TOD:
This is the same story I tell every year, excerpted from MY FORTY-FIVE YEARS IN HOLLYWOOD...AND HOW I ESCAPED ALIVE:
This is my Thanksgiving story, a tale that my family will never let
me forget.
I love Thanksgiving. I have very warm childhood memories of that
holiday. Every year, we would have a family gathering at our home. My
aunt, uncle and two cousins, as well as my half-brother Hersh and his
family were always there.
We’d sit around the table and, after everybody had stuffed themselves,
people would tell jokes. My uncle, Kenneth, was the #1 storyteller,
but on this particular year, I also decided to contribute to the
merriment…with disastrous results.
I think it was 1954. I would have been thirteen-years-old.
Without contemplating the consequences, I told this very funny
joke that I’d heard at school, and I told it very well.
Correction! I didn’t just tell it very well. I told it brilliantly. I had a
captive audience.
Then, I came to the punch line…which ended with the word “f**k”.
My mother, who’d had a few too many drinks in her, started laughing
hysterically. No matter what else you say about her, she was a wonderful
audience.
Unfortunately, everybody else at the table sat in a stunned silence. If
my mother hadn’t been laughing, you could have heard a pin drop.
You see, in 1954, a thirteen-year-old boy did not say
“f**k”...particularly in front of adults.
The first one to speak was my father. Pointing at me, he started
shouting at my mother, “You’re the one who encourages him! This is all
your doing!”
Within two minutes, all of our very embarrassed guests had excused
themselves and left our house.
I don’t recall if I was sent to my room or not, but I know I never
told another joke at Thanksgiving dinner.
