What's So Funny?: My Hilarious Life

by Tim Conway

  You may remember that when I appeared on The Garry Moore Show, Charlene thought I stank, which didn’t affect me in the slightest because I didn’t know who she was or care about her opinion. My, how things change. Today, there’s nothing I value more than Charlene’s opinion, but I’ve managed to convince her that I’m terrific. Here’s the thing, Charlene knows the real me and knows better than anyone how shy I am. If I could only sing I could make that my theme song: “How shy I am, how shy I am, nobody knows, how shy I am.” C’mon, would you have thought I was shy if I didn’t tell you? Here’s something else you might be surprised to hear: most of my performing life, I’d just about throw up before I went on stage. And there were many times when I actually did throw up. (I can’t believe I’m telling you all this stuff. Writing is like going to confession. I only hope I get absolved at the end of this.)

  Charlene became Joe Hamilton’s secretary on The Garry Moore Show, and her friendship with Carol began. Then Joe and Carol got married, and when they went to Los Angeles in 1967 to begin The Carol Burnett Show, Charlene tagged along. No wait, I meant to say that another important member of the production staff went with them. It was while working on the Burnett show that Charlene, by then divorced from her first husband, met a guy named Roger Beatty who was a writer, associate director, and stage manager on the Burnett show. Charlene and Roger married in 1971 and had a daughter, Jackie, in 1974.

  Roger Beatty and I became pretty good buddies during those years. He, in fact, directed most of The Tim Conway Show episodes and was a writer for that series as well. In 1977, we wrote a film together called The Billion Dollar Hobo, and he directed the very first Dorf video, Dorf on Golf, in 1987. Roger also directed the Tim Conway & Harvey Korman: Together Again tour, which began in 1999. He was our road manager and production manager. Harvey left the show in 2006 for health reasons, and when we resumed the tour with Chuck McCann, Roger again called the production shots. Oh, I should mention that the road staff expanded in 2004 when Roger’s daughter, and my stepdaughter, Jackie, joined the tour. Are you confused? Be patient.

  Charlene and I led parallel lives for two decades. Professionally, we worked together on the same show. Personally, along with our respective families, Carol and Joe’s family, and Harvey’s family, we spent a lot of our leisure time together. Charlene and I were friends for years before romance entered the picture. She even managed to break into the exclusive men’s club that the guys on Carol’s show had formed.

  Here’s how she came to be one of the boys.

  Joe Hamilton, Harvey Korman, Roger Beatty, Dave Powers, and I stuck together in that male chauvinist way that we used to keep out the girls. We had wives but went our own way a lot of the time and one of the ways we went was to the racetrack. Who’d have thought a girl would want to join us. Well, Charlene did, and she kept nagging.

  “Come on, let me go to the track with you,” she’d beg every time we were setting out for Del Mar or Santa Anita.

  “Naw,” was the answer she got, over and over. A lesser person would have stopped pestering us.

  “Come on,” she pleaded one day practically falling on her knees, “I won’t bother you; just drive me there. I just need a ride. I’ll get my own seat at the track. Just give me a ride. I know how to bet.”

  “Yeh, yeh,” I thought, “she knows how to bet and I’m Eddie Arcaro.”

  She broke us down with her pleading, and we gave her a ride to the track. The minute we got there, she jumped out of the car and ran off. We couldn’t believe it. She sat all by herself a few rows away, and we watched her go back and forth to the window to place her bets. She never threw us a glance. Talk about independence.

  At the end of the afternoon, we all met back at the car and piled in. Charlene sat in the backseat, all five feet one of her squeezed between Dave and Roger. I was on the window side next to Roger. Joe was driving, and Harvey sat next to him. We pulled out of the parking lot, and Little Miss Marker pulls out a wad of bills from her purse and starts counting.

  “Where’d you get that money?” I cried.

  “I won the last race,” she answered, coolly. “I had a hunch.”

