All By My Selves

by Jeff Dunham

  Well, what I didn’t know then about celebrity and performers is that genius is sometimes accompanied by personality eccentricities.

  Ron ran a tight ship and that was one reason his show was so good. He demanded at the very least competency, and anything less was unacceptable. His ratings and the quality of his show reflected dedication, but God help the person who didn’t meet his expectations. And apparently, things weren’t going well that morning. But you’d never have known it on the air.

  A song would end or a commercial break would finish, his mike would be live, and he was Ron Chapman! Morning show happy guy, the voice you loved to have wake you up in the morning. But apparently today, somebody hadn’t made it someplace when Ron was expecting them, and when Ron was ready to do the phone-remote broadcast, the guy wasn’t there. Remember, there were no cell phones in that day, so everything had to be done on landlines. Ron had a graying red mustache and goatee that came to a point at the bottom of his chin. His eyebrows were full, and he was starting to go a bit bald. He had piercing blue eyes that lit up when he was on the air, but became cold as ice when things started to go wrong. As a sixteen-year-old kid, I’d never seen a temper like this, nor a man turn into a devil so convincingly. The goatee and hair reminded me of Beelzebub himself, and I could swear horns were about to pop out of his head. Remember that I was raised in a very Christian home with no siblings. I had lived in a very conservative bubble most of my life, and cursing was for those headed to hell. I’d never seen a temper tantrum from an adult, much less from one that I held on so high a pedestal.

  Whatever it was that went wrong I don’t remember exactly. All I know is that a couple of sets of headphones became airborne, two telephones were almost slammed through the sound board, and I learned a string of curse words that could have peeled the chrome off a Harley-Davidson. The most amazing part of it all was that no one called him on it. They all looked as though they’d seen it all before. Bill just looked at me and shrugged, while I shrank into the wall, trying my best to appear as tiny and out of the way as possible. After a couple of hours, Ron opened the studio door like a doorman, and swept his hand in an arc to motion my exit. I got up and tiptoed out, a bit wobbly in the knees.

  The rest of the morning was kind of a blur, but all I remember is Bill apologizing, saying, “Well, that happens every so often.” I actually went back a couple more times after that, and the experiences were quite the opposite. But what I learned that day, both good and bad, would stay with me for a long time. I learned that people in the spotlight aren’t always what you expect. They are humans just like the rest of us. But left unchecked, the ego and sense of entitlement and self-worth can soar far beyond anything acceptable to the rest of society. I was dumbfounded that morning, but as my career progressed, I’ve tried very hard to never become “that guy.”

  Earlier I referenced the movie Magic, in which Anthony Hopkins plays a rising star ventriloquist who happens to be a bit psychotic. In the story, his agent is from the William Morris Agency and is played by Burgess Meredith. As Anthony’s character is speeding toward fame and fortune, his agent says to him one day, “Will you do me a favor, kid? Will you try not to turn shitty? It’s almost an automatic once a guy makes it big.”

  All along this journey with every accomplishment and with every step up, I’ve done my best to not let it go to my head. You never know how long your fifteen minutes of fame are going to last, and I know it could all slow down at any time, for any number of reasons. I treat this job like a business, and I try to never take for granted how hard others around me have worked to further my career. And obviously, none of this would have happened without the fans. I know that if success is to continue, I must keep creating and working and giving the audience a great product. Just like a rock band, you play a few of the hits, but also give them something new every time they come to see you.

  Walter: Oh spare us. You’re the biggest diva I know.

  Jeff: Says who?

  Peanut: Me.

  Achmed: Me.

  Melvin: Me.

  José: Sí.

  Bubba J.: I’m in!

