Opening Up

Back in 1988, Cara and I drove a half an hour south of San Francisco to the Shoreline Amphitheatre to see Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme. I was 36. Cara was 28. I believe we were the youngest people there who weren’t taking their parents.

I had enjoyed their work ever since I was kid. Eydie’s “Blame It on the Bossa Nova” was very catchy and a huge hit. As a 10 yr. old in the 5th grade, Steve’s “Go Away, Little Girl” somehow spoke to me. Had there been such a little girl at the time, the oldest she could be would have been nine. Cara remembered seeing them on Merv Griffin. As solo acts, they were wonderful. As a duo, they were magic. (For the record, their given names were Sidney Liebowitz and Edith Gormezano. Sid and Edith didn’t have the same ring to it.)

Before they bounded out on stage, a skinny, balding comedian in a white leisure suit took the stage. He was not on the bill. The opening act is referred to as “support” or “warm-up” on the call sheet posted backstage. He is added to the show so the headliner doesn’t have to come out to a cold audience. He was not advertised. The only heads-up we were given was the PA announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, Steve and Eydie are proud to present Dick Capri!”

It was now up to Dick Capri to get us going. Get us laughing and in a good mood. His job was to open the show, cold. Be the sacrificial lamb. People were still finding their seats. But that’s okay because he was kind of a bonus. No one knew he was going to be on the show. You didn’t even have to pay attention. He's just the opener. After all, nobody came to see him. He was just there to warm us up.

Dick did around 20 minutes of innocuous stand-up. Clean, inoffensive, not hilarious, too much set-up, not enough punchline. But it was not his job to be hilarious. His job was to get us used to paying attention. For all I know, he wasn’t doing his “A” stuff. He finished to lots of applause, but no one was screaming for more. If they had, he would have probably been replaced.

I once filled in for a friend who warmed up audiences for sitcoms. The assistant director told me to stop doing my act because people were laughing too much. Having never done it before, I didn’t know what else to do. I learned that sitcom warmup comedians don’t do material. They interact with the audience, play trivia games, engage them, be a Good Time Charlie and keep them warmed up while the crew prepares the next set-up, or the director decides to re-shoot a scene.

Once I moved back to the Bay Area in 1994, I was booked as support for a variety of acts. I mistakenly entered Al Jarreau’s dressing room to find him sitting shirtless at a table. “Hello. Who are you?” he pleasantly asked. I explained that I had just warmed up the crowd and that my name was Dan St. Paul. “Oh, like the St. Pauli girl” he quipped. “Exactly” I countered, “just without the “i” and a different gender.” Good to meet you Mr. St. Pauli girl!” Couldn’t have been nicer.

I stood next to Kenny Loggins at the urinals backstage at the Mountain Winery in Saratoga while he interviewed me about the present state of stand-up comedy. “Good luck. Knock ‘em dead.”, he called out as he left the lavatory.

I got to ask Vince Gill if the rumor was true that Mark Knopfler had asked him to join Dire Straits after his band, Pure Prairie League, had opened for them. “Yeah. I figured I had pretty good thing goin’ here”, he willingly responded. Super, sweet guy.

Chicago, the Doobie Brothers, The Isley Brothers, Herbie Hancock, Natalie Cole, Patti LaBelle, Smokey Robinson, Clint Black, Dwight Yoakam, Kenny G, Hall and Oates, Weird Al, all fun gigs. My only awkward experience was opening for the San Francisco Symphony on the 4th of July, once again at the Shoreline Amphitheater.

There was a big firework spectacular scheduled to cap off the evening. Cars full of revelers would show up and clog the parking lot around 9pm. To clear the lot Bill Graham Presents, who was producing, decided they would keep patrons in their seats by giving away prizes after the show. Good prizes like roundtrips on Southwest Airlines, tickets to future shows, Bill Graham Presents leather bomber jackets, lots of nice stuff. It was my job to conduct the giveaways, basically, drawing winning numbers from a fishbowl. They also asked me to do about 10 minutes before the show. I worried that classical music fans were probably not a great crowd for comedy, but I’m a team player.

I take the stage with half the crowd still finding their seats. It’s hit and miss for about five minutes when I hear a piccolo practicing scales behind me. Then the sound of a clarinet, followed by a bassoon, various strings create an increasing cacophony until finally… percussion! I’ve dealt with drunks and hecklers, but on my best day I am no match for the thunder of a kettle drum. I could no longer hear myself speak and I was losing what small members of the audience who were listening. I announced I would be back at the end of the show with prizes.

I wanted to turn around and yell, “Hey! Give it a rest. I’m working here! I don’t interrupt your “Evening of Mahler” to do dick jokes!” I, instead, cut my losses and disappeared into the wings. No one apologized, no one cringed and shrugged their shoulders. All the musicians hurried to their seats while stagehands took their places. Back in the green room, the BGP rep asked if I’d like to go back out there at intermission. I told him his wish was my command, but I explained they’d be all going to the snack bar or the bathroom or both. I didn’t see it going well. He thought it over and agreed. I grabbed a paper towel, patted down my forehead, and felt my blood pressure stabilize.

My most memorable opening slot was for Ringo Starr and his All-Starr Band. Ringo would biannually go on the road with a mix of musicians who had gained some notoriety in the 70’s and 80’s. Cara, Roy and I got to eat dinner backstage with Colin Hay (Men at Work), Hamish Stuart (Average White Band), Gary Wright (“Dreamweaver”), Billy Squire (“The Stroke”), and Edgar Winter. Very cool. The Beatle was not among us mere mortals. He appeared onstage from out of nowhere and disappeared before the last note.

The structure of the show was ingenious. He opened with two songs, then took his place behind his drum kit alongside another drummer. Then each musician took turns doing two of their hits. Ringo would alternately intervene to do one of his songs before the next member of the band took his turn. At the end of the show Ringo announced, “Okay this is the end of the show. We could all run offstage, and you could clap until we came back out, but I’ll tell you what? Let’s all make believe that just happened. You’ve been great. Goodnight.” The band then goes into A Little Help from My Friends. We all sing along and wave Ringo goodbye as he runs off 30 seconds before the song is over. That Ringo. He’s such a people person.

Before the show began, I was standing outside the green room gathering my thoughts when Ringo’s agent introduced himself. He assured me that he went through tapes of all the local comedians and determined I was best to open the show. I thanked him and thought, “Okay, he didn’t say I was the best comedian in the Bay Area. He said I was the best one to open the show.” My take was that there were better comedians but he couldn’t trust them to be clean. (It’s best to be grounded in this business. Not get a big head.) Still, I felt lucky to be there.

I was introduced by a local radio disc jockey and strode onto center stage. They were a great crowd, genuinely thrilled to be there. Opening for Ringo gave me instant credibility and I got do 20 minutes of some of the most joyous stage time I have ever been given. But about ten minutes in, while pausing for their laughter, I remembered the Steve and Eydie show about 20 years earlier and quietly acknowledged, “Oh my god. I’m Dick Capri.”

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