Just Asking... Tom Davis, comedian

Jerry Garcia has been dead since ’95, but Tom Davis is still a Deadhead. He has that touch-of-grey, zonked-out, happy-to-be-in-the-universe look that people my age have only witnessed in documentaries and Doonesbury comic strips. And at 56-years-old, he’s still trippin’. “When I went to Burning Man last year, I did some LSD,” he says. “I didn’t do mega doses, but I did do it three days in a row.” But when you read Davis’ book, Thirty-Nine Years of Short Term Memory Loss—about his years as Al Franken’s writing and stand-up partner, first at Blake High, then at Dudley Riggs’ Brave New Workshop, and finally during the golden years of Franken-Davis on Saturday Night Live, you realize that Davis might be the most accomplished Deadhead you’ve ever met. If he’s a little fried, it’s only because he burned so bright for such a long time.

And Davis still has his faculties, or at least enough of them to tell some fantastic stories. The book is filled with his drug experiences, sure—doing speedballs with Jerry, doing acid with Dr. Timothy Leary, getting sloshed and high with John Belushi. But the book is packed with these same gigantic personalities getting a tremendous amount done. Davis was there for the gestation of  SNL producer Lorne Michaels’ groundbreaking television show, and he writes about serving Michaels’ towering ambition, whether writing Conehead sketches with Dan Aykroyd, writing Nick the Lounge singer sketches for Bill Murry, or getting his heroes—such as Fran Tarkenton and yes, The Dead—on the show.

Most important, Davis provides insight into his intense coming of age partnership with Franken. And while he was writing Thirty-Nine Years, trying to piece his memories together through the past haze, his old friend just happened to be running for the U.S. Senate. You can imagine our new Senator backstage at a fundraiser in Brainerd, replying to Davis’ emails: “Yeah, Tom, we did Harrah’s in 1974. And you remember that Cassandra Peters, who later became Elvira, was in the show.”

Is acid as good as it used to be?
The stuff that I found was as good as it used to be. That’s the whole thing with LSD is the purity. And it was all hit and miss in the early seventies unless you knew the people who were making it. I think it’s time for people to be open about it. It should be legalized and regulated so that people can make intelligent decisions and responsible decisions and get advice from their doctors and their pharmacists instead of moralists and legislators. And I think it’s time for people to have that debate because young people seem to be taking ecstasy.

It’s impossible to find.
Well, if it’s blotter, it must be because it’s some guy high on acid with an eyedropper going bloop, bloop, bloop. So you get a double dose on some square and nothing on the next one. So you split it with your friend, and your friend’s like, “I didn’t get anything,” and you’re like, “wah-wah-wah-wah.”

In the forward to the book, Al says you guys broke up in 1990 because of your drug use.
Well, that’s what Al says, but that’s not what my accountant says. [Laughs.] But certainly it played a large part. When Al’s first child was born in 1980—Thomasen Davis Franken—Al stopped getting high. And he became a parent and a father, and that made a big difference. And I’ve made a conscious choice in my life not to have children because I didn’t think that a parent should be high and raising a child. Was that a responsible decision? I think so. Is it possible to be responsible and experiment with drugs? I think it is.

Is it possible to be a parent and do drugs?
I’ve known children of people who did drugs and raised their children and they’re wonderful, but none of em take drugs. [Laughs.] They’re all straight arrows, those kids.

Why did you decide to write a book now?
Well, I had the time. I wanted to at one point get my movie made, and that requires 100 people to share your vision. And I didn’t have that power in my personality to get all those people in a row. I almost got my own television show on Comedy Central—they were really excited about me, and then they must have tried to get some recommendations, and they lost interest in me over the course of a month. If you don’t get it in the first two weeks then you ain’t gettin’ it.

But you know everybody!
Well, here’s the thing. I was never really in show business. I just did shows. Some of us were like that. Lorne was a brilliant businessman. So was Dan Aykroyd. And most people who had been in my position would have been very wealthy and famous. So it’s either a function or a dysfunction of my personality.

Can you be more specific? Is it a lack of business acumen or do you rub people the wrong way?
Well, part of that quality you see in the book. I blurt things out.

So did Al.
He doesn’t blurt things out anymore. And he’s not as funny anymore. There’s a deadly serious side.

Was it always there?
Yes. Al always had . . . I mean, he was brilliantly funny, but he always had this serious side about the politics especially. I learned about politics from him. And we considered ourselves satirists.

Does that mean he’s lost his sense of humor?
No. He still has a sense of humor. But he has this very sober responsibility as a leader and a representative [who must deal] with life and death issues. And he doesn’t joke about that. We used to joke about anything and let the censors sort it out. But now Al has to be all these people at the same time—he has to consider even people who disagree with his opinions. He has to represent all those people. I can only imagine what it’s like because I don’t have to do that. And there is something about celebrity, too—I might have decided subconsciously that I didn’t want that. There are mornings that I wake up where I am so glad to be alone and not have to go out and entertain people. Or answer the phone if I don’t want to. I’ve made my life as free as possible, and I’ve exploited that.

