:.. Thirty-Nine Years of Short-Term Memory Loss: The Early Days of SNL from Someone Who Was There

Tom Davis

Thirty-Nine Years of Short-Term Memory Loss: The Early Days of SNL from Someone Who Was There

Published by Grove Press

Apr 24, 2009 Web Exclusive By Cory Frye

Back in 2004, Tom Davis was watching Jeopardy! when the board revealed a curious clue: “He was the comedy partner of Al Franken.” It must have been an honor to be worth actual money on a prestigious game show, but perhaps a little deflating when the only response from a trio of well-quizzed brainiacs was stumped, confused silence.

Anyone well versed in Saturday Night Live’s early history is familiar with Davis’ work. Together he and Franken created some of the show’s most memorably daring sketches: “The Last Days of Richard Nixon,” with Dan Aykroyd’s jowly “Jew boy!” taunt; a parody car ad flaunting a ride so smooth a rabbi executes a successful backseat circumcision without fudging a snip; another for Right-On Afro Lustre, the hairspray in a bottle shaped like a Black Power fist; and a series of comedy-team appearances that found the duo mocking brain tumors and berating Franken’s own parents. Apart, Davis concocted the Coneheads on a blurry Easter Island trip with Aykroyd, and collaborated with the infamous Michael O’Donoghue on an ambitious show-length sci-fi parody featuring mutant killer lobsters.

By now, of course, we’re all familiar with Al Franken, scourge of the right. His aggressive bid for posterity began with his declaration of the ’80s as the Al Franken Decade and continued deep into the ’90s with withering dismissals of conservative dogma. Today he’s a Minnesota senator, his “fuck you” punch line to a decades-long joke.

Davis, on the other hand, faded quietly into semi-retirement. He pops up sometimes for SNL retrospectives or to pump some well-crafted rhythm into an occasional script. He’s been so laid back for so long — he currently resides in New York, but deep and alone in the woods upstate, far from the hectic metropolis — it’s no surprise that all but the most ardent comedy followers have forgotten his name.

And if the title of his memoir is to be believed, Davis himself could very well have forgotten it too, just like David Crosby, and for some of the very same reasons. Davis found the ’60s lifestyle most agreeable and never quite surrendered it, altering it only to augment it. In the foreword, old pal Franken dryly admits, “Tom’s had a fascinating life…[but] it was my experience that he did not possess…much of a memory.”

The ensuing solo text proves that to some extent. Recollections of the author’s time with Franken are occasionally interrupted by the duo’s email exchanges, as Franken patiently jogs his ex-partner’s sponge. Davis wastes little pulp on his childhood — he’s already in college by page 18, and this is after a nine-page chapter on Dan Aykroyd — and his narrative is at first maddeningly scattered, then endearing, in a way, as he plucks anecdotes floating past with little regard for structure. He’ll tease an item in one chapter then revive it in further detail 100 pages later, often leaving the reader as dizzy as his guide: Wait a minute — are we back in 1975? 1993? Last Tuesday?

But his memory for other things is extraordinary. Some of his SNL stories seem tossed off, if only because he’s told them a zillion times; they’re like familiar old riffs. Where he excels as a storyteller are his vivid descriptions of his many trips abroad, all the pharmaceuticals he’s swallowed in the spirit of recreation, and his longtime, poignant friendships with Jerry Garcia and Timothy Leary. The overall effect is like hanging with a slightly damaged uncle who’s got the greatest war stories and the most potent bud. Both make for an enjoyable afternoon. (www.groveatlantic.com)

Author rating: 6/10