What's So Funny?: My Hilarious Life

by Tim Conway

  The Family Guy

  It’s time I talked about my children. I’m a little scared because I want you to know something about them, but I have to be careful. First of all, if they don’t like what I say, they’re old enough to let me have it, and I taught them boxing. Second, we’re private people. I can tell you about myself, no holds barred (oh, maybe a couple of them), but I couldn’t and wouldn’t expose my family. That being said, I’m one proud papa and grandpa. So here’s an overview of the family Conway.

  As far as parenting, I did have something going for me. I was Sophia and Dan’s child and I tried to pass on to my children the ideals and values that they instilled in me. It may have been easier for my parents as they only had one kid and everything was focused on that darling little fellow. Furthermore, because Dan and Sophia were (comfortably) poor, I wasn’t indulged. They couldn’t afford to buy me things like toys, so I made my own. And that was a good thing. Frankly, I don’t think any toy company ever made anything as wonderful as a large cardboard box. You can turn it into a house and crawl inside with a flashlight. You can paint pictures on the sides or cut out windows. You can attach one box to another and make a neighborhood with houses full of your chums. Or you can attach one box to a three-wheeler and make it a cab. Okay, I couldn’t make a tricycle but you get the idea. I rarely bought manufactured toys for my children, and the same holds true for my grandchildren. I create things for them. Tim the tailor has sewn little outfits for his granddaughters, Courtney and Sophia, and Tim the carpenter has made them little tables and chairs. So far, there’ve been no complaints. There’s another thing about Dan and Sophia: They weren’t in the public eye; they were just my mom and dad. I’m out there and known. Being in show business, you get to do a lot of things you wouldn’t normally get to do. There are definite celebrity perks. Some people in the biz get the idea that they don’t have to follow the rules. You might get a little leeway in a parking ticket, or you might get to go to the front of the line, or get a pass for an off comment you may have made in public. In general, I found that I slept a little better at night by not taking advantage of the perks. Nonetheless, I’m aware that my job as a performer has put my kids in the spotlight at times. I honestly tried to keep them out of it; even so, I’m sure they found themselves in situations where they probably wished I had taken that job at Chagrin Hardware.

  My daughter, Kelly, who was in the oven when Mary Anne and I moved, was born in California. After Kelly arrived, life changed, shockingly. Most parents find that the first child is a thunderbolt. You walk out the door and go on your merry way when, bingo, you realize you’ve left something behind. You are no longer free to do what you want; you have to do what’s good for your child. Guilt becomes one of your vital signs; the fear that you are not doing right by your children becomes a constant. It started with Kelly and then, in a crescendo of cookie baking, five boys: Timmy, Patrick, Jamie, Corey, and Seann, joined us. For a while, I spent more time in the delivery room than I did on the Burnett show.

  I don’t remember exactly when my marriage to Mary Anne started to unravel but it did, and we decided to call it quits in 1978 right after The Carol Burnett Show ended. Then, when Charlene and I married, her daughter, Jackie, came into my home and into my heart as well. Despite our divorce, Mary Anne and I remained united in our love for the children, and Charlene, bless her, was just as committed to them as well. I was a happy guy. You know who was even happier? The diaper deliveryman. We kept that guy busy for eleven years.

  Having children made me think a lot more about protecting my home and its contents. I’ve always been leery about someone breaking in and I’ve always kept a low profile. I wouldn’t live in a fancy mansion because to me that’s like having a neon sign flashing: “COME AND GET IT, ROBBERS!” Still, mansion or not, I felt safer with an alarm system. Rather than buying an expensive one, I installed a homemade one. It was a simple system from a simple guy, and quite worthy of the son of that famous Irish inventor, Dan Conway. Here’s how it worked. I put a large metal coal bucket at one end of the sliding glass door that was the logical point of entry for a thief. Next I tied a cord around a brick and ran the cord up the side of the door, along the top of the sill, and down the other side to the door handle. I pulled up the brick so it was suspended over the bucket and taped the end to the door handle when the cord was taut enough. Get it? If somebody opened the door, the taped cord would be pulled away from the handle, and the brick would drop into the bucket. The resulting noise of the brick hitting the metal bucket bottom would alert us. It was foolproof. I set that alarm every night before we went to bed.

