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"Jammed with personalities and capsule histories." —The New York Times
"Josh Karp has informed us well about one of the funniest and innovative humorists of the last century. Doug Kenny was a great friend of mine and it is a good read." —Chevy Chase, actor, Caddyshack
"Josh Karp achieves the unthinkable—he's written an essential American excavation of comedy that is, of itself, very, very, very, very, very, very funny. Doug Kenney would be extremely proud and humbled, if he weren't dead." —Bill Zehme, author, Lost in the Funhouse: The Life and Mind of Andy Kaufman
"The definitive profile of Kenney's brilliant comic mind and his too-short life." —Richard Roeper, film critic, Chicago Sun-Times
"The sharpest analysis yet of how success, self-doubt and drugs led one of his generation’s wittiest minds down a blind path." —Philadelphia Citypaper
"A must-read for the curious, comedy aficionados, and subversively shy teenagers everywhere." —Mark McKinney, actor, Kids in the Hall
"[This] is the definitive behind-the-scenes account of the man and publication that all but defined the comedy zeitgeist of the last 35 years." —Rob Siegel, former editor, The Onion
All right reserved.
In the 1950s, Chagrin Falls, Ohio, was the kind of place where
Americans believed that Father Knows Best patriarch Jim Anderson
could raise Kitten, Bud, and Princess in a big fine home with
total comfort and domestic bliss on an insurance agent's salary.
Chagrin Falls was a town where groceries were purchased at
Greenway's or the A&P. Each fall, moms took their kids to Brewster
and Church for school clothes and Brondfield's for new shoes, followed
by a trip to the marble soda fountain at Standard Drug, where
they washed down ten-cent burgers with the best lemon soda in the
world. All the stores were closed on Wednesdays and on special
occasions everyone dressed in church clothes for dinner at Crane's
When the blizzard of 1963 crippled Chagrin, local officials roped
off one neighborhood so children could sled down Grove Hill onto
Bell Street. During less extreme weather, winter meant skating on
the frozen Chagrin River where adults kept a bonfire burning on the
banks to warm little hands.
On Saturday mornings inthe fall, the Chagrin Falls High School
Tigers marching band tromped up East Washington Street to the
Fairgrounds stadium, spreading school spirit through town while
yards were raked and the sweet, smoky smell of burning leaves filled
the air. It really was that kind of place.
"It was like Pleasantville," says Chagrin native Ginna Bourisseau. "I
was four years old, walking two blocks to buy penny candy by myself.
Everybody watched out for everybody's kids. That's how safe it was."
Being an adolescent in Chagrin meant worshipping the football
players and hoping that someday "Firelord" would be listed among
your accomplishments in the high school's Zenith yearbook. This
coveted title mysteriously signified that you were one of the pranksters
who burned the Tigers' winning score on an opposing team's
football field in the dark of night, or anonymously painted black
stripes on the Orange High School mascot. None of this was lost on
Doug Kenney, who lived in Chagrin Falls from 1958 to 1964. His
story neither begins nor ends in this midwestern town. Yet it is the
place that defined him and by which he defined himself.
"I'm Doug Kenney from Chagrin Falls, Ohio."
It was that place in the middle of the country whose social dynamics,
customs, and dreams so influenced and informed his sense of
humor, self, and place in the world. It was a community that he came
to remember with both great affection and profound alienation.
Despite his normal physical appearance, Doug Kenney was an
outsider in Chagrin Falls-in and from the place, but not of it.
Rather, he was a quiet observer, cloaked as a normal American kid,
soaking in the rituals of prom, homecoming, and lusting aimlessly
after the head cheerleader.
"We remember everybody, even if they only lived here for six
months," says Jim Vittek, another Chagrin native. "We remember
the way they kicked a soccer ball or threw a football. We remember
where they sat in class."
Yet in Chagrin Falls, few remember Doug Kenney. It is as if he
moved through town invisibly, leaving no fingerprints. They remember
The Carol Burnett Show's Tim Conway instead. He is Chagrin's
* * *
Doug Kenney's story begins in Newport, Rhode Island, where in
the 1920s and '30s his paternal grandfather, Daniel Kenney, was a
tennis pro at the Newport Casino Club. Newport, as much as anyplace
else, was home to this son of a vegetable cart operator whose
parents emigrated from Ireland.
