With all the tragic news in the world, how do you do anything about it? You laugh.
People often say that if you want change, you should peacefully protest, contact your representatives, and take action within your community. However, apathy begins to set in with the exhaustion. The bombardment of stories can lead to depression, a learned hopelessness of not doing anything. Laughter gives hope and helps fight this apathy. I believe in the importance of learning history to glean the best and to cast out the worst. That’s why I love to learn about comedic history. I like to see how comedic minds throughout history fought back against censorship, the elites, and helped expose some of the faults that inspired change. That’s why I visited the National Comedy Center in Jamestown, New York (not the famous Virginia settlement). I also visited, just because it is fun!
I’m Hope Sears. I’m an American who studied journalism and worked as a journalist for about 5 years before transitioning my career into marketing/events. My love for comedy led me to try standup, work with old-time-radio groups, and to seek out opportunities with like-minded comedy obsessives. That’s how Read The Room co-editor Alfie Whitby came into contact with me to share my journey.
What is the National Comedy Center? I first heard about the National Comedy Center after the passing of Carl Reiner. Carl Reiner wrote The Dick Van Dyke Show, performed as part of “the 2,000 year old man” sketches, wrote for the early television variety series Your Show of Shows (think black and white SNL). Reiner started as an incredible actor, that found even more success as a writer and director. He’s the father to another actor/director, Rob Reiner. His Emmys alone show his impressive legacy to the craft. When I heard Carl Reiner left his papers to the Center, metaphorically, my ears perked. What was this place? If Reiner donated his papers there, I needed to check it out.
The National Comedy Center is what it sounds like, an impressive museum showcasing mostly American comedy. The Center showcases vaudeville, television, radio, cartoons, music, improv, and standup. It’s located in a renovated old train station. The large ceilings feel like you are walking into a large theater. Jamestown, New York is the hometown of television’s favorite redhead, Lucille Ball. According to the Center’s director Journey Gunderson, who helped launch the museum, this was part of Ball’s dream. The town features several I Love Lucy themed murals and a museum dedicated to her. It’s good that this museum is not in New York City, this gem would get lost there.
Saying I love comedy is an understatement. During a time of inner turmoil for me, I found late night shows like Conan O’Brien. I sought out Conan’s influences from Carl Reiner, Sid Caesar, Johnny Carson, Jack Benny, and Steve Martin. Before I laughed at their antics, I used a pen and journal as an outlet for my feelings. As a young girl, I looked up to writers, and wanted to pen myself into history. Due to Carl Reiner and Conan O’Brien’s influence, I wanted to write for television. I sort of did, working as a producer for local news stations for several years.
I never thought it possible to make something of my own in this comedy world. Yet, I’ve slowly gathered interviews for a documentary about comedy that a friend encouraged me to make. Initially, I thought when booking tickets that my trip would be for the documentary. My request to interview the archivist of the Center was denied. I decided to go anyway.
The National Comedy Center became a destination that felt like a spiritual trip. The cost of travel and days off prevented me from making the trek in previous years. Once I decided, I locked in and bought the dual membership to the Lucy-Desi & Comedy Center. That allowed me to go to most presentations for free. It took me a full day of air travel and driving to finally arrive in Jamestown at 9 PM.
When you step into the museum, you’re asked to create a profile linked with a bracelet. You select a few people, shows, projects, and such that you love. As you see things that you like throughout the museum, sometimes it will give you a chance to like them using the bracelet. By the end of your journey, there is a wall at the exit which shows some televisions. You scan the bracelet again, and it shows you what your sense of humor is with your top 3 matches, such as observational, roast, blue, parody, etcetera.
My experience there felt like my happy place. That feels cheesy, but it’s a literal thought that sprang to life there for me. Every thought felt free of stress or anxiety. I noticed that none of my regular obsessive self-hatred phrases plagued me during this trip. My face radiated joy; I could see it in people’s reactions to me. It felt like home; some people thought I worked there, because while exploring myself, I started to answer people’s questions.
