What would Red have said?

FOR SOME TIME, my writing focus has been on the underrated film and television clown Red Skelton. I recently completed a second biography, and am now working on a novelized memoir--writing as if I were the comedian. This exercise in nonfiction fiction, grounded in years of research, attempts to flesh out Skelton's story entertainingly, without straying far from the facts. Here is an adapted excerpt:

"My hometown of Vincennes was crisscrossed with railroad lines and, during the winter, me and my half-brother Paul--my only sibling to sometimes treat me fairly--stole coal from passing trains. We would board at a railroad water stop on the outskirts of Vincennes, and when the opportunity presented itself, fill our sacks from the coal car. When the wain passed near our home, which was always some shack on the tracks, we tossed our coal sack off and just jumped.

"Once, however, Paul almost died during what had seemingly become an easy routine. Just before our jumping-off spot, he fell between the coal and baggage cars--our normal hiding place, just a foot from the tracks. What saved him was a metal bar he desperately held onto, as well as my grabbing his leather belt. Luckily, we both managed to hold on until a sharp railroad grade just outside of town, where the train slowed way down. We managed to extricate ourselves from a tight spot and hike back into Vincennes, retrieving our sack of coal on the way.

"In later years, I came to find out that an army of Midwestern boys round various ways to get winter coal from passing trains. My dear friend Joe E. Brown, who lifted funny to the level of fable--best known now for his dirty old man in 'Some Like It Hot' (he falls for Jack Lemmon in drag)--probably found the easiest coal scam. Remember, his signature trait was that huge mouth, winning him such comic nicknames as 'cavernous-mouthed,' 'funny face,' 'monster-mouthed,' and 'Grand Canyon.' Joe himself once told me, 'Red, the only thing I could ever do was make people laugh.... And I can only take second billing for that talent. Nature met me more than halfway when it threw a handful of features together and called it a face.' Thus, young Joe hit upon the idea of using his 'crater-mouthed' mug to make faces at the passing train firemen to get free coal thrown at him. This was also the first time the youngster realized his 'cavernous' cavity could be an advantage.

"Besides Paul and my misadventures on the mils, trains were a pivotal part of living in early 20th-century Vincennes. For a time, I even created an after-school job on one of the local trains--selling homemade sandwiches. I was a bit of a huckster. The meat and the lettuce would literally be hanging out of the edges of the sandwich--with very little in the center. Occasionally, this got me in hot water with the conductor. But I had a lot of moxie and fast feet, so I got by. That reminds me, when I later did a picture called 'Three Little Words' (with Fred Astaire), I played a songwriter (Harry Ruby) who spent more time trying to be a baseball player. That was a laugh, since I was so unathletic I couldn't throw a cat out a window. Regardless, during the production I hung out with Hall of Fame pitcher Lefty Gomez. When I asked him the secret of his success, Lefty said, 'Clean living ... and a fast outfield.'

"Anyway, the only downside to my sandwich racket on the train was staying out late and then falling asleep in school the next day. But education was never one of my strong suits. It didn't help that I was in a 'special class,' which the recess crowd translated into being a 'dumb kid.' While none of my half brothers was exactly a scholar, I was by far the dunce of the family. I only received a GED years later when my first wife and manager, Edna Stillwell, got on my case. For a time, we actually had a tutor traveling with us in vaudeville. I got so much ribbing about it that we eventually put him into the act. Stealing a bit from the Marx Brothers' 'Fun in Hi Skule' vaudeville routine, Edna and I ironically cast the tutor as a poor student!

"The education paradox for me, related to that 'Fun in Hi Skule' sketch, was that I had dropped out well before high school. But the county school board was especially pleased, since I had worn out several truant officers. This is because, except when the circus was in town, they never knew where to find me. Still, I can't say my Vincennes school days were completely without merit. A patriotic principal in junior high first planted the seeds of what later became my most successful spoken routine--a personalized 'Pledge of Allegiance.' Otherwise, my philosophy of education was cribbed from Mark Twain: 'I never let school interfere with my education.'

"... Here's a quick story about Frank [Sinatra]--who I first got friendly with back in his Tommy Dorsey vocalist days. By the time Frank had become 'Chairman of the Board,' rare was the person who could make jokes at his expense. But since we went all the way back to the movie 'Ship Ahoy' in 1942, with Frank in singing support to my star turn, he was all right with my kidding him. For example, when he got his footprints immortalized in cement at Grauman's Chinese Theatre, I quipped, 'Bing Crosby's footprints walked out in protest.'