Free I'll Be Here All Week by Anderson Ward Page B

and clubs popped up everywhere. There were more clubs than there were comedians, and being a comedian was a hot job to have. The money was great, and people wanted stand-up comedy everywhere. Every network had a stand-up comedy show. Even mediocre comedians got their own TV deals. Getting on a talk show was a given. It wasn’t a matter of if you would get a spot on An Evening at the Improv so much as when.
    Then it all imploded. Too many comedians, too many comedy clubs. Places that had no business doing stand-up comedy hired people who had no business calling themselves comedians. Bowling alleys had “Comedy Night” and brought in headlining comedians who were only amateur comedians a few weeks before. Agents like Rodney popped up left and right and crowded the market. Too many comedians’ sitcoms tanked. Stand-up comedy lost its charm, and clubs closed one after another. That left way too many comedians and not enough work.
    That’s about the time he finally started to get paid. Bad timing, really. Just when the business was starting to tank, he was trying to make a career out of it. A few years earlier and that appearance on Kilborn would have guaranteed him A-list work for many more years. With hundreds of comedians willing to work for less money and plenty of clubs looking to save every buck they possibly could, that TV credit didn’t have the same effect it used to.
    On top of that, the money stayed the same. The pay was never adjusted for inflation. What was good money in 1987 pretty much sucks these days. Yet there are new comics out there willing to work for half what Spence thinks is terrible pay. Some are willing to put themselves up in hotels on their own dime. Some even offer to work the first time at no pay, just for the chance to audition.
    No wonder the Electric Pony thought I was such a spoiled jerk, he thinks. They probably talked other comics into cleaning the bathrooms.
    But there are always exceptions. Dane Cook is around the same age as Spence and a millionaire. All the late night talk shows are still showcasing comedians. There are still random TV shows and movie deals. Everyone still has a shot to make it. Everyone can still get noticed. It’s just a matter of timing. The right place at the right time. The right routine and the one killer bit can put a comedian over the top. That and a truckload of luck. Deep down, every working comic out there is waiting for another “Boom.”
    He turns the corner on Saint Catherine and winds up standing in front of the Pepsi Forum. He stands on the street corner for a second and simply watches people walk by. In front of him is a nice little park, and he thinks about sitting there for a while. In one direction, taxis and cars crowd the streets and, in another, there’s a quiet park bench with his name on it. It’s so rare a sight that he just stops and enjoys where he is right at that moment.
    A woman walks by and looks at him funny. She chuckles and then crosses the street. He looks over his shoulder and realizes that he’s standing in front of a string of posters with his face on them. Just like when bands plaster their fliers all over anything they can in New York City, the comedy club there has posters of him randomly spread around Montreal. It’s rare that he sees this sort of thing. Nowadays clubs post stuff all over the Internet. He wants to take a picture to remember this. He knows it will just be covered up by newer ads in a few days.
    â€œThree Nights Only,” the poster reads, with his ridiculous mug staring bug-eyed at the camera. His hair is lighter in the picture, and he looks a little thinner and a lot younger. The photo is only four years old.
    The Comedy Crib seems to still treat comedians the way he always heard it was like during The Boom. That’s a nice feeling and exactly what he needs after several weeks of one-star hotels and saloon gigs. Those jobs manage to pay the bills, but