My comedy is not for everybody; it’s for everybody else. I learned the hard way. In the beginning, I had a hard time finding an audience. But I did, and now it is a hard thing to shake. I need an audience more than anyone I know. I know it’s not becoming. It’s a flaw, but I am not without flaws.

At some point every comedian has to decide: “Do I want to do this, or do I want to be the funniest real estate broker in Teaneck?” I jumped in. It was scary. In the early days, some comedians had a pool going on how long I would last on stage. No one guessed twenty-five years.

I started stand-up in 1981 at The Improv in New York City. There was being funny onstage—important. But just as important was being funny at the bar, with the other comics (as my audience). It is a very competitive group I was trying to join, and nobody wants to get displaced.

People say it’s lonely at the top, but it’s also roomy. No one needs to get displaced. We don’t live in a world with too much comedy.