April 4, 2020
Punchlines
This is one of my all-time favorite pictures. It is of me and my good friend David ‘Tuddy’ Hoffman. Tuddy is one of my oldest and dearest friends. It is, I understand, not a very flattering picture. My face is contorted and open mouth exposes a lifetime of neglected flossing. It is not the picture I would post for my Match profile.
I like it because it reminds me of my father. Of his laugh. That face is the face of his laugh. I think I have written before of his favorite joke: a man gets pulled over by a cop going the wrong way on a one-way street. “Didn’t you see the arrow?” asks the cop. “I didn’t even see the Indian,” replies the man.
That joke would trigger him.
Didn’t even have to tell the entire joke.
Just the punchline.
I didn’t even see the Indian.
The other reason I like the picture is because it captures me in a moment of unmitigated joy.
I also like the picture because of Tuddy’s expression. I can hear him. People often tell me they can hear my voice when reading my stories. I look at Tuddy’s face, I can hear his voice. Depending on the trim of his beard, he looks like a cross between Howard Stern and Jeff Lynne of ELO but his voice, a little low-pitched with a rising inflection when he hits the punchline, is all Stern. It is a radio voice.
The picture was taken at my brother’s cottage on Fairy Lake in Huntsville, Ontario. Two hours north of Toronto.
It was taken during a dinner we had on a Saturday night of a boys’ weekend we call the Fairy Lake Classic. A weekend of golf, pickleball, poker, scotch, pool, ping pong, steak, did I say scotch, and jokes.
Tuddy is telling us a joke I have heard already about 50 times.
Take another look at my face. This is my reaction to a joke I have already heard 50 times.
That tells you something but I am not sure quite what.
The joke he is telling is the herring joke. The herring joke is one of hundreds whose genesis is the fictional Eastern European village of Chelm. Think Newfie (with apologies—I loved Come From Away) jokes but with Hasids and you get the idea.
Calling it the herring joke kinda gives it away but that isn’t really the point. It is about the telling.
I am going to tell you the joke during the course of this story. It is very likely you will not laugh. I can’t help that. That’s on you. You certainly won’t end up with my face. Which, I suspect, should be a bit of relief.
Actually, I am just going to come out and say that most of you will not laugh. I hesitate to say, but I’m going to say it anyway, you might have to be Jewish to get this joke. And even then, it just might not work. I think that is okay. Some jokes, most jokes, are universal. But some only work because of shared experiences. They fall into the inside joke or you-had-to-be-there category. The beauty of these jokes is they combine humor with intimacy.
I have written about the poker game I play in with friends in Toronto. We jokingly refer to it as the worst poker game in Toronto. My friend Steve, he of the golfing with Richard Schiff debacle, plays in that game. Steve had, and continues to have, the habit of correcting people if what they are saying is not 100% correct or factual. He does it with no malice or ego or self-aggrandizement. He is just a really, really big fan of the truth. As a result, he has trouble letting even the most mundane platitudes go unchallenged. Back in the days he was single, we ever so gently suggested this might not be the best approach to take with women on dates. He did not disagree. I came up with a workaround.
“Every time you want to correct someone, I want you to instead say, ‘Paris is very nice in the springtime.’”
“Paris is very nice in the springtime?”
“Yes. Give it a try.”
He said okay.
Three months later, we are at our monthly poker game. Midway through the game, Steve announces that he has a story. We stop dealing. Glasses are refilled. Bernie says, “Hold on, let me go pee.”
Bernie comes back from the bathroom and Steve launches into the story.
It turns out he was at a bar mitzvah in Montreal last weekend and while there was introduced to a woman. The thing is, he knew the woman. In fact, they had gone on a few dates a few years back. Not only that, but he remembers even making her some sort of scrapbook on the third, and what would be final, date. We all laugh. Not because he made her a scrapbook but because he is telling this to us factually. Like the lawyer he is. He is not sheepish about having made a scrapbook.
Steve doesn’t do sheepish.
So he is introduced to the woman and, before he can say anything, she sticks out her hand and says, “It is really nice to meet you.”