Daniel Kenney and his wife, Eleanor, had five children, the eldest
being Doug's father, Daniel "Harry" Kenney, followed by Bill, Frank,
Jack (who was killed in World War II), and a daughter, Margaretta.
Harry was born in Massachusetts in 1915. The rest were born in
The Kenney family's existence was an itinerant one common
to club pros of the time-the family usually left Newport the day
after Thanksgiving for a winter of work in Palm Beach, Florida, and
returned north on April 15 every year. Palm Beach was the winter
home of Harold Vanderbilt, where Daniel and his sons taught tennis
lessons for family and guests each day on specially built courts positioned
to keep the noonday sun out of Mr. Vanderbilt's eyes, demonstrating
for Harry precisely how the other half lived. In the fall, the
Kenneys often found themselves at the Astor estate in Rhinebeck,
New York, or Aiken, South Carolina-wherever the wealthy needed
a pro to teach them the game. Arriving at either of these locations,
Daniel bought the local paper, pulled out the home rental listings,
and drove his family around looking for a place to live. They would
never own a home.
In Newport, the Kenneys were regarded as the "first family of
tennis," with each of Daniel's sons becoming pros and several uncles
and cousins teaching professionally. One Kenney or another taught
the game to Newport summer residents and wealthy vacationers like
George Plimpton, Treasury Secretary C. D. Dillon, Jacqueline Bouvier,
and her future husband, John F. Kennedy. Down in Palm Beach,
it was more of the same, with Frank Kenney helping Woolworth
heiress Barbara Hutton learn to serve and volley at an exclusive club,
where the pair would have drinks while music wafted from the trees
on warm winter afternoons and the sound of members shooting skeet
on the beach could be heard in the distance.
Frank and Bill Kenney loved teaching tennis and the life it provided
them. Neither man minded lower social status in a gilded world.
It was all they knew and they embraced it. Their oldest brother felt
Barely out of his teens, Harry taught tennis in Dark Harbor,
Maine; Palm Beach; Newport; Hartford; Cleveland; Philadelphia;
and elsewhere, yet he always wanted a different life, one more like
the members than their servants. Harry wasn't happy-go-lucky like
Frank, who was satisfied with his station in life and amused by the
social fissures that placed him in the lesser economic class. By contrast,
Harry was serious, ambitious, and aggressive at everything he
did-on and off the court. He badly wanted an education. Brooding
and quiet, he kept personal matters private. Teaching tennis was an
existence Harry desperately wanted to escape.
"One day," Harry told Margaretta, "I'll never go in the back
door again. Only the front."
In 1935, during a stint at the Hartford Country Club, Harry
met eighteen-year-old Estelle "Stephanie" Karch, the daughter of an
Eastern European immigrant iron forger from Chicopee, Massachusetts.
Harry quickly learned that she was a good cook and fun to be
around, with an unpretentious attitude, a great sense of humor, and
an earthy manner. The pair married in Hartford on July 28, 1936,
without the presence or knowledge of Harry's family. Yet when the
Kenney clan met Stephanie, they loved her. It was hard not to.
Around the same time, Harry's forty-five-year-old father contracted
pneumonia and died three days later with no life insurance
and little money. Harry and his brother Bill were already out on their
own, leaving Eleanor Kenney with three children to feed in Newport.
Frank taught tennis to support the family and Harry sent his mother
fifty dollars a month.
On July 21, 1939, Stephanie gave birth to a son they named Daniel
Vance Kenney, known as Dan. Otherwise healthy, Dan was born
with spina bifida, which required surgery and some stressful infant
care. This often debilitating birth defect, however, seemed to have
little impact on their firstborn, who grew into a handsome, gregarious
While he taught tennis all over the country, Harry was always
in search of other work that would remove him from the servant
class. In Hartford he joined the Governor's Guard, an elite group
that protected and traveled with Connecticut's top official. In Reno
he became a sheriff's deputy, and he did some personnel management
for a magnesium mine in Las Vegas. While teaching in Philadelphia,
Harry attended college, probably at night, and got the education he
Harry and Stephanie's second child, Douglas Clark Francis Kenney,
was born in West Palm Beach, Florida, on December 10, 1946,
nearly five years to the day after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor
and America entered its defining war.
