Stage Fright

One of the first open stages I ever played was a great one, a little place on Craig Street in Pittsburgh called Antonino's owned by Tony Policicchio who later owned the greatest showcase club in Pittsburgh history, Graffiti. One night after my performance, much to my surprise, Tony invited me back later in the week as a featured performer (I think I got paid $20 and was thrilled.) But I was petrified as well. I didn’t have my sea legs,  and wouldn’t you know, three of Pittsburgh’s best-known comedians at the time, Billy Elmer, Jimmy Krenn, and Dennis Miller (later of Saturday Night Live and various movies) sat in the front row, five feet away, all with their comedian grins on.

The room was a blur and my legs felt like rubber bands, and throughout my performance, the three of them made wisecracks and may have even produced some yowling harmonies, laughing up a storm. Well, I took it all good naturedly and, when it was all over and I beat it to the bar for a well-deserved brew, Billy came up and laughed and said, “Man, I hope you didn’t mind us having some fun up there.” He shook my hand, bought me another beer, and from then on, the three of them accepted me in a distant-cousin sort of way.

Dennis Miller’s talent was obvious even then. At one point in his monologue, a toothless old fellow came to the big window behind the stage and pressed his open maw against the glass. Dennis took one look behind him, said just a minute to the crowd, turned around, unzipped his pants and ground against the glass sensuously till the fellow took off running into the dark. Dennis turned back and continued his monologue as if nothing had happened.