I felt seen. I’ve worn a bow on the side of my hair several days a week for about a decade; only here did an intern ask, “Is that for Rose Marie?”
YES! Yes, it was a tribute to Rose Marie, who played female writer Sally Rogers on the Dick Van Dyke Show, always wearing a black bow in her hair.
I loved listening to late-night show clips. The Center’s display for this was a great start, they showcase Carson, as they should, in a theater. However, there is a lot to be said about late-night, and they completely glossed over Conan’s issue with The Tonight Show. They skip this issue altogether despite acknowledging Leno/Letterman issues, and for those who found solace in O’Brien’s comedy, this seems like an oversight.
Perhaps they can rectify this in the future, as when I first submitted this piece (and am now revising), major news broke in this area; Jimmy Kimmel’s situation of ABC pulling him off the air for the network’s issue with the FCC and the current presidential administration. Colbert also received notice he would not return after suspect timing with the current administration taking umbrage to his political digs. I would hope that the late-night television exhibit would expand to include these in its signage and O’Brien’s issues with The Tonight Show.
I wish they had the late-night clips on the big TVs section where they would play TV clips of “your sense of humor” along with interviews to complement them. They had some clips playing on small control room-type monitors. This might make a great addition to discuss the historical significance of comedy, acting as a bellwether to citizens’ freedoms.
When I walked through the hall that leads to the Carl Reiner exhibit, I got chills. They have large photos of Reiner jumping through the air. Quotes adorn the walls and a video plays of Reiner joking on The Tonight Show, with fellow friends sharing their appreciation. This feels more like celebrating the aura of a magnificent life. I read every slide and watched every clip in that corridor. I spent hours there. The Emmys, the Mark Twain Prize, the Johnny Carson tie, and the television trays that he ate dinners with Mel Brooks sat on display. My mind raced with all the movies they must have watched, shows, dinners, and discussions that transpired around those trays. Many moons ago, I tweeted Reiner and Mel Brooks when Reiner still frequently tweeted. I thought it would be funny if Mel followed me, because he followed no one, not even his best friend. I tweeted and forgot about it, even several months later, Mel did follow me, for only a day. As I sit looking at these trays, I wonder if they discussed this that day. These are trays that I knew about growing up, because I wanted a seat at them, but this time the company is excluded.
When you go to events like this, you leave room for chance encounters. A bit of magic is involved. You have to put yourself in the locations where chance encounters can happen and keep an open mind that tiny miracles can happen at any time. The universe managed a bit of magic for me on August 9th.
Despite the museum saying no to my request for interviews or looking at the archives, I still brought my camera each day. I figured I could grab some B-roll for the documentary. This particular morning, I am glad that I did. It started with me asking the daughter of iconic comedian George Carlin, Kelly Carlin-McCall, a question that I plan to put in the documentary. She also signed her book for me.
I stayed in the museum despite seeing everything for the third day in a row. I wandered around and chatted with someone until basically closing time. I spoke with an employee outside where a block party started. As I made my way toward New York’s tourism board display, someone approached me with a fabulous offer. A couple of minutes before this offer, the employee I chatted with asked if I planned on heading to the show. I loved the other shows, but the only one I truly wanted had sold out without me buying a ticket. For what felt like the 100th time, I explained I missed out on Jon Stewart tickets. Resale prices seemed a bit too high for my budget and sketchy. Then the man who approached me explained he could not make the show, and offered them to me for $40. I rushed to the arena, I went to the ATM, and the arena said I could not enter until I disposed of my camera. I left my camera with the man, took out $60, came out to give the man his money, dashed to the nearest restaurant across the street, and paid the waitress $20 to watch my camera. I came back to the arena with staff who locked my phone in a bag because comedians guard their jokes now this way, and tried to find my seats to watch the show. They were floor seats! I’ve always had nosebleeds. The opening comedian wrapped up, and Stewart came on stage. I sat next to the son of the man who sold me the tickets.