  My senior year in high school was probably my favorite of all school years. The Richardson High Class of 1980 had about 800 kids, out of the 2,800 kids in the school. I wrote a column in the school newspaper called “In a Dummy’s Limelight,” in which Archie and I would trade off writing the column, riffing on things I found funny—and just like my act now, it had no socially redeeming value whatsoever. For my junior year, I was an “Eagle Guard,” an elected position that I won with no problem, because during the entire day of voting, I walked around handing out sticks of Fruit Stripe gum with labels that said, “VOTE FOR JEFF DUNHAM, EAGLE GUARD!” And then during my senior year when I was voted captain, all handouts during elections were banned. The big job of the Eagle Guards was to, well, guard the eagle at football games. We were the Golden Eagles, and we had a big painted metal bird mounted on a trailer along with a large bell and clanger. When our team would score, the five of us would run the trailer up and down the field like idiots, ringing the bell and blaring a police siren.

  My two best friends in high school were Glenn Gaines and Steve Jones, and we were pretty tame, conservative guys who didn’t drink or smoke or curse at our parents. I’m not going to say we were boring, because we were mischievous enough, but we didn’t get into real trouble. Solid families and our religious beliefs supported by our group of friends who also went to Sky Ranch during the summers had a lot to do with that.

  Walter: “Mischievous”? Seriously? I think it was more like, “three friends with a nondrinking, nonpartying, virginlike ambience which repelled all other normal manner of cool teenagers.”

  Peanut: Bingo! This is the first time Walter and I have ever agreed on anything.

  Jeff: All three of us have turned out very well, thank you.

  Peanut: Steve and Glenn talk to themselves too?

  Besides the talent and variety shows at school, I sometimes used ventriloquism and voice tricks in extracurricular ways, without the assistance of a dummy. The most noteworthy example came during fifth period in upstairs B Hall during Government class. The teacher was a football coach who liked to take breaks during class while we read this or that, and one day while he was in the teachers’ lounge smoking, I decided to try out my siren sound effect. I could belt out a disaster siren pretty darned loudly and really convincingly, so with a couple of buddies egging me on, I stuck my head out the classroom door, and let loose with the siren. To my astonishment, the entire upstairs B Hall, which consisted of about fourteen classrooms, began a fire drill. Classes were emptied and the kids began marching to their assigned positions outside. A few teachers caught on and sent everyone back to their classes, while I was led off to the assistant principal’s office. I guess Mr. Clay thought it was funny, because he pretty much just looked at me and sent me back to class.

  I did that same siren a couple of times in the school cafeteria too. It would usually silence the entire room of about two hundred kids, and then get a round of applause. One time after I did it, the young and cute Speech class teacher marched right up to where I was sitting and started to gripe me out, wagging her finger in my face. I have no idea what I was thinking, but she was close enough and in my face, so right in the middle of being griped out, I kissed her. She pulled back, completely astonished, and dashed out of the room to the sound of a big laugh from onlookers and applause. Once again, I have NO idea how I got away with THAT. Shame on my seventeen-year-old self.

  Peanut: Nice story.

  Jeff: What part?

  Peanut: That you kissed the teacher and she ran away as opposed to some of today’s teachers who would have started a relationship with you.

  During senior year, my friend Bill Davidoff and I did the morning announcements. Every morning we were the voices of KRHS, the school’s public address system. We would read the day’s announcements, and then at the end, tell a joke of the day. One particular morning we
had this one set up: I said, “Bill, it seems there was this young girl walking through the forest when she came upon a frog. The frog said, ‘Young girl! Take me home tonight and when you go to sleep, put me in your bed and in the morning I will be a handsome prince!’ Well, the young girl didn’t believe the frog, but he protested over and over, imploring her to just give it a try. Finally after much arguing, she relented. Sure enough, when she woke up the next morning, there was a handsome prince in her bed!” Bill then said, “Jeff, I don’t believe that story.” And then I said, “Well… neither did her mother.”

  That afternoon, Vice Principal Gumm invited us into his office and said that he had received many complaints from teachers about our joke, and that we could still do the school announcements, but we could no longer tell a joke of the day. Dang it! That was my favorite part.