  One December evening, I got the brick in place and retired to the bedroom. Mary Anne stayed up to finish wrapping presents. She was sending a package to her parents in Detroit. Rather than wake me to ask if I’d mail the present in the morning, she tucked it in behind the alarm cord along with instructions telling me exactly what to do. She went to bed. During the night the weight of the package pulled the tape and the cord away from the handle. The brick fell into the bucket, and the resulting bang woke Mary Anne and me with a start and, in the same second, proved the brilliance of my invention. Naturally, the kids slept through the whole business.

  “Was that the brick?” Mary Anne whispered.

  I couldn’t move; I was scared.

  “Tom, go see what’s happening.”

  I still didn’t move. I was rigid with fear. Here was the basic flaw with my Rube Goldberg alarm system. In order for it to work, you had to have someone brave enough to respond to it. Fortunately, Mary Anne was that person. She got out of bed and went to see what had happened. When she returned she explained that the package had fallen and pulled the tape away, triggering the alarm. She got back into bed and rolled over. Before she dozed off, I said, “Did you remember to turn the alarm back on?”

  She said, “(Unprintable), you idiot. Go to sleep.”

  I’m flooded with memories thinking of all the ups and downs of being a parent. I’ve been through the bruises, the cuts, the minor surgeries, and a few serious ones. All those times spent in the emergency room at Encino Hospital Medical Center, sometimes tending to the kids, other times tending to injuries the kids gave me. Most of my battle scars were the result of the search for lost retainers in places as different as a Dumpster outside a sporting goods store, and a salad bar in a local restaurant. I ripped my hand on the jagged end of the former and banged my head on the cover of the latter. Speaking of accidents, one scene is forever etched in my head. Three little Conways lying in hospital beds after a car accident that happened with son Tim, newly licensed, at the wheel. The doctor was surprised that I wasn’t angry. How could I be angry? My children had emerged relatively unscathed from a collision. I was just thankful they were alive.

  Aside from illnesses and accidents, the next great hurdle was getting the kids through the school years. All those years, and what I remember are the almost daily phone calls from their teachers. The message always began, “Do you realize what your child did today, Mr. Conway?” I may not have realized exactly, but I always knew the teachers weren’t calling to tell me something wonderful. I don’t want to go into the many incidents; every parent is familiar with them. I’ll share just one scholastic episode that falls in the it-could-only-happen-to-me category.

  I learned arithmetic placing bets in the exacta box at the Thistledown track outside of Cleveland. Naturally, I figured it would be a good way for my kids to learn math. So when Tim Junior was in the third grade at Encino Elementary School, I took him with me to the Turf Club at Santa Anita. My darling boy learned all about betting, including the exacta and the exacta box. (In the former, the bettor must pick the horses that finish first and second in the exact order chosen. The exacta box is a way to guarantee the outcome of the first two finishers no matter which horse wins.) How did I know that Timmy would return to school and during Show and Tell instruct his classmates on how to box an exacta. I got a call from the principal who told me that teachin
g a kid to gamble was borderline child abuse. To which I answered, “Let me tell you what child abuse is. The kid picks horse three and five and it comes in five-three and he loses because he doesn’t have it boxed. That’s child abuse.” The principal didn’t have to agree with me, but he had to laugh.

  While they were being educated, my kids participated in sports. Occasionally I joined in, most often to coach their Little League ball games. One season, Timmy, Patrick, and Jamie were on the same team. Corey, Seann, and Kelly were in the stands cheering them on, and I was umpiring at first base. Going into the final inning, we were behind by a couple of runs. Two outs later, Timmy came to the plate and hit a clean single. Patrick was up next and either walked or got a hit, both valid ways to get on base. Now two of my boys were on base. Little Jamie came to the plate. He hit the first pitch, a slow roller back to the pitcher. Timmy was on his way to third, Patrick was on his way to second, and both were pretty sure to land safely on their respective bases. All Jamie had to do was get to first base and the infield would be loaded with Conways. Jamie’s head was down and his little legs were churning away. Meanwhile the pitcher had scooped up the ball and tossed it to the first baseman. He had it in his glove before Jamie stepped on to the base. My dream of having Conway-loaded bases was about to end. I couldn’t let it go. As Jamie crossed the bag, I spread my arms wide and yelled, “Safe!”