  That did it. That fateful afternoon Charlene became one of the boys. The funny thing is, all those years before the two of us got together, she was my go-to person and the one I really could talk to. I made her my confidant. I told her stuff I never told the other guys, and some of it was pretty personal. Char accepted me warts and all. Later, she told me that when I was making the confessions she used to think, “Thank God I’m not married to this guy.”

  Looking back, I’m still amazed at the way things evolved. Because we were co-workers, Charlene and I were together a lot. I’d always drop by her desk to talk. We were definitely drawn to each other but as friends. Here’s one for the books. In 1973, I went to Australia to do the Burnett show at the opening of the Sydney Opera House. Charlene, who was pregnant with Jackie, went along. Char says she had the happiest baby in the world because she spent her pregnancy with Harvey and me and all she did was laugh. She got so huge I used to make fun of her and get her giggling. She begged me to stop because I made her stomach ache. I tried not to be funny; I really tried.

  A while after we returned, Charlene went into the hospital for a C-section. Mary Anne and I were at a tennis tournament when we got the news and we called to see how she was doing. I was the first on the phone, and when Char heard my voice she shouted, “No, no, no, I can’t talk to you, I can’t laugh, it hurts!” and she hung up.

  Even after Mary Anne and I, and Charlene and Roger were divorced, we all continued to see each other. Char and I remained buddies. Carol swears that she saw the relationship shift before we did. And, the relationship did shift. Gradually I began to realize that my buddy was very dear to me, so dear I couldn’t imagine not being with her. Thank God, she felt the same way. In 1984, I asked her to marry me. The truth is Char and I were made for each other; it just took us a while to find out. One thing’s for sure, Charlene never dreamed that the expression “for better or worse” would come into play as often as it has in our lives.

  When we decided to get married I asked her if she wanted a ring. She thought about it and came up with a pretty original idea for a betrothal token. We were very into horse racing at the time, and Charlene said she would rather have a horse than a ring. So I bought her a wedding horse, and she named her Bossy Knickers. She turned out to be one of the few horses we owned that actually won a couple of races. We were in Chagrin Falls one summer when I got a call from the vet in California. He informed me that Bossy Knickers had come down with a serious case of colic. When a horse gets colic the intestines become knotted and food can’t pass out of the stomach. The animal is in terrible pain, and even if you operate the surgery doesn’t always resolve the problem. The vet felt that Bossy Knickers would be in agony for the rest of her life. I felt bad but I told the vet to put her down. I had the sad task of telling Charlene. She was sitting outside, reading a book. I went over, knelt down in front of her, and gently took the book out of her hands.

  “Honey,” I said softly, “I am so sorry to tell you this, but your engagement ring just died.”

  Close friends are amazed that Charlene has put up with my nonsense all these years. Considering the fact that I grab any opportunity to drive her crazy, I am, too. No matter how many times I pull the wool over her eyes, she comes back for more. Although I have to admit it’s getting harder to deceive her. I long for the good old days when bamboozling her was a piece of cake. Like the time I was doing summer stock and we were staying at a hotel in Connecticut. The first two nights we were so tired, we were asleep by the time we hit the mattress. The third night, we’d caught up, and leisurely prepared for bed. I got in first. While propping up the thick, fluffy pillows behind me I discovered a switch on the wall near the top of the headboard. I flipped it to the on position and what do you know, the hallway light went on. Charlene was busy in the bathroom as I began plotting. I moved one of the pillow
s in front of the light switch, hiding it from view. Then I slipped my hand in back of the pillow and placed my finger on the switch. Poised and ready, I awaited my lovely wife. The second phase of the let’s-mess-with-Charlene caper began when Charlene emerged from the bathroom and got into bed.

  She settled in on her side, took a book from the night table, and began reading. As she read, I schemed. I waited for the moment, and soon it happened. Charlene closed her book with a soft bang, and, at that noise, I flipped the hidden switch. The hallway light came on, and I was in business.

  “What was that?” said Charlene.

  “What was what?” said I.

  “The light went on in the hall.”

  “So, turn it off.”

