“Suddenly A Shot Rang Out…”

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

Actually from my count, it was five shots, but they came in pretty rapid succession, so the exact number is somewhat vague. I was a bit occupied doing my act at the Comedy Store one Monday night approximately 30 years ago. I was in the Store’s Main Room and having a fairly good set, given that it was late and a lot of people were leaving. They would return abruptly and chaos would reign for about two minutes. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. Let’s set the scene.

Mondays had always been the fun night for the first few years I was working the club. There was a party atmosphere, and because there was no cover, the comics weren’t paid, but didn’t mind doing a freebie because there was usually a full house until closing time, particularly in the Main Room, which seats around 300. Our fragile egos were well fed by the response. Often Sam Kinison closed those Monday shows if he wasn’t on the road, another incentive for people to stay, regardless of the fact that it was a Monday, and some of them would have to get up for work the next day. There was also a fair amount of substance being passed around, but that was LA in the 80’s.

Then in the early 90’s there was an influx of regular patrons who were coming up from South Central LA, and the lineup would lean heavily toward African-American comics. One in particular, a man named Robin Harris, had built a huge following through his performances at a venue in South Central called the Comedy Act Theatre. His star was definitely on the rise, playing noticeable parts in films such as “House Party” and Spike Lee’s “Do The Right Thing.” Harris’s fans who came to the Store to see him were often members of rival gangs wearing their colors, a volatile situation to say the least. But Harris unfortunately died in his sleep at age of 36 in March of 1990 just as his animated series “Bebe’s Kids” was getting national recognition.

His followers remained even after his passing, making things difficult for security at the club as there were still the rival gang standoffs. Mitzi, the Store’s owner, tended to stay away entirely and hope there would be no major incident. Unfortunately, there were a few, though nothing that couldn’t be kept inside the clubs walls. Mostly it was just intimidation, particularly to any white acts who went onstage and were often heckled mercilessly, especially in the smaller Original Room, which on Mondays was a showcase for up and comers. One former doorman, who was attempting to get back in the club’s good graces, reacted poorly to his response, using the word we’ll call the Ugliest Word in the English Language, and getting hit by a flying chair.

I was still feeling on relatively safe ground in the Main Room, and mostly was accepted by the partisan crowd, partly because I could accommodate their requests, as I’ve always been an afficianado of R&B music. I think I did every Al Green hit over time because there were so many times he was requested. My only negative was a time in the Original Room on a mid-week spot that was going really well until out of the blue someone shouted out, “You a white honky fag motherfucker!” There was a noticeable groan throughout the room. I said nothing, left the stage, and the offending party was escorted out of the club within 30 seconds. The MC, who was Black, came back up, and he was really angry. “We don’t tolerate that racist shit here. You take that back to the hood,” was the words I recall him saying.

Now we flash forward to summer of 1991. I was on towards the end of the Monday show in the Main Room, might have even been the closer. Quite a few patrons left as I got onto the stage. I didn’t take offence to that, as by then I was pretty used to getting what was often referred to as the “Walking Ovation.” Still there were plenty of people to play with, and things were going well for about five minutes. Then I heard what sounded like fireworks, about four or five loud crackles in a row. I dismissed it as that until about ten seconds later, when a throng of people ran back into the showroom, some screaming and knocking over tables. My first response was “Oh shit,” with the unsaid words of “The inevitable has finally happened.”

Somehow within a few seconds, things calmed down, and though the microphone had been turned off, I yelled out to the crowd, “Well, what do you wanna hear? I Shot The Sheriff? Jamie’s Got A Gun? Maybe something by Guns N Roses?” The audience laughed and I was about to resume when the piano player, whose mic was on, interjected, “Well, that’s our show for tonight, folks! Come back next week for more fun at The Comedy Store!” That was unfortunately his job, and he wanted to keep it, so he had to play the role of Company Man. He didn’t stay there much longer after that night.

What I was told later by an eyewitness to the incident, was that yes, those were legitimate shots fired. A gang member had his gun drawn and was shouting to a rival “I’m gonna kill you right now, motherfucker,” but somehow lost his footing as he was approaching his target. As he was falling to the pavement, the other guy ran off, and the assailant still fired his gun multiple times, but all the shots missed their intended victim. When the owner of the club was told of the incident the next day, her first question was supposedly “Who was on?” When she was told it was Rick Right, she immediately dismissed the idea of faulting any performers. I’m sure I was there the following Monday, glutton for punishment that I am, but there were no further investigations. You could say the Comedy Store dodged another bullet. Or several.

August 10th, 2021



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