A Look at Humor Writers
Bill Plante’s North Shore:
A Look at Humor Writers
One of the funniest sights I have seen in recent weeks was Bob Yoakum shaking his left index finger under Art Buchwald’s right jowl.
Here were two of the nation’s finest humorists looking for all the world as serious as Sadat and Begin trying to resolve the problems of the West Bank Palestinians.
The scene took place at the First Amendment Fair (shade of Thomas Jefferson, please note) held at Washington, D.C.’s old Pension Building, the site, someone insisted, of Lincoln’s inaugural ball. The fair’s proceeds are to go to a fund established by The Reporter’s Committee to aid those members of the press, who, in the performance of their duties, run afoul of judges who believe it is better to put newspaper people in jail than to permit them to protect news sources. I hope that Thomas Jefferson’s spirit, wherever it may be hovering, appreciated both the need for supporting The First Amendment as well as the fun we had doing it. But, back to the finger-pointing.
The occasion, I was told later by Yoakum, had to do with Buchwald’s recommending Yoakum to New York Times humorist Russell Baker for membership in an obscure humorist organization, the total complement of which would not fill a booth in the crowded night spot where another of this nation’s humorist, Mark Russell, does his thing.
All of which is a long way around the barn to make the point that there just aren’t many funny people in print these days. Well, that is not the right way to say that, of course. There are legions of funny people in print, and it is almost impossible to read straight news stories about them without breaking up — or down, as the case may be.
What is rare is the writer who sees humor where others see little and who is able to conjure the words to express it. It is the most serious of business which is why you rarely see guys who write the stuff smiling.
Writing humor is hard work because its purpose is to attract, amuse, instruct, titillate, inform, chastise, caress, deflate, satirize and to illuminate the subject matter with a special kind of light. No wonder humorists growl at their dogs, children and spouses, in that order.
As a matter of historical note, Buchwald and Yoakum worked together in Paris when both were striplings. When they split, Buchwald took the humor route, and Yoakum decided to go straight. He returned to humor writing a half dozen or so years ago.
Those who read the columns in this newspaper recognize style differences. Art Buchwald’s material usually follows a predictable format. He seizes upon an event of the day, interpolates it into a faintly camouflaged setting and then proceeds to destroy whatever it is that presents itself as an absurdity.
There are probably 999,999 writers out there who know they can do the kind of thing Art Buchwald does. The problem is that the words just do not seem to come out of their typewriters in the right order.
As for Bob Yoakum, his stuff seems even easier. There is no set format. It is an inductive kind of humor, a gentler stroke. There is more subtlety. But a scalpel can cut as deeply as an ax, and the result can be as deadly. There just isn’t so much blood lying about after the coup de grace.
Erma Bombeck, whose material we also use, has an angular style which sends us scurrying up the backstairs one minute, around three turns in the hallway in a rush to find the bathroom, only to find that we’ve been fooled into a broom closet in the basement. She is a gag writer, without peer, the standup comic of writing humorists, who deals with every day frustrations as devastatingly as Mark Russell does the world of politics.
Russell Baker, of The New York Times, casts his fictionalized public events in the same direction as Buchwald, although with a literary flair more reflective of the old New Yorker Magazine, back in the days of Thurber, White, et al. He is Sunday’s bright relief from the deadly fare of The Times, and I look forward to his view from that exalted perch.
Mark Russell has to be seen, in person, to be fully savored. When he is off and flying, which is likely to happen without warning during a regular routine, he is this nation’s finest political satirist. But he is fundamentally, a verbal man, one whose genius is ignited by an appreciative audience in a relatively small room. It is one thing for Russell to write a line and quite another to deliver it in person. Those who read him with appreciation should take the trouble to look him up when in Washington.
Buchwald, Yoakum, Baker, Russell, Bombeck — add a half dozen or so more and you have the nation’s humor cadre. They are a precious few to be stroked, coaxed and applauded as our only real hope for sanity in a zany world.
(Bill Plante is executive editor of Essex County Newspapers.)