  Well, I was a bit miffed by this censorship from teachers who clearly had no sense of humor, so the next morning at the end of announcements I said to the entire school, “Well, folks, it seems that yesterday’s joke didn’t go over well with some folks, so Mr. Gumm said we could no longer tell a joke for the day. So… if you have a bad day, don’t blame us.”

  Well, Mr. Gumm busted into the little room where the PA was and hauled our asses right into his office. He was pissed, and justifiably so. I never told anyone exactly what Mr. Gumm said, but as he has since passed away, I guess I can now. He yelled, “YOU GUYS ARE DONE MAKING ANY ANNOUNCEMENTS AT RHS EVER AGAIN! I’M PULLING YOU OFF THIS JOB, BUT WHAT I SHOULD DO IS KICK YOUR TEETH IN!”

  I don’t blame him. But later, Bill and I laughed our heads off about it.

  Achmed: I had no idea.

  Jeff: About what?

  Achmed: That you were so “badass.” You know, I could use an infidel like you.

  I looked forward to the Senior Talent Show for a long time. I prepared and worked on it. I went to a guy who was the technical geek at my church and got some help with a wireless body mike. I then went to Toys “R” Us and bought a radio control unit for a model airplane that had four channels, meaning it could do four different things at once. Servos are the little electric motors that connect to the receiver and battery and move the various surfaces on the models. Well, I took Archie and rigged him up with the servos. Wirelessly he could now turn his head, move his eyes, and open and shut his mouth. I then took the transmitter (the controls) and disassembled it. Then I reinstalled it in pieces, sewing and duct-taping it inside my suit jacket. I then ran wires to three little micro controls that I would operate, hidden in my left hand. In my right hand, I had a mute switch for the wireless body microphone. I was ready.

  During the talent show (keep in mind that this was 1979), Archie and I got into a big argument onstage. I got seemingly so angry that I left Archie in plain view of everyone, sitting on a stool by himself behind the microphone, while I stormed off the stage and into the middle of the two-thousand-seat auditorium, yelling at him from the crowd. I was using the mute switch in the palm of my hand, so I wasn’t coming over the PA. It obviously looked like I was completely nuts. I would yell, “FINE! GO AHEAD! DO IT YOURSELF!” Suddenly, Archie’s eyes snapped from left to right. There were a few gasps from the audience from those who saw it. Again, remember when this was. Radio controlled stuff was not common, and the only real animatronics were at Disneyland. There was no Chuck E. Cheese’s anywhere near where we lived in 1979. I yelled at him some more, and then Archie finally turned his head, moved his eyes back and forth again, and said over the sound system, “Are you throwing a fit?” Some people screamed, others gasped, and everyone else laughed. I don’t remember much of the routine after that, but it was certainly something no one around there had ever seen before.

  In those early years I was still experimenting with my act, trying to find my own niche. I never questioned what I wanted to do, but I knew I hadn’t yet found my characters—the ones that would truly be unique to me and my show; the ones who would define me. I moved from character to character, new bit to new bit.

  As the years went on, those closest to me never discouraged my desire to be a professional ventriloquist. The only person who really doubted me was, of all people, my ninth-grade school counselor. Ms. Lutz would call students into her office one by one to discuss life and where we thought we were headed, and one day I found myself at her desk, listening to a litany of queries as to what plans I had for myself in the somewhat distant future.

  “So you’ve been having fun with your ventriloquist act, haven’t you, Jeff ?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

  “Well, I know that’s fun. But I wanted to talk about your future a little today. Have you thought about what you might want to do for a living when you finish school?” she asked.

  “Well, yeah,” I said, a bit confused. “I’m going to keep doing my ventriloquism. …” I remember to this day honestly thinking that there was something wrong with her. She had these really thick, round, glass bottle-bottom glasses that made her look like a googly-eyed blinking fish. She took them off and put them on her desk, crossed her hands patiently, looking at me like I was the dumbest kid on the planet.