Bernie then says, “Oh my god, what did you say?”
And Steve replies, “What could I say? I told her I heard that Paris is very nice in the springtime.”
I love that story.
And I love that only seven people in the world will get it.
The herring joke is a bit like that.
This story is a lot like that.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
In the village of Chelm, the rabbi announces he has a riddle. The villagers are agog with excitement. The rabbi has a riddle. The rabbi has a riddle. They gather at the town square. The rabbi stands on an upside down crate and waits for the noise to subside.
He then announces:
“What’s purple, hangs on the wall, and whistles?”
Tuddy has a cell phone. I know because we text all the time. But we never speak on the phone. I would say almost never but that makes it sound like we occasionally speak on the phone. But we don’t. Never. If we speak once a year, that is a lot. I don’t know why that is. It just is. So when he texted me and asked me if I was home and then asked if I was alone, I figured it was going to be bad.
Quite honestly, I was hoping he would tell me his wife was leaving him. Not because I wished it on him. But because it was better than what I feared.
“I am being operated on for colon cancer next week. The doctor thinks I have a good chance.”
“I was hoping you would tell me your wife found you in bed with two Ottawa Roughrider cheerleaders,” I said, whistling in the graveyard.
“Oh, she did. But that was after I got the news.”
“Well, that blows,” I said.
“It’s actually very treatable. Caught it early. Am way more worried about my slice.”
“Your slice is a dream compared to your hook.”
“Yeah. That’s true. When was your last colonoscopy?”
“Am actually going on Wednesday.”
“Okay. Good. You worried?”
“Well I wasn’t fucking worried until you ruined my day!”
“Are you kidding. What are the chances of best friends both getting it? Your odds just got way better. You should be thanking me.”
“Jesus you’re dark.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll both be fine.”
“Okay. Just get better and we will be golfing and playing poker again together soon.”
Tuddy replied, “I can’t do both.”
Tuddy and I know a lot of jokes. But we don’t tell a lot of jokes. We just tell each other the punchlines. Sometimes we just slip it into the conversation. Like, “I can’t do both.”
Abe and his wife Estelle are both 88. Estelle calls down to Abe, “Come upstairs and make love to me.”
Abe replies, “I can’t do both.”
What’s purple, hangs on a wall and whistles. The townfolk disperse and consult the holy scriptures looking for a clue of what is purple, hangs on a wall and whistles. They looked in the Torah, they looked in the Mishnah, they looked in the Gemara, they even looked in the book of Esther. But they could not find what was purple, hung on the wall, and whistles.
We have gone back to texting. The operation has gone well. The surgeon was pleased. Tuddy still has to undergo more scans and tests. They have to see if it has spread. He has also volunteered to be part of some sort of study. He is determined to get his swing back. I know he will beat cancer, but I tell him there is no hope for his swing.
We spend one afternoon texting each other punchlines he is considering for his tombstone.
“Now that’s how you wave a towel.”
“I only have to outrun you.”
“Look who is telling us how to run our business.”
“Fucking Zakarian.”
They are good. All classics. Tuddy is not ready to commit. He wants to think about it. He takes his jokes seriously.
The townfolk go back to the rabbi. “Rabbi, rabbi, we have looked in the Torah, we have looked in the Mishnah, we have looked in the Gemara, we have even looked in the book of Esther. But we can’t find what is purple, hangs on a wall and whistles.”
The rabbi says, “It’s easy. It’s a herring.”
“But rabbi, a herring isn’t purple."
"This one was purple.”
“But rabbi, a herring doesn’t hang on a wall.”
“This one was hanging on the wall.”
“But rabbi, a herring doesn’t whistle.”
“Nu, so it doesn’t whistle.”
Am not sure what to tell you. It is very funny.
Tuddy gets the all-clear. He sends me a text. Finally a good fucking text. I say, “Nice.” He says, “Yeah.” I say, “Good.” He says, “You home?” I say, “Yeah.” He says, “Am going to give you a call. I think I’ve got it.” I say, “Okay.” Phone rings and I pick up. He says, “I thought you said goat.”
And then he hangs up.
The end.