  “I didn’t turn it on. It turned on by itself.”

  “That can’t be,” I said solemnly. “You must have done something to turn it on.”

  “I just shut the book I was reading.”

  “That’s it,” I cried, “the light is connected to the book.”

  “What are you talking about? How can the light be connected to the book?”

  “Do it again.”

  The book was on Charlene’s lap. “Do what again?”

  “Open the book,” I said.

  She flipped it open.

  “Okay, now close it.”

  She closed the book and at the slight pop sound of the pages coming together, I flipped the switch. The light went off.

  “There you go,” I said. “The book did it.”

  “That just can’t be!”

  “Do it again.”

  She opened and closed the book, and I flipped the switch at exactly the same moment.

  “Happy?” I asked.

  “I don’t believe this,” she said.

  “Slam the book and go to sleep.”

  She slammed the book and I turned out the light.

  “This is nuts,” grumbled my wife. “I’m going to watch TV.”

  She turned on the television and I said, “You can’t watch TV because the hall light will go on and off.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said.

  “I think it’s probably one of those Clapper lights. You know you clap your hands, and that controls the on and off for the light. You banged the book shut, and the noise acted like a handclap.”

  “Oh, I get it,” said Charlene. “But what does that have to do with watching television?”

  “Well,” I continued, “The commercials have a higher sound level than the regular programming so when they come on the light’s going to react.”

  “Get out!”

  “Okay, turn on the TV and you’ll see what I mean.”

  Charlene pressed the remote, the television turned on. After five minutes or so, the commercials began. The minute they did, I turned on the hallway light.

  “See,” I said.

  “This is the dumbest thing I ever heard of.”

  “Well, you can call Maintenance in the morning and get them to fix it.”

  “I’m not waiting until morning, I’ll call now.”

  Charlene picked up the phone, called the front desk, and said, “This is Mrs. Conway. May we have somebody up here to fix our hall light? No, not tomorrow morning,” she said after a pause. “Tonight. It’s flashing on and off.”

  Half an hour later a guy appeared at our door with a tool belt wrapped around his waist. He could have built the Empire State Building with all the equipment he was carrying.

  “You need something fixed?” he asked when Charlene opened the door.

  “Yes, we would like our Clapper turned off.”

  The maintenance man looked at her quizzically as he entered the room.

  “Your what?”

  “Our Clapper. We would like it turned off.”

  The guy continued to stare.

  “Let me show you,” said Charlene.

  She stood under the hall light and said, “Watch.”

  She clapped her hands. Nothing happened. Charlene clapped again. Still nothing. I had removed my hand from the switch.

  “That’s strange,” she said.

  The maintenance man looked over Charlene’s shoulder at me. I took my index finger and made little circles at the side of my head. He looked back at Charlene who was still clapping. Finally, she gave up.

  “Well I guess it fixed itself,” she said dropping her hands.

  “Right,” said the maintenance man. He looked over at me and said, “Anything else I can do?”

  I just gazed sadly at Charlene and slowly shook my head.

  “No,” I said forlornly, “there’s nothing anyone can do.” He gave me a knowing nod and left.

  Charlene remained in the dark about the Clapper light for months. Then, I appeared on Live with Regis and Kathie Lee, and when one of the hosts asked me to reveal the craziest stunt I’d ever pulled on my wife I told the story of the mysterious hall light. Later, Charlene and I had a lively conversation about my revelation on the show, really lively. I was lucky to get out of it alive. But, you know, some things are worth the price you have to pay.

  All I can say is if laughter is the key to youth, Charlene and I are approaching twelve again. It is one delightful path we take together, my dear. I love you, Char. Thanks for all the smiles.

  They’re Off and Running!

