Hickory Dickory Hack
I was on my way to the Comedy Store when got stuck behind a timid driver who was not trying very hard to take a left turn from Sunset Blvd, maybe onto Laurel or Hayworth, I forget, but we were less than a mile from the club. I was white knuckling the steering wheel out of frustration and looking for a break in the traffic so I could squeeze into the right lane. A fresh-off-the-lot muscle car, something like a Chevy Monte Carlo SS, and I were both passively fighting for the same piece of pavement.
As fruitless as it seemed to attempt eye contact with someone wielding a giant steel phallus—I tried. The driver had blocked me in my lane by inching into the space I was trying to occupy. Desperate, I looked up and the scene became one of those LA moments that makes you wonder if you’re dreaming. It was like the muscle car had been lifted from the set of a heavy metal hairband video and placed on the road next to me. The passenger seats were all filled with stunning, overdone, expressionless models with giant ’80s hairdos (it was circa 1988). The guy driving looked like a ’50s greaser. When I stopped gawking at the models, I realized the guy driving was Andrew “Dice” Clay.
Comedy in the ’80s was huge, and Dice was becoming the most popular comic of that moment. By the early ’90s he was filling arenas. His popularity was kind of bizarre to me, but in retrospect it was just revealing something I didn’t want to acknowledge. To quote Dice, “Donny Trump stole my act and used it to become President!” When he was at the height of his popularity his act was simplistic, misogynistic, homophobic, and racists and half of America couldn’t get enough.
The first time I saw him at the Comedy Store, he did the Diceman schtick for the first part of his act, then broke character to let the audience in on the conceit. He closed with jokes intended on healing the social injury brought by the rest of his act. In fact, he would challenge audience members who laughed “too hard” at the most homophobic material. I always assumed the real person was far from the stage persona, but I was never sure. When he was at his biggest, there were no glimpses behind the curtain. The sensitive guy material was all buried in a shallow grave.
Anyway, Dice blocked me from merging into his lane. We had met, maybe three or four times, and each time were introduced, it was always good to meet me. He was nice, we just didn’t connect. So, I stared at him to see if he’d recognize me. He finally looked over and I smiled and waved. He gave me the Dice head nod, but there was clearly no recognition. I can’t really explain what caused me to do what I did next. Part of me thought, he’ll remember who I am and think it’s funny, and another part of me was thinking, and if he doesn’t it will still be funny to me. I just kept staring at him. He looked back again, annoyed, and I said, “Hack!”
I have never seen a person react more violently to single word — ever — for any reason. I thought he might kill me — literally. Hack means unoriginal, pandering, and unfunny all rolled into one word. My comic friends and I thought it was a funny thing to call each other. Dice wasn’t my friend and didn’t think it was funny. He was thrashing around the driver’s seat. I thought he might be looking for a gun. He opened his door and I panicked. I was afraid he would end either my career or my life — but both were definitely possible.
In that moment, I was more afraid of what he might do to me than I was of the police, getting in an accident, or having my driver’s license taken away. There was a break in the traffic as the light changed at the intersection. I pulled into the oncoming lane, drove around the timid person in front of me, cutoff the cars waiting for the light to turn green, and sped down Sunset Boulevard. I looked in the rearview and saw Dice jump back in his car, slam his door, and come after me. We were both weaving through traffic, but I was about 40 yards ahead of him and in a shifty little VW Rabbit. I went through a red light at the next intersection and he got stuck. I turned up King Street, which is the block the Store is on, and I miraculously found a parking spot right away.
There was a big building at the corner of the block, and I hoped I could run around the back of it, get into the club, and be sitting in the Original room or standing at the bar by the time Dice got there. There was a 12-foot chain-linked fence that separated the properties and there was no way for me to get over it inconspicuously. I circled back, remembering I had a bag of extra clothes in the car and changed out of the bright yellow shirt I was wearing.
By the time I got to the club, Dice was in the parking lot surrounded by a bunch of other comics. He was holding court. He was animated and I knew he was telling the story of what just happened. He mimicked driving and then looking out the window. He jerked his head and made a goosed-with-a-cattle-prod look, did some more mimicked driving, and made swerving gestures with his hands and swayed from side-to-side. The small crowd grew as the story became more animated. I was trying to decide if it would be better to blend into the entourage or just keep walking into the club. I didn’t have to choose. He finished his story and broke from the crowd to light a cigarette. He stepped right in front of me. There was no avoiding him.
“Hey Dice,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. He did the Dice head nod to me for the second time in 10 minutes. Then he did a double-take. I pretended not to notice and asked, “new car?”
“Yeah,” He looked at me again. “Do I know you?”
“I mean, just from being around,” I said. “I’m a comic.”
“You been here all night?” he asked.
“I just got here. I was in Westwood,” I lied. That was opposite direction from the chase. “A buddy of mine has a spot in the Original room. You going up tonight?”
“I haven’t decided,” he said, still not sure about me.
“Anyway, sweet car,” I said and started to walk toward the club hoping not to hear another word.
“Thanks. Take it easy,” he said and I made it into the club with my head still connected to my neck.
I didn’t tell that story to another sole until I left LA and quit doing comedy. For what it’s worth, I though Dice was great in A Star is Born and I wish him continued success.
