field. Watch how they handle their wins and losses, negotiate their contracts, and talk to the press. That’s information you can’t get in school. Or even in books. And it’s all free. Follow the people you admire. They’re your mentors. Learn from them. Read everything you can about that person. There’s a reason they’re at the top of their game.
I originally contacted Gene Perret because we had similar career paths. I got my comedy writing start in churches, roasting pastors. He roasted fellow workers and bosses when he worked for General Electric. I wrote for Phyllis Diller. So did he. But he was a lot further along in his career than I was. He was where I wanted to be. So I watched him. I read and reread his books. I stalked him. Okay, not really, but I did connect with him. He invited my husband and me down to CBS Studios in Hollywood to see a taping of Mama’s Family, and then the three of us walked over to a restaurant across the street. He was so gracious as he looked through my album of writing that I had brought with me that night, chuckling at all the appropriate places in the articles.
Today, I can say that it is because of Gene Perret’s encouragement, because he saw something in my writing that made him say, “You belong in Hollywood,” that I have enjoyed any success at all over these years. Ever since that night, I’ve wanted to live up to his faith in my writing skills. I’ve wanted to continue to improve and to make my mentor proud. I hope I have.
So find your mentors. Watch them. Learn everything they’ll share with you. Then, do whatever you can to make them proud.
And the best part of attending the College of Gene Perret is, it’s all been free.
—Martha Bolton
Emmy-nominated and Dove-nominated
writer and author of eighty-seven books,
including Josiah for President
One of the most astounding learning moments I ever experienced was prompted by a teacher who wasn’t even in the classroom at the time. He was teaching physics to a group of us in junior year in high school. We were studying electricity, and he first taught us that an electrical current passing through a coil of wire would produce a magnetic effect.
Shortly after we learned this principle, this teacher handed out to the class several doorbells mounted on blocks of wood. He also supplied nine-volt batteries and a simple button that would act as an on-off device. There weren’t enough of these supplies to go around, so he divided us into teams that would work together. Since it was the last class of the day, he told us we were dismissed as soon as we could explain how the common doorbell worked.
We were puzzled and had many questions, but our instructor ignored our raised hands and headed for the door. We asked where he was going. He said, “I’m leaving. I already know how a doorbell works.”
We looked at one another in confusion. We looked at the apparatus before us. We looked to the door, hoping the teacher would return and make some sense. He didn’t. He left us to our bewildering assignment.
My team hooked up the gear, which was fairly easy. We pushed the button, and the bell went r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ring. A brilliant classmate said, “That’s how a doorbell works—you push the button and the bell rings.” That didn’t advance the world’s knowledge of electricity.
Another student said, “We’re studying electromagnets, so that must be part of it.” He was onto something.
We played with the apparatus until we finally figured out that one of the moving parts—the part that clanged the bell—was part of the electrical circuit. When current passed through the coil, it pulled the metal clanger against some springs. But when the clanger was pulled away, it interrupted the flow of electricity. That meant that the magnet no longer attracted the clanger. The springs shot the clanger back against the bell. This closed the circuit again. This sequence repeated at a rapid rate, producing the distinctive r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ring of the bell.
This innovative teacher didn’t tell us how a bell worked. He didn’t show us, either. He simply furnished a bell, a power source, and a switch. He let us teach ourselves how the bell worked. And we did. In the process we learned much about electromagnetism and its application.
That’s the idea behind this book. It doesn’t teach you how to write a joke. It leaves you with a world full of Henny Youngmans, George Carlins, Phyllis Dillers, Jerry Seinfelds, Jay Lenos, David Lettermans, and any others you choose. It doesn’t teach you how to write sketches, but it does allow you to teach yourself using the principles exhibited by Lucille Ball, Carol Burnett, Sid Caesar, the Saturday Night Live gang, and countless others. You’ll teach yourself to write sitcoms based on the lessons available from The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Cheers, Friends, Two and a Half Men, The Big Bang Theory, and whatever other TV shows you enjoy.
The principles of electromagnetism were contained in those fundamental pieces of equipment that our teacher furnished. As one of our classmates observed, when we pushed the button, the bell rang. That showed us that the device worked and that the principles worked. Now we had to figure out how and why the doorbell worked.
All the principles of comedy are contained in the people who have practiced and are now practicing comedy. Many of them went on to legendary achievements. Again, that means the principles worked. By studying great comedy performers and superb humor writing, you can uncover secrets that will benefit your comedy creativity.
When Henny Youngman told a joke, people laughed. Why and how did he get them to laugh? That’s your assignment. When Bill Cosby is onstage telling stories about his childhood or his family, people roar. Is it the punchline he delivers? Is it the tone of his voice? Is it the facial expressions he uses? Is it all of these? With some effort, you will uncover valuable information.
The comedy principles are there for the taking, just as the idea behind a doorbell was there for my classmates and me to discover. However, there are some differences between figuring out the ringing of a doorbell and the intricacies of comedy.
First, once we solved the riddle of the ringing bell, we were done. We had conquered the mystery. We knew now that when you pushed the button the bell rang. And we knew how and why. There was no more for us to solve. The comedy-learning process, though, can go on forever. You never stop learning and you never learn enough. It’s also addictive. The more you learn about humor, the more you want to learn.
I remember once sitting with Bob Hope during a postproduction session. During a break in the work, Hope began practicing the motions of his golf swing. He mentioned that he had talked with one of the professional golfers who was playing in his tournament at the time. He said, “He told me to begin the backswing just like I’m pulling down on a rope.” He demonstrated the motion for me.
I said, “Bob, how long have you been playing golf?”
He said, “Oh, it’s over fifty years now.”
I said, “You’ve been playing golf for fifty years and you just learned that you have to pretend you’re pulling down on a rope?”
He said, “That’s the thing about golf—you never stop learning.”
That’s the thing you’ll find