  When the Burnett show came to a close I decided to take a few years off. I couldn’t look into another camera. Fortunately, I had something to fall back on—horses. As you’ve probably surmised I was, am, and always will be a racing nut. So is my better half. I’m not saying I married Charlene because she knew how to handicap, but it didn’t hurt. (Even the judge who married us in the Los Angeles County Courthouse was a tracker. He kept his eye on the clock during the ceremony to make sure our ‘I Do’s’ were in before the 2:00 post time at Hollywood Park.) We’re both committed devotees of the sport of kings, and racing continues to enrich our lives. Once you’ve got racing in your bones, it’s the same as golf: You have to participate.

  In the past, Char and I had owned a couple of horses. Now we decided to buy a bunch of them and start a small stable. Eventually, we owned eight. We had a beautiful cabinet made (not by me) where we planned to display the trophies we’d win. In the end, the only display was a bowl of artificial fruit. Who cares? We had the time of our lives. We were serious about the racing game. We even had our own jockey silks designed with the words “No Passing” embroidered on the backs. Unfortunately, the other jockeys never read those words because our gallant steeds were never in front of any other horses. Losses aside, I’ve had more darn fun with horse racing. I doubt I could have had a better time had I actually been a jockey.

  Also thanks to racing, I’ve met some swell people, and one of the most memorable was Marje Everett. Marje was a major racing figure and, at different times, owned the Washington and Arlington parks, and the Balmoral Track in Chicago. She also owned Hollywood Park, which was where we got to know her. Marje was the hostess with the mostest. One weekend Charlene and I were invited to a big party she threw for her friends and for the jockeys who raced at Hollywood Park. When we arrived, the front lawn was full of guys talking into their sleeves and coat lapels, so we knew someone important was attending. As it turned out, the someone was President Ronald Reagan. Nancy Reagan and Marje were good friends. The party was underway when it was announced that the president was about to arrive. Guests were told to form a welcome line in the house. I jumped in and stood at the ready. Charlene, however, wasn’t there; she had sneaked into the garage and was having a cigarette with the jockeys. The president and first lady came in and began walking down the line. I realized that Charlene wasn’t going to make it back in time, so I improvised. I grabbed a tiny uniformed woman who was serving canapés on a silver tray and pulled her into the line next to me just before the Reagans reached my place. I was introduced to them and exchanged handshakes. I stepped back, turned first to the woman with the tray, then back to the Reagans and said, “May I introduce
the First Lady of the Canapés?”

  The Reagans smiled and the little lady did what she was trained to do. She presented the tray and said, “Cheese puff?”

  The Reagans continued smiling and moved on.

  Charlene hit the roof when she returned from her cigarette break only to learn that the canapé server had been introduced to the guests of honor instead of her.

  “If you stopped smoking, this wouldn’t be a problem,” I said.

  Char did stop smoking, and while I can’t say for sure that this incident was the reason, it couldn’t have hurt. How can you justify missing a chance to meet the president of the United States face-to-face because you have to have a lousy cigarette?

  Meeting people like the Reagans was only one of the benefits of knowing Marje Everett. Marje was a philanthropist of the first order and a loyal supporter of the Don MacBeth Memorial Jockey Fund. Wait, have I told you about the Fund? It all started when I made an appearance at Canterbury Park in 1987. I wanted to donate my fee to a fund benefiting jockeys and was shocked to discover that no such endowment existed. The idea that there was no organization to take care of ill or injured riders, most of whom made precious little money during their careers, was appalling. I wanted to do something about it so I talked to fellow racing enthusiasts, Judy and Chris McCarron. In 1987, we established the DMMJF in honor of a well-known rider who died of cancer at the age of thirty-seven. His widow, Jo Ann, worked with us. For twenty-five years, the fund provided services for more than two thousand riders all over the country. Tony DeFranco was the fund’s first and only director. I met him and his delightful wife, Phyllis, through Charlene and the four of us became family. Tony was a character straight out of Guys and Dolls. No one knew more about betting than Tony. He was the inspiration for a movie I wrote called The Longshot. Tony died in 2011, and his passing plus the economic downturn, forced us to disburse all remaining funds and to shut down operations. I’m sad that the DMMJF had to end, but I’m very proud of what we contributed all those years.