Tom Dreesen, legendary comedian and Rat Pack wing man, chimed in on "How to Scare Away The Legends of Comedy in 3 Easy clicks" with some insightful comments on life that illustrate the point of this chapter and a lot of my comedy. As I have written Mr. Dreesen, David Brenner, Mike Toomey and many other comics and actors have helped me with my career, this chapter and with life lessons in general. I have never met them in person but consider them friends. Their willingness to reach out a hand of support to a stranger is rare and refreshing.
In the comment Tom referred to some advice that Carl Reiner gave him while climbing the ladder of comedic success. Reiner said that he should, "Make the people laugh...,"Show them your pain...," "They love to see the pain..." Those comments summarily state my intended purpose here. I share my pain and mix in something to chuckle about so you can relate. I use this platform to expose my pain in hopes that it reaches out a hand of support to a stranger who knows that same pain. I hope I never give you the impression that I feel sorry for myself and that every day was black. That isn't so. Everything that I went through good, bad or indifferent got me to TODAY! If one person gets relief from one of my chapters then my experiences were worth it! God got me through that so I could do this.
After graduating from Lincoln-Way High School in New Lenox, Illinois with the class of 1983 I was anxious to leave for college. I was heading to Illinois State-Bloomington and I was ready for the time of my life. After seeing the movie "Animal House" I was absolutely driven to go to college. It wasn't to receive a good education and forge a path to professional success. It was to party! I wanted to be Bluto Blutarski plain and simple.
I arrived at the state campus in August of 1984. My car was packed to the roof with all the necessities and comforts of home to fill my tiny cubicle-like dorm room. I had arrived with a case of beer, some pot and I was ready for "Delta House!" I parked in a no parking zone and put on my flashers as I began schlepping my stuff up to the 9th floor of Manchester Hall. I took the the fridge and the beer first so I could have it chilled for unwinding after my haul was unloaded. I had a fake I.D. and thought I was going to be the big man on campus.
After my first few trips up and down the elevator to my room I met a returning sophomore. Look at me, I have only been here an hour and I'm already hobnobbing with the upper class men! I offered him a beer, which he accepted, and we small talked our way through the suds. I was naive, and still am, about the motives of my new friend. After finishing his beer he opened up the window and tossed the empty can out of the 9th floor window. He wished me good luck and went on his way. I thought it was so cool. College was just like I imagined it would be!
I finished my can feeling smug and assured that this was the life for me. After returning to my car for the final load of my new home's contents I arrived back at my room only to be greeted by two new friends. One was the resident assistant and the other was a uniformed member of the campus police. I trembled as they asked to search my room for contraband. Upon entering they quickly discovered the beer in the small fridge and confiscated it. I was issued a warning from the R.A. and a verbal undressing from the campus officer. He was standing on the sidewalk near the dorm and saw my new sophomore friend toss the can from the window to the ground below. He counted the rows up and over to the window and matched it to my room. The 22 remaining beers in my mini-fridge were the same brand as the hurled empty and I was busted.
Feeling shaken at the whole incident I was both scared and exhilarated by the encounter. I got away with it. How cool was that? Remembering that I had my fake I.D., I returned to my illegally parked car. Replacing my lost booty would be easy because there was a liquor store just a few blocks away. Buying beer in a college town was a lot different than getting some hooch from one of the isolated taverns around the little village I had just come from. I entered the store and was greeted by a man who asked to see my identification. With complete confidence I pulled the bogus credentials from my wallet and handed it to the fine fellow. I grabbed another case of beer and headed for the check-out line.
As I approached the older looking man at the counter I began to feel uneasy. I kept my cool and slid the case before the cashier and reached into my pocket for some money. As I did so another man walked into the store. It was a fully uniformed Bloomington police officer and he was quickly shuffling in my direction. "Sir, is this your identification?" "Yes." "Are you T. Connolly?" "Uh-huh?" "Sir I am going to have to place you under arrest for trying to purchase liquor as a minor and possession of fraudulent identification. Can you please step outside?"
As he ushered me outside my mind began to race. I had seen movies about prison and "Scared Straight." All of my worst nightmares flashed before me at the vision of me washing my cell mates underwear in the tiny metal cell sink while he called me sweetheart. I turned to the officer and asked meekly "Are you going to put me in a cell with a big guy called Bubba?" He chuckled and said that I would be processed and released if I could post the bail for the charges.
I was already a functional alcoholic by this time and after realizing I wasn't going to become some mutant felon's play toy I laughed inside. I thought it was so cool that I had been arrested! Look at me, the skinny kid from Mokena has a wrap sheet. I will forever be able to spin yarns about the time I spent in the joint. There was no shame or connection that I had been very close to serious trouble involving booze twice that day. I gloated at my good fortune and thought to myself how it was like the movie.
I was finger printed and had my picture taken center, left and right with a tiny placard that stated my name and case number. I don't remember the number or how much bail it cost to get out. I called my roommate. After coming to my rescue we laughed all the way back to the dorm in the cab he had gotten. Upon returning to the store where I was taken down, I saw that my car had been towed. We quickly rerouted the cab and I spent more money getting my car out of the pound. I was not frustrated, ashamed, concerned or troubled with the events of the day. To me it was one big joke.
I made it back to my new home at Manchester Hall and told all my new friends my tale of crime, adventure, the narrow escape from consummation with Bubba and the car being towed. Then reality hit me. I had to tell my parents or at least A parent. I would call my father. He would find great humor in my story and we would both have a huge laugh over the whole incident. I dialed my dad's number and nervously giggled as I retold the events of the day. There was something missing! What, no laughing? The silence on the other end of the line was deafening and the pause seemed to last a lifetime. The weight of my irresponsibility fell on me. The disappointment in the tone of my dad's voice fell even heavier. "It's your FIRST day of college. Is this what I have to look forward to and worry about over the next few years?" My heart sunk. I mumbled an apology to my father and said goodbye. There would be more arrests, more calls to my father and even more empty "I'm sorrys."
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