  The word was barely out of my mouth when the stands erupted with shouts. Have you ever seen those movies about little league teams and how parents go nuts when they disagree with a close call? When I yelled, “Safe,” I found myself in one of those movies. I was wrong and wasn’t going to get away with it. Immediately, I jerked up my right arm at the elbow and cried, “You were also out!”

  That’s the call I should have made, but I guess I was a papa first and an umpire second.

  When the kids were little, I was always thinking of ways to entertain them. I’d bring home costumes from the shows and dress up in them. I didn’t hold on to the chicken costume I occasionally used, so they were spared that. Still, they were just as likely to come home and find a lion in the house as they were to find a conventionally dressed dad. I had as much fun playing roles for them as they did watching.

  Physical activity was a biggie for the Conways. We were a gung-ho bunch when it came to athletics. Our house had a nice stretch of backyard with a pool and a pool house. One day it dawned on me that it was a perfect setup for a zip line. I think we were the first “zippers” in Encino. The cable ran from the top of the pool house to a telephone pole on the other side of the pool. It was a pretty long ride and you could build up speed. I wrapped a mattress around the telephone pole to make sure the landing was cushioned. The ideal ride began at the pool house, where you’d grab on to the handle and ride the line, not to the pole, but to the point where you were over the deep end of the pool. Then, bombs away! You’d let go of the handle and plunge into the water. Naturally, I took the maiden voyage to iron out any kinks. I climbed onto the roof and, with the kids looking on, I set off. I grabbed the handle and leaped off the edge. I let go at the designated spot and splashed into the pool. I could hear the kids applauding as I hit the water. By the time I returned the handle to the top of the pool house, the kids were lined up and ready to soar. Kelly, Timmy, Pat, Jamie, and Corey took off and plunged. Then it was Seann’s turn. He took hold of the handle and, with all of us cheering him on, took off. I knew as I watched the early stages of his flight that something was amiss. He was going too fast. As he reached the deep end of the pool, we all shouted, “Let go, Seann!” But, he didn’t. He was heading for the pole at full speed and he hit it. The rest of the kids and I scrambled down the ladder and raced over to Seann, who was lying in a heap at the bottom of the pole. I was shaking with fear; Seann was shaking with laughter. The mattress had safely cushioned his landing, but there was that agonizing moment when I thought he’d been injured and I was responsible.

  A big plus of parenting is making your parents grandparents. Nutty as they were, Sophia and Dan filled those roles beautifully. Maybe the nuttiness helped. The kids really looked forward to summer holidays in Chagrin where they were welcomed with open arms. Those visits were an important part of their lives; they got a touch of Chagrin, and Sophia and Dan had a chance to revel in a big family. My parents also visited us in California, but not as often as we went east. Dan and Sophia preferred Ohio, and, much as I tried to pry them loose and bring them west, they wouldn’t budge. They wouldn’t let me buy them a fancy house, either.

  Unlike me, my kids had the chance to know and love their grandparents. They knew their Maji and Papa were special. To show his affection, Timmy bought a cuckoo clock kit and put it together as a present for them. The clock consisted of a Swiss chalet from which hung the winding mechanism, two chains with pinecones at their ends, and a little door at the top of the chalet behind which the mechanical cuckoo resided and from which he emerged to announce the hour. Sophia was thrilled with the gift and had Dan hang the clock in the upstairs hallway. For the first week or so, the cuckoo made his hourly appearances with the appropriate number of cuckoos. It was too much for Sophia. She announced that the cuckoo was driving her cuckoo, especially at night. She asked Dan to keep the bird from squawking. Instead of simply tying the chains together to stop the clock, Dan took a few strips of Scotch tape and plastered them over the door to the bird’s room. It seemed to work. The clock still told the time but the cuckoo couldn’t get out. All went well, for a while.

