I confess: I miss ethnic humor. Not the mean-spirited kind that condemns, ridicules, or demeans an entire nationality, religion, or other ethnic group. Have we, as a nation become so sensitive that we cannot see that there are idiosyncrasies and unique qualities in most ethnic groups? Granted, that as people become more adapted to our mainstream society, we tend to take on the norms of the larger society.
Over the years much of ethnic humor has been directed at immigrants to America. After all, immigrants often wear different, which means “strange,” clothing, eat unusual foods, and speak strange languages, sometimes with funny dialects–at least “funny” to our standard American speech patterns. I remember a story from World War II about an orthodox rabbi from New York who goes into the South to conduct High Holy Day services. When he gets off the train, people stare in wonder at his all black clothing including a top coat, despite the heat of Indian summer. They look with wonder at his long, unkempt beard and funny large, black hat. In exasperation he finally shouts at the crowd, “Vat’s de metter, ain’t you never seen a Yenkee?”
Of course, ethnic humor can be vicious and hurtful also. When an entire group receives an identity of stupidity or of being violent, those who are not stupid or violent suffer the consequences. Often such meanness can be traced to the differences the group displays. When my son was in high school, his math teacher who had a name with thirty-two consonants and ended with “ski,” would begin each class period with a “Polish” joke. David would tell the joke to me when he got home from school. Some were funny; some not so funny; and some totally unfunny. All implied, however, that Polish people are less intelligent and less sophisticated than others, a charge we can readily see applies to some people in every group. (Do you, dear reader, have any idea how difficult it is for me not to quote one of those jokes now?)
Today many of the “Polish” jokes are now directed at blonds. Recently an attractive blond woman with glasses that seemed to channel Reese Witherspoon in “Legally Blond” was a three day champion on a show called “Jeopardy!,” which has never been accused of featuring dummies.
(All right, just one): A philosophy student decides to go for a swim, but does not know how and almost drowns before being rescued by others. The student then takes a vow: “I will never go into the water again until I learn how to swim.” A Polish Joke? A blond joke? Neither!
The story is adapted from the “Tales of Chelm,” a collection of “fool” stories from Eastern European Jewish folk literature which can be traced to another such collection from Schildburg, Germany, dating to the Sixteenth Century. Incidentally, both Chelm, Poland and Schildburg are actual places. The English tell “Scotsman” stories and the French tell “Belgian” jokes; somewhere someone probably tells “dumb American” jokes.
Often our humor can resonate with people who are not from and do not fully comprehend our backgrounds. Bill Cosby, without his later indiscretions, told of life in Black America, as did Billy Crystal speaking of Jewish America. Both used humor that came directly from the family experience. Whether or not we understand Black or Jewish life, probably most of us have had a pretentious uncle or slightly cuckoo aunt so that we can relate to those situations.
When Cyrano de Bergerac gets teased because of his large nose, he lists about twenty comments the person could have said, but then he says, “I say these things lightly enough myself about myself, but I allow no one else to utter them.” Cyrano speaks for many people from a variety of communities, the most obvious being the Black community’s use of the “N” word in conversation and in stand-up comedy. Use of the word is forbidden, however, outside of that community.
While in graduate school, some organization had a social convocation of graduate students from a variety of disciplines. There were about fifty of us and two or three others and I told some jokes and stories to the group. I told the story of an Irish Catholic priest who hates the British with a passion. (The story is quite long and relies on an Irish brogue, so I will not relate it here.) Some people laughed out loud at the story; some smiled; some chuckled; and some didn’t give a damn. One man, however, scowled and showed his displeasure prominently.
By coincidence we later went to the hors d’ouevres table at the same time where, with scowl intact, he asked me, “Do you think that is right?” Puzzled, I asked him, “Do I think what is right?” He then asked if I thought it proper for someone who is Jewish to tell a story about a Catholic priest. I than asked a question I knew he could not answer, “Do you know who told me that story?” He shook his head, and I quietly said, “Father Pat.” Father Pat was a priest working on a Ph. D. so he could serve the church in public relations. The scowl disappeared; he repeated “Father Pat? Then he broke into peals of laughter saying, “That is the funniest story I have ever heard.“ Because a priest told me the story it suddenly became, if I may, Kosher for me to tell it. (I lied, but I hadn’t the heart to tell him that I heard the story about ten years prior at party for struggling actors in Hollywood, and it was told by Ernest Hemingway’s nephew.)
Some stories simply are funnier than others. Reaction can range from boredom to smile to chuckle to laugh-out-loud to hysteria. Few get to the hysteria stage. Some depend on which ethnic group is being slandered or teased. I once heard a story of dying Jewish man who smells the strudel his wife is cooking in the next room. He tells his son that his dying wish it have one last piece of “Mama’s strudel.” The son goes to get the strudel but comes back empty-handed saying, “Mama says the strudel is for after the funeral.” It was a laugh-out-louder. A few days later I heard a disk jockey on the radio tell the same story only with a Swede named Ole. Totally ho-hum!
My own philosophy is that anything can be the subject of humor, but good taste and common sense need to enter the picture someplace. Certainly religious fanaticism and terrorism are not funny, yet Jeff Dunham has become a rich man with Ahmed the Dead Suicide Bomber who decided to practice his craft before his mission. Some of you may be familiar with “Silence! I kill you!” Death, of course, is not funny, but I personally know of at least ten stories involving St. Peter and the Pearly Gates to Heaven.
Ethic humor can be funny or not; it can be in good or bad taste. After all not all fine art is the Mona Lisa or Guernica; not all symphonies are Beethoven’s Ninth or Brahms First; not all novels are The Grapes of Wrath or BY ANY OTHER NAME (by Edwin Cohen; available at amazon.com, Barnes & Nobel, and Ingram Books)
Hey you get commercials on television, radio, in the movies, why not here? Help a guy make a buck—you’ll enjoy the book—I hope!
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