Billy McComb

This is what I said at Billy’s Memorial

I love Billy McComb. I think about him every day. Literally every day. When I was getting ready to come in for this celebration I did a mental run-through of my show, and holy smokes! If it weren’t for Billy’s help and ideas I’d have about 6 minutes of material. And that’s why I considered not speaking today. Because I only had two words to say and it seemed silly to come up here just to say “Thank you” to someone who wasn’t here.

 So often these things become people just talking about themselves instead of the dead guy, and I didn’t want to do that. But then I decided, what the hell, why not jump on the bandwagon! I know a story about myself I could tell.

 The first time I worked at the Castle, which was­­–if I’m not mistaken–1900 and frozen to death, I was staying with Max Maven. He and I had just come in from Las Vegas and both had terrible colds, just awful. After my first show Monday night Billy came backstage and introduced himself. I was nervous as all get out. Billy Freakin’ McComb! Growing up in Kentucky I’d never met him, or even seen him perform, but I sure knew who he was! I used a couple of his marketed tricks in my show, and had even–I later learned–inadvertently stolen a bit of his.

 Anyway, Billy said hello, said something nice about my act, and then asked where I was staying. When I responded that I was at Max’s, he said, “Well he’s sick too. You’ll never get well staying there. Come stay with me.” So I spent the rest of the week resting on Billy sofa and listening to him talk. It was excellent. One morning he asked me, “I’m going to the market lad; can I bring you anything?”

 For some reason I requested a gallon of orange juice and a pack of Fig Newtons. I wasn’t using Fig Newtons in my show at that point, they just sounded good at the time. Like comfort food.

 Billy thought that was just the funniest thing, and spent that entire night at the Castle telling everyone that on my sick bed I’d asked for Fig Newtons. The next night James Dimmare snuck into my dressing room and secretly filled my suit coat pocket with Fig Newtons. Later, during the show, when the woman volunteer reached into my pocket expecting to find her chosen card and instead came out with a handful of Fig Newtons, no one was more surprised than me. The crowd was hysterical, but above their laughter I could hear Billy howling from his seat in the back row. After the show Billy convinced me to keep the bit in my act. That’s just one of the countless things I owe Billy for.

 So, even though this is supposed to be a celebration I’m still mighty bummed. Billy is dead and I’m sad that I’ll never see him again, and so I’ll never get to thank him. Not just for everything he did for me, but simply for existing. Billy made the world better.