he had him back on the show a week later. As soon as that first Steven Wright album, I Have a Pony, came out, I bought it and listened to it over and over again. It never wore thin and it was partially responsible for moving me one step closer to a career in comedy. So every time I've gotten to work with Steven Wright over the years I've always appreciated it. I flew in to Tampa and rented a car and as I drove from town to town I had some time to think about all the good times working in front of large crowds in the great state of Florida. There were some odd times too. A few years ago, I did three shows opening for Aretha Franklin. The shows went very well. On the first two nights she had a regular announcer that would give her a big booming offstage introduction. For some reason, on night three, this guy was not around. So during intermission, the powers that be started searching around for someone who could do the offstage intro. They found me. And at first I thought, well, this will be very nice. I'll get to introduce Aretha Franklin to this great crowd who is dying to see her. They set up a microphone right off stage and all I had to do was read the introduction as it was written down. And obviously, I would have to put a little umph into it as well. We're talkin' Queen of Soul here. Sounds simple enough. But then just before I'm about to do so, who comes walking by to stand right next to me but the Aretha Franklin herself. She's a foot away from me right on my shoulder. Then I started thinking, wait a minute, this is one of the great performers of all time. And now she's going to stand right next to me as I introduce her. The thing about doing an offstage introduction is that there is no upside. There is only a horrible downside. If it goes great, no one will remember it. But if you really butcher it, you'll never hear the end of it. So now I'm starting to panic. I'm more nervous about having to do her introduction than I was about doing my own twenty-minute set in front of a full theater. I started picturing Aretha Franklin sitting around someday after a show telling showbiz stories and saying "I'll never forget that boy in down in Jacksonville messin' up that intro." So I took four deep breaths, and perhaps a little inspiration from Aretha herself, and I'm very happy to report, I avoided complete disaster - which was my goal at the time. I can still remember the intro. "Ladies and Gentleman, Welcome to the Florida Theater. Please welcome to the stage, Arista Recording Artist and Grammy Award Winner, The Queen of Sooouuuullllll, Arethaaaaaa Franklinnnnn." And oh yes, I gave it all the umph that I could. I'll bet she's still talking about that guy down in Jacksonville who nailed her intro. Most theater crowds are great. But every now and then something just isn't right. I once opened for Michael Bolton at this cavernous monstrosity of a venue called the Tampa Sun Dome. I had done some shows in front of as many as 4,000 people and there's nothing better. But I don't think comedy can go much higher than five or six thousand. This place was a 9,000 seater. It was more like a hockey rink. And not only that, they were there to see Michael Bolton. I was supposed to do thirty minutes. When I went on, the place was still filling up. I did every thing I could to get their attention. Within three minutes, entire sections were chanting "Mich-ael Bol-ton. Mich-ael Bol-ton." They were united in their hatred of me. New people were entering the show. "Hey, what's going on?" "We're hating that guy." "Oh cool. Get off the stage! Mich-ael Bol-Ton. Mich-ael Bol-Ton." Uh oh. I still have 27 minutes to go in order to get paid. I can't really say that I heard any actual booing but there were definitely some calls for me to leave the stage. And I knew the boos were not far behind. All it takes is one boo. As long as there are enough others who agree with that one boo, you got yourself a problem. It's amazing how optimistic you can get in a situation like this. I'm up there thinking, "well, once they hear my baking soda bit, they'll change their mind oh yes they will." Somehow, and I still can't imagine how or why, I did 21 minutes and finally left the stage when I sensed that the sandbags were about to give. As I left they were cheering. And something tells me they weren't cheering FOR me. When I got back stage, some road manager guy is all upset because I went eight minutes short. And I'm standing there thinking that I went 21 minutes too long. I should've bailed on "Hey, how's everybody doin' out there?" I learned something that night. I will probably never be an arena act. One time I opened for Regis Philbin at the Ruth Eckard Hall in Clearwater, Florida. He was doing this show with a full 13-piece orchestra, where he sang some songs and told funny stories. It was a good show and the people loved it. I had a good show myself. I was feeling very satisfied as I came off stage and who was standing there but Regis Philbin. And he goes, "Are you Ryan? Tom Ryan? You were great. Very funny. I was sitting in my dressing room and I could hear you over the speaker and I was laughing. You're good Ryan. You're very good." The inflections on every word were exactly where they were supposed to be if those words were being delivered by Regis Philbin. And they were. It almost sounded like the Dana Carvey impression of Regis Philbin. Then he says to his orchestra leader who was standing right there. "Did you hear Ryan? He's very good." He was the coolest. So he goes out and does his show. And I stayed around and watched the whole thing even though I had to make the four hour drive back to West Palm Beach that night so that I could go to my temp job which was starting the next day. This was at the time when things were a little shaky on the comedy club scene so I used to supplement my income by doing office temp work. At the time, the only temp agency that was getting me any work was a company called Girl Friday. It's a little humbling to be a man in your mid-thirties, and get sent out on a job and have to walk in to an office and say, "Hi, my name's Tom Ryan. And I'm… the… guy… from… Girl… Friday…" You can almost hear how slowly those words used to leave my mouth. I'm sure everyone within earshot was thinking "did that guy just announce to the receptionist that he was the guy… from… Girl… Friday?" Anytime I would introduce myself as such, it was always followed by an awkward pause. After the Regis show, he did a book signing and there was a line of literally hundreds of people waiting to meet him. Most of them were middle-aged women. As I'm leaving, about 6 women peel off from the back of the line and begin telling me how much they enjoyed my portion of the show. Then one of them asks for my autograph. And then they all ask for my autograph. Have you ever seen the way a major league baseball player signs autographs for a group of people? He'll grab the pen and program from one person as he cracks a joke to someone else as he's signing this and answering a question about that. It was one of those kinds of scenes. My ego drove me home that night on a bubble of pure show business joy. I got about three hours sleep, returned my rental car and then took the local city bus to my new temp job. I make my standard guy from Girl Friday introduction and within fifteen minutes I'm kneeling on the floor going though a stack of invoices and putting them in alphabetical order. One of the young ladies from the office came over to me and asked me how it was going. I told her everything was fine. And then she said, well, just to let you know, we have a dress code in the office and you really should be wearing a tie. The temp agency had forgotten to inform me that this particular office had a pretty strict dress code. So it wasn't bad enough that I'm on my knees filing invoices. Now I'm the guy… without… the… tie. By now, my ego was long gone. I felt like telling her my little show business story just to prove to her that I had some good moments in my life too. But do you really think she would've believed me if I had told her that about ten hours ago I was signing autographs like a major leaguer in front of a semi-circle of giggly, middle aged women who were huge fans of Regis Philbin? Probably not. I think she would have slowly turned away and gone right in to her boss's office and said, "Hi Marge. Yeah. I think The guy… from… Girl… Friday is starting to have some really bizarre delusional fantasies. What do you think we should do?" close this window to return to the Tom Ryan writing page SHECKY! A magazine about standup... http://www.sheckymagazine.com ©Copyright 1999 Independent Together Brian McKim & Traci Skene Comics\Writers\Producers