Ventrilo-what?
I was recently asked how I ended up doing stand-up comedy and ventriloquism. It all started nearly twenty years ago at the Petroleum Club. My son David and I were doing a DJ show there. We were, as always, playing by request and as the list got short I asked the audience what else they would like.
They shouted, “Give us an editorial!” There was some laughter, and then some enthusiatic applause to show they agreed.
I had no editorial off the top of my head, but I do know lots of funny radio stories so I started in with some of those just to fill the request. They were sitting at round tables and those with their backs to me turned their chairs around to face me. They laughed in all the right places, so I kept on going. Eventually I stopped and asked if they were ready to dance some more. They were. I asked David how long I had been speaking and was astounded to find out it had been an hour and ten minutes.
The manager came up to the stage as we were packing up and said, “That’s what you should be doing – your stories are hilarious and these folks loved them!”
The ventriloquism part came at a 50th Wedding Anniversary. As often happens at such functions, the MC was inviting people to come up and tell a funny story about the happy couple or at least tell a joke. My brother-in-law, Hugh Scheuerman, suggested to his date that they should go up on stage. He thought it would be funny if she sat on his lap and pretended to be a ventriloquist’s dummy, and he would provide some commentary. She declined, but it opened a whole conversation about whatever happened to all the ventriloquists we used to watch on the Ed Sullivan Show.
The next week, I called a local talent agent and asked if we had any ventriloquists in Edmonton. “No, she said, “but they’d probably get lots of work if there were.”
Just for fun, I did some research and discovered there was no place to learn the craft in Canada. In what now seems like a totally ridiculous move, I ordered a course by correspondence from the U.S.. I actually tried to learn ventriloquism by mail, with a dummy from Denver and a mirror. If it proved anything, it’s that I have the most supportive wife in the world.
Eventually, I would go to the Ventriloquist’s Convention in Las Vegas. I arrived at the airport with my puppet in a small black carry case. These puppets are designed so the legs fold up over the body and the feet tuck down over the shoulders. On the X-ray, it must have looked like a dead baby in a box. When it came through the all-seeing eyes, I said to the security guard, “Did that look strange?”
She looked bored. “Ventriloquists Convention, right?” she deadpanned.
To my surprise the hotel the convention was being held in, would not let me register by myself. The puppet had to come out of the case and register for us – no matter how bad the beginner was, and other guests waiting to register applauded when it was painfully over. With nothing but my dignity to lose now, I got up for the “open mike” portion of the convention. When I was done, some of the best vents in the business sat with me and showed me how I could have done better.
In another part of the convention, after a lesson on keeping the puppet moving, we were sent out into the casino area to engage visitors in conversation. My assignment was to work the elevators. I got in one and found myself with a contingent of Japanese tourists with their ever-present cameras. The puppet bowed and gave his best, “Ohio-go-zimas”. To my great surprise (and relief) they bowed back and repeated the greeting.
As the convention progressed, I would meet the vents Ed Sullivan introduced. It was mentoring at its best.
Shortly, thereafter, I had another great lesson in Hawaii. Marg and I went to see a vent performing in a bar. I tracked him down before the show and offered to pay him for some lessons while we were on the island, but he offered one for free. He told me my assignment was to come to the show and never take my eyes off his lips. That seemed simple enough and I agreed to do it.
Several times during the show, the puppet would move or say something outrageous and I would suddenly remember I was supposed to be looking at the vent’s lips. A couple of times he caught me looking at the puppet and would give me a sharp look. After the show he told me it was the greatest lesson anyone had ever given him: keep the puppet moving and no one is looking at your lips.
The first show I was ever paid for was at was at the Palace Hotel in Edmonton. I had no idea who the audience was. When I arrived and discovered it was a group of doctors, I thought I might need a doctor. I felt sick. These were arguably the most intelligent people around. How was I going to fool them? As the show ended, and there had actually been some laughter, I put the puppet back in his case on the floor. As I did my closing, the puppet called out to ask for a drink of water. To my great surprise, the medical professionals took their eyes off me and looked down at the case. There was a short conversation, and throughout, they would look at me, and then down at the case for the reply. If I wasn’t so sure I had driven home that night, I might have thought I had floated.
-Bob Layton