Half a Headline

"...then you sprinkle the mixture liberally with neutrons, cast Jerry Lewis in the lead, and then watch it bomb."

I normally don't pilfer fragments of neutron-bomb jokes from my good friend Shecky Green, but this week, it's for a good reason. Shecky and I were vacationing together last week (the Concord was never so supersonic...), and one night in the dining hall, as the waiter was bringing around those gorgeous little kreplachs, Shecky mounted the table and spontaneously burst into a series of his best jokes ever. Then, faster than you could say, "My mother-in-law is so annoying that..," he'd launched into an evocative Totie Fields imitation, and the dining room crowd--all of whom had long since stopped eating--either sat spellbound or rolled in terminal hysterics on the floor. In the schvitz-bath the next morning, I asked him what that was all about. (I was laughing too hard the night before to ask him then.)

"Kidneys," he chortled, indicating his left temple. "I just did it to impress you, Rich. You see, I hear that exposure in your column gave a real boost to the sagging careers of my good friends Steve Lawrence, Eydie Gorme, Don Rickles--ya big dummy, ha, ha--and Rose Marie, and I just thought I'd show you some of my best stuff, in a milieu which hardly lent itself to spontaneous creative expression. Surely, if I throw in the rights to that neutron-bomb joke, we can arrange a little something for the column next week? Besides, it's reading period and all, and the kids need something to lift them out of their doldrums."

"Shecky, baby," I schmoozed, "you forget, I write a rock column, and the closest you come is maybe kidney stones. But I'll tell you what; get yourself a leather jacket, take off that stupid hair thing, and find a drummer and a bass player. We'll try to book you a 'gig' at the Rat or something."

"Sheck sheck sheck, sheck sheck sheck, sheck your booty:" he sang it in the Starlite Niteclub that evening. They were kvelling and pogoing all the way back to the cheap seats.

Speaking of cheap seats, there'll be no going to concerts around here until the end of exams. (If those of you out at Brandeis and Wellesley think I'm being a trifle Harvard-centric, but it's only for your protection. Pick up the Real Paper sometime of you want to see just what I'm protecting you rom).

One final note of interest to pre-dental students: You may not know this, but in Good 'N Plenty, the pink ones are better for your teeth than the white ones. Later