  Later that year, Good Morning America sent a crew to Chagrin Falls to film a local-boy-makes-good feature they were doing about me. While we were in my parents’ home, I told the GMA guys the story of the imprisoned cuckoo in the clock. Sophia, who was sitting in the living room, heard my remarks and cried out, “You lying. You say that stuff to be funny.”

  “Really?” I countered. “C’mon,” I said to the GMA cameraman. “Follow me.”

  I led him to the clock in the hall and told him to point the camera at the top of the chalet.

  “Watch this,” I said with a smirk.

  I took hold of the Scotch tape, pulled it off, and opened the tiny door. The cameraman came in for a close-up. There, hunched over, his head scrunched between his wings, stood the poor little cuckoo. His beak was a stump. He’d battered it down trying to get out. Lucky that bird was mechanical or Dan might have had to answer to the ASPCA, or the ASPCC.

  My kids are grown up now and doing their own thing. Kelly tried acting for a while but found her niche on the other side of the camera; she’s now a wardrobe designer very much in demand. Tim Junior is an important contributor to radio entertainment in Los Angeles. He started broadcasting from a station in an old garage and is now Los Angeles’ most familiar voice in comedy radio. Pat is the freethinker of the group. He’s a delightful person because he doesn’t get involved in world problems; you can sit and talk with him for hours without hearing a complaint or a disparaging word. Jamie is the worker bee. If he’s only holding two jobs, he considers it downtime. For years, he volunteered his services in a drug rehabilitation program. Many a young adult owes his sobriety to the good advice received from one Jamie Conway. You want a deal? Corey is your man. There is very little that he doesn’t have a hand in. The nice thing is whatever he’s doing, he’s always willing to give you a hand. Seann grew up as the live-in punching bag for the rest of the gang; consequently he gets along in any situation. Right now he assists in the operation of a country club golf course and restaurant in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Seann and his wife, Monica, blessed us with Courtney, a delightful little girl who’s become a teenage wonder. I believe she’s headed for the stage since she has been performing ever since she learned the words “show business.” Monica and Seann have parted ways, but we’re one big family when it comes to Courtney’s welfare. Nearly seven years ago, Tim and Jennifer presented us with Sophia. Sophia is a quiet thinker. She has all the answers. Quiet thinkers think and then they act, and that’s what my youn
gest grandchild excels at. She certainly didn’t get that from her grandfather. I think she’d make a great studio head. Jackie was glued to Charlene’s hip when I married her mother and has remained so. She got the showbiz bug and was my road manager for many years. Occasionally, she’ll slip into her commercial threads, do a spot that runs for nine years, and then make more money than I do.

  There you have it. Those are my jewels, and they’ve brought so much happiness into my life. Of all the memories I’ve stockpiled over the years, one of the sweetest is the children’s hour. Going up to their rooms, reading or telling a story, and getting good-night kisses. Then turning to go and being stopped by pleas for another story. And so I’d spin a few more tales until it was time for the positively last good-night kiss. Bliss.

  Did I do a good job raising them? I’m not the one to answer that question; you’d have to ask them. I can only say that I tried my best. You always wonder if your kids will know what you did for them. Maybe, but what they might not know is what a treat it was. I’ve received more satisfaction from being their father than I can ever put into words. I hope they enjoyed the journey as much as I did.

  Back to Business

  Now that you know about my family, let’s get back to Steve Allen and me. In a nutshell, and I do mean nut, here was the situation. I’d gone back to Cleveland after my first stint with Steve. When I told Ernie that the new Allen show contacted me again and wanted me as a regular, he got all excited. Then I told him I wasn’t so sure I wanted to do it. I was happy in Cleveland; I loved working with Ernie, I liked being near Chagrin Falls. Ernie listened to all my excuses and said, “You’ve got to go for it, kid. It’s a big opportunity and you never know when, or if, the next one will come along.” Once again Ernie gave me his blessing and once again I went west.