It seems like you get most of your comedy ideas from your own life.
Yes. That’s right. That’s where it comes from. People ask, “You must watch all those comedy sitcoms. Don’t you love this and that?” And I go, “No, I’m watching the Jim Lehrer News Hour, I’m reading The New York Times.” And I’m living. I’m out there. I’m listening to people in bars and restaurants. I’m hanging out in airports. And I’m observing people and myself and the chemistry that happens. As William Faulkner said, “The conflict of the human heart—that’s where every story is.” And confusion is a natural state for anybody I think. So I go with that flow; I’m confused.

It seems with your comedy you take a personal story, and then you add point of view or a character or a play on words to make it happen.
That’s right. There are lots of comic formulas, including, "What’s the worst thing that you can possibly say to someone?" That was a Franken and Davis specialty.

The book seems like reverse engineering. You’re taking the comedy bits, and you’re asking where did that come from and making it less funny and more true.
It’s funny from the perspective of looking back on it with the wisdom that comes from age. I may not be smarter than I was, but I have gotten some wisdom, and that will trump smart any day. I recommend it.

I’m trying.
It will come to you. And when you’re really confused, just stay where you are, and it will come to you.

There are a series of e-mails that runs through the book. Al was running for Senator at the same time he was helping you remember who opened for you guys in Reno.
You can see that our relationship is still there in the exchange of email. His memory was not as perfect as he thought it was, but I never corrected him because I’m happy with not censoring him. I like to hear what he thinks happened. And I don’t bother to say, “That’s not the way I remember it.” Because it’s just perfect the way it is. And generally speaking, he does have a better memory than I do. That said, linear thought is not the fastest route to the truth. A lot of people come up to me and say, “Jeez, you made a mistake in your book; you got the date wrong. And you said Buck Henry was in that piece, and he wasn’t. So I can’t believe a thing in your book.” And I’m saying, “Man, you missed it.” [Laughs.] There are mistakes in there, but at a certain point, you have to let it go, mistakes and all. I hope it has the ring of truth. But you have to listen for that ring.

Al is in such a different world. They pounce on every tiny mistake in politics.
And you see that they could’ve taken my book and used it against him. And I would be touring with Reverend Wright now. You know, going on The Rush Limbaugh Show.

But the book didn’t come out until after the election.
Right. We didn’t even have galleys until after the election. Because I would’ve felt terrible. I mean, look how close this election was! And if my book would’ve hurt him . . . ack! What point would that have served? That would have made me look awful. Because I love him, for one thing.

And who cares if he smoked a little hash?
Well the reason that that wasn’t a dispute is because Coleman was a roadie for ten years after Woodstock. That’s not an issue anymore. I’ve been getting really good vibes from people about the book. You know, people who like really straight, TV interviewers and stuff will come up to me after the interview, and they say, “I really liked your book. Hey, I did the acid too.” But nobody wants to talk about it, and so I’m the one talking about it. And I expose myself first. Because there were friends who weren’t thrilled that I mentioned that I was with them when we did a little acid. They have teenage children. And I can’t imagine what it’s like having a teenage child. I don’t have one. I chose not to. But I would probably not be so candid if I had children.

It seems like a reconnection happened between you and Al during the course of this book.
Yes. Also during the course of his radio show on Air America—which was brilliant. I was literally listening to his radio show while I was writing the book. And then he called me up, and I appeared on his radio show, and he flew me out here for one or two fundraisers. And we resurrected Davis and Franken sketches.

When did you break up?
1990.

And how long weren’t you speaking to each other?
For about tn years. We saw each other at SNL funerals and reunions.

Were you cordial?
Yeah, cordial. He was really busy, and I gave him a hug and told him I love him. He still has no time, but if he were in town now, we would go out for dinner.

Why did you break up?
Franken and Davis as an act was not successful outside of SNL.

There’s a great line where Lauren made a Broadway video of a Franken and Davis show at a college, and the video didn’t sell, but you said, “If either of us becomes president or shoots the president, at least we’ll have one for posterity.”
Yeah. We did a Rolling Stones impression that was pretty convincing. And Al was Mick, so he got the expression and the moves and stuff perfect because we were imitating that exact tour in ’82. Mick Jagger was wearing those yellow pants and capezios. We saw several shows. The Rolling Stones still are the greatest show on earth.

You’ve met these guys?
Keith is the most personable and amiable. And Charlie Watts is the sweetest guy in the world. Ronnie Wood is a regular Joe. Mick is the one who’s out of control. But he knows it. He’s aware of what people are thinking. And every asshole in the world wants to come up and say, “Hey Mick!” But that’s his problem. Here’s the funniest story. Keith Richards’s booze of choice is Rebel Yell, the bourbon. He would call the concierge at hotels to get another case. I’ve heard him. He’d say, “Hello, this is Mick Jagger speaking. Yes, I need another case of Rebel Yell.” So he wouldn’t get “Who? Keith who?”

Do you think that story resonates with you? Five minutes ago, you told me, "I just wanted to hear what Al wants to say." That you didn’t correct him.
Exactly.

But Al clearly has no problem correcting you.
That’s the nature of our relationship.