But Seriously, Folks

To the dozens of comics who grew up there -- some of whom became very famous -- Long Island is no laughing matter.

Take Alan King.

``I loved the city . . . I love the city,'' said King, ``but I just like those weekends in the country. I had the golf, lived on the water, I got the German shepherd.''

To the Brooklyn-born King, who may be more closely identified with Island culture and Island shtick than any of his fellow comics, the ``country'' wasn't Rutland, Vt., or Amish farmland or even Poughkeepsie. It was Long Beach and Rockville Centre and, for the past 40-plus years, Kings Point.

When his career began to take off in the late '50s, King had chances to move to California and rub shoulders with famous people, but he elected to stay home . . . on Long Island. Besides the golf and the water and the dog, ``I had the mall, the deli on the corner, it was great for my kids. Going to the Hamptons, for me, was like going to Europe.

``Walter Winchell gave me the title of `General DeGaulle of the Crabgrass' when I was doing those suburban routines,'' said King, now a vibrant, still-on-the-road-and-touring 70 years old. ``I'm still not sure exactly what that means.''

Observers and interested parties can only attempt -- without much logic -- to explain why so many comedians who grew up on Long Island developed into first-rank stars. OK, so King was inspired by the ``country'' life, but was it a diet of crabgrass that made him funny? Was it the Massapequa water that gave Jerry Seinfeld his off-kilter sense of humor? Was it strolls on Long Beach that made Billy Crystal dance on the table and make funny faces as a child? Did the crisp Commack air leave Rosie O`Donnell breathless?

An impressive list, that one, and it's just for starters. You can't leave out Eddie Murphy or Howard Stern or Carol Leifer. Consider the geographical entity of Long Island -- which means, toss in those folks from Brooklyn and Queens -- and the roster of success expands to include Rodney Dangerfield, Rob Bartlett, John Mulrooney, Andrew Dice Clay and many more.

``It's the water,'' says Bartlett, who grew up funny in Massapequa Park with some of the other ``usual suspects'' as his close friends: Eddie Murphy, Bob Nelson, Jackie Martling, Richie Minervini.

``Part of the reason is because Long Island is kind of a microcosm of the rest of the suburban world,'' Bartlett said, reminiscing over the phone recently. ``Then there's the proximity of New York City and the fact that most of us who grew up on Long Island led a relatively unremarkable middle-class upbringing. I guess those humble beginnings sow the seeds for such a plethora of comedic talent . . . it does seem kind of weird.''

Leifer has a slightly different, but equally affectionate, take on the situation.

``I always notice a tremendous difference between people who grew up in Long Island and people who lived in the city,'' says the comedienne-actress. ``I really loved Long Island. I liked that it was so suburban. When we said we were going to go into town [she's from East Williston], `town' had a hometown kind of feel. There was an ice cream place, Hildebrandt's, and Big D's was where we got our school supplies. To go into the city was major.''

Leifer, whose weekly WB network sitcom, ``Alright, Already,'' borrows heavily on her Island family and friends for its subject matter, remembers how a joke about Waldbaums or Fortunoff would die in Manhattan, but flourish in Deer Park.

``I loved making local jokes, and people really related to them,'' she said. ``Like Waldbaums. The Waldbaums brand has a picture of Julia Waldbaum on the can, just her head. So I would say, I did some research and I found out this woman, it's very sad, she's just a head. She has no body. It's very sad. She just dates cameos.''

Billy Crystal may not have an explanation for why comics bred like rabbits from Hicksville to Hempstead, but he still savors dozens of sweet memories of growing up on Long Beach: ``You had the bay on one side and the ocean on the other. It was a very soothing place . . . you'd go to sleep at night and hear the ocean. Wintertime was almost better. Something about the four o'clock sun, something really beautiful.''

At his 1985 high school reunion, he talked about how many of his friendships with schoolmates had survived. ``We all went to Laurel Beach and had a beach party, and all of our kids were the same age we were when we met . . . And here we were, walking around using words like minoxydil and prostate, some of us were in cabana suits, a real sign of middle age, black socks and sandals, looking like our relatives from the Bronx.''

In tears when he finally left his East Coast home for his West Coast career, Crystal recalled in a 1991 Newsday profile how he had encountered people during his youth who later resonated in his life.

``The first time I saw Sammy Davis, it was at the Lido Hotel . . . I worked there as a busboy, making like twenty dollars for the day. Sammy Davis was my Michael Jackson. Steve and Eydie had a house in Lido, and Carol Burnett had a place. Alan King, the first time I saw him was in a little Italian restaurant called Russo's. He's very close to me now. Al Kelly, the double-talker, used to live in the Jackson Hotel. Friday nights, he'd go to this kosher restaurant called Marron's, and you hear him ordering, double-talk: `I'll have a fine with a drell and poimin, with a leetle slice of bleave hove.'''

Another local boy who's parlayed his roots into career rewards is Ray Romano. Romano's CBS series, ``Everybody Loves Raymond,'' is about a fictional Newsday sportswriter, Ray Barone, who lives on Long Island; the real Ray grew up in Forest Hills. ``Somebody called me an Italian Jerry Seinfeld,'' Romano joked in a 1996 interview. The analogy is not so far-fetched: Romano, who is 39, began by doing stand-up comedy (delivering mattresses was his day job) and his is a similar kind of eccentric humor.

Of course, comedians came from other places as well: North Andover, Mass. (Jay Leno); Nebraska (Johnny Carson); Indiana (David Letterman), even Canada (Dan Aykroyd). But the tri-state melting pot -- NYC and points east, especially -- seemed to generate and cultivate the kind of comedic attitude that so neatly fit Woody Allen's definition: ``Comedy is tragedy plus time.''