XL Arts

Arts: The true blue-collar adventures of Ron White in Texas

By Rob Nash
Thursday, August 17, 2006

I opened for Ron White three times in 1991: at the Houston Laff Stop, the Austin Laff Stop (now the Cap City Comedy Club) and the Arlington Funnybone (R.I.P.), where he made his start in 1986.

White and I were regular weeklong comedy-club road comics then. I always enjoyed him. A seasoned veteran full of folksy naughtiness, a half-drunk regular Southern hombre with a remarkably insightful good ol' Bubba angle. One of the great things about working with someone five to seven shows a week for three weeks is how much more you truly get to savor his act.

(No, we don't just get on stage and wing it, with a whole new set of jokes each night, off the tops of our heads. That's a common illusion of stand-up comedy, and I just blew it for you.)

The weeklong savoring reminded me of listening to Steve Martin over and over in junior high. It just gets funnier and funnier each time. Then you memorize it. Then you're away from it a long time, and you remember old bits and get a good return on your chuckles.

The New Yorker recently came out with a piece that highlighted how White and the other Blue Collar Comedy Tour comics — Jeff "You Might Be a Redneck" Foxworthy, Larry the "Git'er done!" Cable Guy and Bill "Here's Your Sign" Engvall — get little respect from industry types because Hollywood can't view blue-collar America, specifically Southern accents, through anything but haughty, elitist glasses.

White and I spoke over the phone. I was in my apartment in lovely South Austin, and he was in his mansion in Atlanta.

Wait. Let's say we're playing golf on his gated community's private course. God, I'm terrible at this game.

Austin American-Statesman: So you read the New Yorker article?

Ron White: Yeah that's great. Get me real drunk in a bar after I just played for 18,000 people; see what happens next.

So tell me the origin of "Tater Salad."

I was a navigator in the Navy on a watch. There was this cook who made great potato salad. We were having a family get-together on board. I got there late from the bridge and said, "Who ate all the tater salad?" Kinda stuck. I was discharged after 18 months and three days. For drug rehab.

Is alcohol a drug?

A different drug.

(Ron tees off and lands on the green. I hit it fat, only 50 yards. Ron lets me take a mulligan.) Any antidepressants?

No. Wait, Viagra.

(Ron birdies, and I hit a tree and land in a protected wetland. He lets me toss it onto the fairway. I slice it into a sand trap.) What were grade school and high school like for little Ron?

I was kicked out of Deer Park High School in Houston in the 10th grade. I have a 10th-grade education. I was kicked out for . . . I don't remember. Grades. Pot. I smoked in every bathroom on campus.

Do you remember any first bits in your first open mike?

I was selling windows, and some friends talked me into going to the Arlington Funnybone. I asked some lady if she wanted to sleep with a fat man and sang "Bring Back That Lovin' Feeling" to her.

(After a whiff, a shank and two skulls, Ron lets me put it in my pocket and write down a six.) You gave the beloved former Austin comedian Joey Waldon a car. Is this a typical example of your postfame redistribution of wealth?

Oh, my wife has always been in love with Joey. So he got a car.

And how do I get on this car list?

My wife needs to have a crush on you.

You made a last-minute weekend booking at Austin's fabulous Velveeta Room last month. Did you get any new material for your upcoming HBO special?

A little stuff. I did these two stories about being banned from two comedy clubs for 10 years.

The stuff about you making out with the owner's wife, going home with a waitress and finding out "let's go home and watch Nick at Night" actually meant "let's go home and watch Nick at Night." And you finally scored with a third girl from the club. And how all of the above found out about each other at the team meeting the next morning. Are these bits making their way into your act?

Naw, they didn't get much of a reaction.

What? The audience loved them. You've got to use them.

OK, I'll use them.

Are you serious or are you just humoring me?

I'm humoring you.

What can we expect when you come to the Paramount?

Leave the kids at home.

(The interview was over, so I begged off the rest of the game. Ron decided to play 27, and I retired to the 19th hole to drown my sorrows in a Roy Rogers with lime.)

Rob Nash is a writer, actor and stand-up comic. He knows diddly about golf and thanks his brother Reagan for learnin' him some golf terms for this story.