Born in a nation flush with patriotism from defeating evil, he
was named for Douglas MacArthur, the legendary pipe-chomping
five-star general who commanded the U.S. forces in Southeast Asia
and received the formal Japanese surrender that effectively ended
"I was a kind of monument to a general who brought us yellow
imperialism," Doug told a reporter years later.
Doug was an uncommonly bright and sensitive child with atrocious
eyesight. At the age of seven, Doug told a friend, Stephanie
took him to an eye doctor for the first time. Fitted with his first pair
of glasses, he recalled the drive home vividly, as every vein in every
leaf seemed to be apparent from the backseat window of his mother's
car; each blade of grass individual, distinct, and a rich, shimmering
green. It was as if he were truly seeing the world for the first time-in
Technicolor-in detail so intense that it gave him a headache.
"He was unique from birth," Victoria "Vicky" Kenney, Doug's
younger sister by seven years, told Harvard Magazine.
In the early 1950s, the Kenneys settled in Mentor, Ohio, where
Harry was a tennis pro at the Kirtland Country Club. Dan was a tall,
charming boy at Riverside High School-admired by everyone who
knew him. Harry and Stephanie, it seemed, couldn't get enough of
their oldest child.
"Dan was really well liked by his parents," says family friend Bill
Tienvieri. "I can see how Doug might have resented that a little."
If he did, however, it was hardly apparent, as Doug looked up
to his all-American brother when he wasn't devouring books, radio,
and comics. Filled with these images, Doug's overactive imagination
kept him up late at night, unable to sleep for all the thoughts racing
through his head.
Kid sister Vicky was a cute, pig-tailed blond, both very smart and
very sweet. Doug adored her. The three children all filled familiar
roles: Dan the family hero and golden boy; Doug the most sensitive,
thoughtful, and eager-to-please child; and Vicky the mascot. They
were, to all who knew them, a model midwestern, suburban family
on an upward trajectory.
In the late 1950s, Harry moved the family to Chagrin Falls after
a Kirtland member who sat on the board of Diamond Alkaloid in
nearby Painesville recommended him for a job in the company's personnel
department. Entering the corporate world, he finally left the
servant class for good. Dan had just graduated from high school,
Doug was twelve, and Vicky was five.
The Kenneys settled in a small ranch home on Bell Road in unincorporated
South Russell (considered part of Chagrin Falls). Harry
remained serious and quiet, and Stephanie was always charming, a
quick-witted woman who loved a party. Their best friends in town
were Don Martin, the new pro at Kirtland, and his wife, Ruth. By
the time he was in high school, Doug would string rackets for Martin
at Kirtland during the summer, soaking in, as Harry once had, the
contrast between his life and that of the members.
In fall 1958, Dan headed to Kent State University where he
became extremely popular, joined the Delta Tau Delta fraternity, and
was known campus-wide as "Dan the Delt." Back in Chagrin Falls,
Doug played the role of bookish, well-mannered little brother.
"Doug and I were friends during his brief stay in Chagrin Falls,"
says Tom Luckay. "We attended eighth grade together [at the Chagrin
Falls junior high], and I remember him as a very intelligent and
polite young man, which impressed my parents. I don't remember
much about his sense of humor. I do remember that as suddenly as he
emerged, he disappeared.... I may have been one of his only close
friends during his stay in Chagrin Falls."
In junior high, Doug began to see that he possessed both an
innate gift for humor and intellectual capabilities that exceeded those
of his peers-and often his teachers. In the cafeteria, he rearranged
the letters on the menu board to read "scrambled snails." In the classroom,
he showed an aptitude for parroting the precise style, cadence,
and expression of the writers he was asked to read. This took the
form of papers about Huckleberry Finn, written in the manner of
Twain, aping his voice and style. Teachers graded him up or down
according to whether they thought he was a wiseass or a genius.