The magic did not end! After the show, the tourism board still displayed the games, so I played the games. I got to the end and played a version of plinko. If you hit a certain box, you could choose your prize; otherwise, it looked like a cheap keychain if you lost. They handed me two tokens. I looked at the board, I thought about the geometry, then put my first token in. First try–top prize. I chose the t-shirt.
Put yourself in the places where things could happen.
People might say, “That kind of luck doesn’t happen to me.”
I used to think that too, but then I started to think, “Why not me?”
However, life’s magical moments do not wipe out the bad. The pendulum swings the other way eventually. I’ve had my home broken into, and I yanked my own shirt off the guy who broke in. He sold my passport and cameras. Someone stole my car. The man who broke into my house wrote me a scary letter from prison. How did I say you deal with the bombardment? You laugh. I make jokes in my stand-up about all the wacky things that happen to keep it from overwhelming me.
The universe seems to reward people for just showing up. I surrendered how it will happen. Because if you’re looking for a “how”, you may miss the unexpected path that will lead you there. I go after what I want, and figure if it did not work, then what’s meant for me will find me. It’s a bit hippy dippy but many things in my life shifted to make me realize how little control we truly have from external forces.
Someone in my family became diagnosed with something and a former professor of mine did at the same time. I will not disclose their diagnosis, no one died, but through no fault of my former professor, I saw that our body or mind can betray us quickly. Many tried to help them, but their struggles ended up greater than we could reach.
Through this I learned the cliche that we know but maybe do not internalize: that the present is all we truly have, tomorrow’s future is not a guarantee. I still make plans for the future, but I do not deny myself the enjoyment of now. I seek out what truly brings joy. In our modern culture, especially American culture, we feel guilty for enjoying life if we are not tapping into hustle culture. If we simply enjoy, without making money, it feels wrong or we criticize ourselves because we have bills to pay. But what is the point of living if not to enjoy it? What are we making this money for? To eat? To sleep? It’s a privileged position, but as someone that struggles with depression, if I do not seek joy, I let myself destroy myself. I do not care for my body, environment, or anything.
Part of my personal distress as a child is that I found existentialism earlier than most. Looking at the larger picture and looking at my legacy, I realized I did not seem to matter much in the grand scheme of things. The world looked depressing. My future, due to chronic health conditions, seemed much the same. I figured that it would go downhill as I got older. Suddenly, I did not want to grow up, I gave up. Comedy became the lifeline because I figured “if you can laugh, then there is hope”. Something inside me must still feel joy if I can laugh. I held on with only that and a few prayers to a deity I started to question existed. Mental health care education not being what it is now, my family did not believe in therapy or medication. I felt scared to discuss how bad I truly felt, because I felt like the mental health facilities also at the time might make me more miserable. Eventually, I got out, through laughter. Now, as an adult, I go to therapy and take medication. With my career, I wanted to give a voice to the unheard and with more recent jobs, helping the planet. Now, I search for opportunities where I can bring people joy. It’s hard to make a difference in a world where people feel discouraged.
When people are discouraged they can grow apathetic, give up, and let “leaders” control more than they should. Part of what I aim to do now is reclaim my own name, because when we have hope, we fight for making the world a bit brighter. We’re more likely to do something if we like doing it.
That is why I’m making a documentary about comedy. Like the journeys into filmmaking blog entries by the editor, this is also a journey for me.
I’ve seen people waste their lives buying the best tools, watching things as “research”, and ultimately avoid their goals because they fear it will not be perfect. They think that if it’s perfect, then it cannot fail or face rejection.
But consider if Jesus, the representative of perfection, visited earth in the present day, but looked different from what the pictures portray, there would still be plenty of Christians who would judge Jesus.
Perfection is not the goal; the goal is to start working on whatever brings you joy and satisfies your soul.
Words: Hope Sears | Instagram
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