Al Franken is a senator who will quickly make Minnesotans proud they had the wisdom to choose him, even if by 225 votes. He was my partner in the comedy team of Franken & Davis from 1968 to 1989, when we broke up in dramatic fashion. For a decade we did not really speak except at Saturday Night Live reunions and funerals, but in the last several years, our friendship has rekindled.
Several years ago, I decided to write a memoir. We all know I can write television comedy sketches, but a real writer writes books. Twenty years of Al Franken figured in big in my life—beside family, friends, Saturday Night Live, and Grateful Dead. He was in all of them. There is nothing about Al in 39 Years of Short-Term Memory Loss that is not already a matter of public record. However, retelling old stories about Al could have been useful to his detractors. It may have been the smartest thing I’ve ever done to wait a year for Al to win before publishing. Otherwise I’d be on tour with Reverend Wright. Couldn’t you just see the two of us in an airport bar on our way to Rush Limbaugh or Bob Jones University? The conservative talk shows would be hailing me as the man who held Al Franken back for 20 years.
Supposedly, when Al’s mother, Phoebe, gave birth to him, he came out jaundiced, pointy-headed, and cross-eyed. The doctor said, “Now that’s a baby!”
But now that he’s finally won back Paul Wellstone’s seat, I feel that I can finally express my own political opinions without embarrassing Al. I am very much to the left of Al Franken. For example, I believe there should be hands-on sex education in our high schools as well as Responsible Drinking classes, and safe, legal abortions should be provided by the state up until the age of six. I say, if it’s not working out, a responsible parent should be able to say to their child, “All right—I told you to pick up your room—get in the car!”
However, in my memoir there is nothing about my political opinions, but much about my hippie lifestyle, which should be controversial and open myself up to the judgment of readers. Some will find me likeable and others will find me wanting, thus leading them to question Al’s judgment to tolerate my behavior through the heady ’70s, and the even headier ’80s. I am grateful that in his foreword to my book, Al says, “My prototypical memory [of SNL] is of me and Tom rolling on the floor from something one of us or Danny [Aykroyd] or Jim Downey said or any number of the hilarious people we worked with.”
So here is some collected Franken Lore that will not be public knowledge until March:
Al and I met in 1967. He was in the class above me in an exclusive, all-male, prep school in suburban Minneapolis. He was one of those faces I passed in the hallways each day, but what a face—buckteeth, Coke-bottle glasses, and that mouth. On demand, he would demonstrate by slowly and dramatically opening his maw to its fullest extent, then inserting his pudgy fist completely inside. He had a cherubic build, but, incredibly, his body was literally denser than anyone’s I’ve ever seen. He could lie on the bottom of the deep end of the pool, his head supported by one bent elbow. He could sink like a stone.
He was one of those Jewish guys who dominated scholastics—perfect SATs and such. Franken was equally competitive on the athletic field. He was a good wrestler, and, as a soccer player, his lack of finesse got him the position of “enforcer.” And when he broke his wrist, the plaster cast made him even more effective, earning him the title of “The Claw.”
Supposedly, when Al’s mother, Phoebe, gave birth to him, he came out jaundiced, pointy-headed, and cross-eyed. The doctor said, “Now that’s a baby!”
When Al was a precocious four-year-old, there was a city worker digging a ditch in front of the house who became annoyed as young Franken counted aloud the successive number of each shovelful.
At 13, he earned money as a caddy at a country club golf course. One golfer was playing poorly and became cranky with his caddy.
Golfer: “You must be the worst caddy in the world.” Al: “That would be too big a coincidence.”
As a 14-year-old, he was going out on his first date, and his father, Joe, realized he had never explained the birds and the bees to his younger son. Beginning with a gentle inquiry, Joe discovered that Al didn’t appear to have a grasp of the facts. After carefully explaining the differences between the sexes, Al was confused and upset. “You mean women don’t have penises?” Joe tried a different approach, but his son became even more upset. Joe began to start all over again before Al told him he was joking.
Tom Davis is a four-time Emmy winner for his writing for Saturday Night Live . He wrote for the show for fourteen years, including the first five seasons with the original cast. He and Al Franken were comedy partners in the team Franken & Davis for more than twenty years. His memoir, 39 Years of Short-Term Memory Loss will be published by Grove Atlantic in March.