Perhaps some of them didn't understand what he was doing. Nor,
necessarily, did Doug, who may have simply channeled what he read
into his writing without any preconceived plan.
During summer 1959, Dan Kenney's car overturned and he was
rushed to the hospital, where doctors discovered serious problems
with his bladder and kidneys, possibly stemming from his bout with
spina bifida. Though he returned to Kent State that fall, joining the
Phi Gamma Delta house and ROTC, Dan's diseased kidneys plagued
him from that point forward, drawing even greater attention and
affection from his parents.
Given Doug's facility with language and academic abilities, Harry
and Stephanie concluded that they had "a winner" and offered him
the choice for high school between the well-established and very
preppy University School nearby or Gilmour Academy, a fifteen-year-old,
all-boys, Catholic prep school in neighboring Gates Mill. Doug
"University School was full of WASPs and epitomized that culture,"
says Jim Schuerger, a Gilmour teacher who grew close to Doug
and his family. "Doug would have pushed them beyond where he
could indulge his wit."
Thus, on the 143-acre Gilmour campus, where the Holy Cross
Brothers sought to create a disciplined environment for Catholic
youth, Doug Kenney began to come out of his shell. Though neither
loud nor boisterous, he was going through puberty and ready to discover
his identity as a teenage boy-a smart, funny one.
* * *
Ivo Regan was known as "Mr. Gilmour." Given to wearing berets
and leaning on a cane, he was the school's befrocked equivalent of
Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society. Regan was an erudite, sophisticated,
alcoholic, Holy Cross Brother from a shitty Nebraska cattle
town, and likely a repressed homosexual. An extraordinary English
teacher, Regan was tall, lean, intense, tortured, and explosive. Spencer
Tracy's Father Flanagan he was not.
In fall 1960, Doug Kenney was a freshman assigned to Regan's
English class, where the teacher frequently stood on the table to
dramatically make a point and gave student assignments such as
"five hundred words describing the inside of a ping-pong ball" that
stopped most of them dead in their tracks.
On the first day of class, Regan asked students to write an
essay from the perspective of an apple, describing life as a piece of
fruit. Save Doug, it had the desired effect on the entire class, who
returned with little more than some incoherent, fearful responses.
When the assignment came due, Regan went around the classroom
asking each student to read his piece. Arriving at Doug, he was
amazed to hear the skinny, bespectacled boy read a funny, insightful,
and well-conceived essay from the perspective of a neurotic apple.
"I didn't even know what neurotic meant," recalls Doug's classmate
Kenney and Regan became kindred spirits, a mentor and student
who would walk across broken glass for each other. Admiring and
identifying with the polite but rebellious fourteen-year-old, Regan
sought to encourage, push, and protect Doug any way he could, all
while exposing him to the wider world. Through Regan, Doug grew
to love Graham Greene, Gerard Manley Hopkins, James Thurber,
and particularly Evelyn Waugh, who would become his idol and
against whose work he would one day measure his own. Moreover,
Regan taught Doug how to use language economically and for maximum
impact. Regan exposed Doug to the idea that the world was not
as it appeared and that darkness coexisted with the light pervading
the American landscape of Chagrin Falls. Though Doug had likely
suspected this, it was not something that Harry or Stephanie was
going to teach him. Yet it was squarely in keeping with the opposing
forces that battled within his brain.
"There was a poem that Brother Ivo made a big deal out of when
we were students at Gilmour," says Jerry Murphy, president of Doug's
class. "It was 'Buffalo Bill's Defunct' [by e. e. cummings]. I recall the
last line, 'how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death.'"
Excerpted from A Futile And Stupid Gesture
by Josh Karp
Copyright © 2006 by Josh Karp.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Introduction: Midas at the Marmont
1 Hayley Mills in Pleasantville
2 The Most Perfect WASP
3 Here Is New York
4 You’ve Got a Weird Mind. You’ll Fit in Well Here
5 What Do Women Eat?
6 Hitler Being Difficult
7 Show Biz and Dead Dogs
8 Guns and Sandwiches
9 The Pirates
10 The Cultural Revolution
11 Fuck the Proposal
12 Round Up the Usual Jews
13 Pheasant Shake for Mr. Kenney
14 A Year with No Spring