  “Jeff,” she said ever so softly, “let’s be realistic. You really need to find something you can make a living with.”

  At that moment, I came to the harsh realization that there would actually be doubters along the way. She didn’t get it. I had a vision and a focus. She either couldn’t see it, or she didn’t believe a kid should strive for greatness or the seemingly improbable. I didn’t listen to her because I knew she was wrong. I had been taught to dream and make big plans and do the impossible. Ms. Lutz made me understand how important it is to encourage kids and let them follow their hearts.

  Every summer and every week at Sky Ranch I did shows for the campers and staff. I was also assigned to do a few other tasks. Throughout my high school summers I was the archery instructor, the riflery instructor, a wrangler, a counselor, and a maintenance guy. But the summer of 1979, between my high school junior and senior years, was a significant one. It was my last summer at Sky Ranch, and that camp and staff had been very meaningful and significant to me. Second only to my parents, it had shaped my morals and core religious beliefs. It’s also the place where I met my first, well… true love.

  Karen was the swimming instructor at Sky Ranch in June of 1979. She had a brown one-piece swimsuit that just about killed me and a few other guys on work crew. She was three years older than me, but it didn’t matter. We had fun. She was entering her junior year at Baylor University in Waco, Texas. I’d heard of the school, but had never paid much attention to it. I knew I was going to college, I just hadn’t yet thought much about where. Of course you shouldn’t pick a college based on where your girlfriend or boyfriend goes. You might as well use a Magic 8-Ball. But I did just that.

  Baylor was a prestigious university with high academic standards, so to this day I have no idea how I was accepted. My SAT scores and grade point averages were good, but I really think all the extracurricular stuff I did outside of classes with the dummies and my ventriloquism got me in. (Not counting the fire drill, of course.)

  I always knew I was going to go to college, and my parents had been saving for me to do just that for years. I didn’t exactly need a college education to be a comedian, but I wanted to earn a degree. However, the real reason I knew I needed to go to college was that I wasn’t ready to make it in the “big time.” One day I wanted to go toe to toe with the big names in comedy, but I knew I had to be funny enough to do that… and that I wasn’t, yet. Plus, there was Karen.

  I graduated from Richardson High in May of 1980. A big summer was ahead of me with some important strides in store for my career and performing abilities, but I made a single goal for myself as I threw my graduation cap in the air that day—I said to myself that I wanted to be on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson before my ten-year class reunion. Period. I knew I would need to accomplish a great deal to achieve that goal, but if I did, a lot w
ould happen in the next decade to get me there, and a lot more would happen because of it.

  Walter: I wish I hadn’t gone to my last high school reunion.

  Jeff: Why?

  Walter: I liked everyone better on Facebook.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Three Radio Men

  and a Steek!

  Before my freshman year at Baylor in 1980, I had a couple of summer gigs that felt like “real” show business. By this time Archie and I had been joined by two other characters in the act. The first was Little Dummy, who was a small toy vent doll from the 1950s that I reworked as a dummy for Archie. So, my dummy had a dummy! This was nothing new; it’s actually a very old vent bit dating back several decades. In my particular version of it, I rigged a mechanism that enabled me to put the little dummy on Archie’s lap, and then I could operate both figures from inside Archie’s body. The bit, of course, was that Archie claimed he could do ventriloquism too, and hopefully, hilarity would ensue. I kept a version of this bit in my act for fifteen years, all the way through the early 1990s. On my first Tonight Show appearance, in fact, Peanut had his own dummy.

  Peanut: I still have a dummy.

  Jeff: Who is it?

  Peanut: He just asked “who is it?”

  Timmy the Talking Tic Tac also joined the show. Writing today, I still cringe over that one. Timmy was supposedly one of the pieces of candy inside a box of orange Tic Tacs. He had a high little voice and would carry on a conversation with all of us. It was a corny bit, but it still got laughs and people remembered it.