On September 11th, the UCB, and, well, me.

I was a comedian once. 

I mean, I wasn’t much of one. I did a few bouts of stand-up and a lot of sketch and improv, but I knew pretty early on that my time in comedy was not going to evolve into a career. I didn’t have the talent, drive, or dedication that many of my friends did.

However, I did dedicate a good amount of my spare time in my early twenties to the New York City comedy scene, specifically the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater in Manhattan. From late 2000 to mid-2003, the theatre was my unofficial playground. I took classes, wrote shows, and teched - and I did so during a time when the UCB was still a bit of an undiscovered treasure. These days, it seems that training at the UCB is a bit of a necessary step for most aspiring actors to take. Then, however, the UCB was still finding its feet as a business enterprise. It occupied a storefront theatre on 22nd Street and 7th Avenue that has once been a skeevy strip club, and offered a small variety of improv classes. It was teeming with comic talent, though: on any given day there and then, you might see familiar faces that populate channels like NBC, Comedy Central, Adult Swim, and FX now.

It was pretty awesome to be involved in an endeavor like that early on. I imagine that it was somewhat like being in Seattle rock clubs before Nirvana broke, or at opening night of CBGB’s, before Blondie, the Ramones, or Talking Heads broke through. Comedy felt like punk rock at UCB, except you didn’t have to play guitar or drums to get up onstage, because you were your own guitar. 

That said, I find myself reminiscing about these days (days that I’m sure still exist for many, many talented folks, but days that I’ve long since given up for the life of a schoolteacher) because of an upcoming anniversary: the tenth anniversary of the September 11th, 2001 attacks.

Right before the attacks, I’d been extremely busy with all things comedy. I did a photoshoot for The Onion. With my friends Jake and Paul, I’d been pretty involved in writing, performing, and doing a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff in a regular show at UCB called “Talk Show,” which we had just performed for the entire incoming class of freshmen at NYU as a part of their freshman orientation. On the night of September 10, I’d had a busy night as well - first, we did an episode of “Talk Show” that evening that my parents had come to watch, and then I stayed late into the night to help do tech rehearsal for a show that I was going to be working on with the group Manson Roast. At 3:30, I took a cab ride home. 4 hours of sleep later, I was on my way back to my day job. 

I can’t say I thought much about comedy on September 11th itself. Being on the 30th floor of an office building in Manhattan on that day meant that there were more pressing concerns, like getting home safely and making sure that all my friends were okay. (I was very lucky. They were. Many of my friends were not as lucky as I was, though.)

However, the next day, I found myself wondering: when would the theatre be back open? I realized that UCB was in a precarious position: unlike the established comedy shows of New York (Letterman, the Daily Show, Conan, and SNL), I doubted sincerely that the UCB could afford to stay shuttered until the collective mood of the city, country, and world lightened. Surely enough, the announcement spread amongst friends - the theatre was going to be back open on the 13th.

It wasn’t until after the various shows went back on the air the following week (Jon Stewart on the 20th, David Letterman on the 17th, and Conan and SNL also in the same vicinity) that I realized the folly of doing a comedy show right after the attacks. Then, however, it felt natural for people to get up and do a show. 

So, it came to be that, just over 48 hours after the most horrific day in the modern history of New York City and the United States, just over 2 miles from the smoldering rubble of the World Trade Center towers, and a mere 8 blocks from the barricades of 14th Street that kept most people away from the evacuated area, the first comedy show in a post September 11th world took place.

I was there that night, because, well, I needed to be there. I remember being apprehensive about being out and about in Manhattan so soon following the attacks, a fear that was allayed when I made it to the theatre and had a pre-show drink at McManus with my friends Brandon, Jamie, and John. Following this, we walked back to the theatre, where a lot of folks had gathered. By that time, the sun had set, and it felt like any other show night. Almost. I remember being outside before the show - which was to be the theatre’s “Harold Night,” an evening where the show’s house teams were to improvise, and then absolutely crumbling to tears, overwhelmed by everything. The arms of a friend soon comforted me.

Before long, folks filed into the theatre. It wasn’t full - it was at about 3/4 capacity, about 80 strong, but I do remember that some folks who were bigger names in comedy had come by (Janeane Garofalo stands out to me). Jason Spiro and I went into the tech booth to run music for the first show. And then, people came out, and were unapologetically funny. It was emotional and wonderful and really, really funny. I laughed and laughed heartily. After the first show, before the second, I remember playing a Moe song, “St. Augustine.” It felt like the right song to play at that moment. The chorus went, “God is light, and light is good, yeah, God is good.” 

After the show, folks decamped - as was (and continues to be) UCB tradition - to McManus. There was an air of jubilation. People were happy. It was good. And then, a number of firefighters came into the bar, covered from head to toe in soot. They’d been at the site, working to rescue whoever they could from the fresh rubble. And all of a sudden, the bubble just…popped. All of a sudden, the world came crashing back to reality. 

I gave one of them a hug, and bought a round of beers for 3 of them. 

And so it went.

It was a weird time to be a comedian.