Danny Thomas’s first spit take. It’s there at the end of the bit. Though he didn’t invent the art form, Danny Thomas—Marlo’s dad—was the Jimi Hendrix of spit takes, and even if we kids didn’t get the jokes we loved his spit takes, because he was Danny Thomas, who was still on TV weekly and on every day in syndication, for when we were home with chicken pox or on snow days or it looked like maybe WW3, duck and cover. We’d watch Danny Thomas at his kitchen table with his cup of coffee and the kid would suddenly say something funny and Danny Thomas would wait a quarter beat and then do these perfect firehosed explosions. It was awesome. We kids used to practice spitting mouthfuls of hose water in our backyards and finally, when we had the finer points mastered, we’d try it at the table once, because Danny Thomas did. If we did it well then mom and dad would laugh because Danny Thomas and tell us if we ever did that again they would break our necks, sounding just like Danny Thomas. I haven’t done a spit take since I splurted a beautifully timed spray of tea all over the kitchen table. Think I was in third grade, up in Maine, well over a half century ago. I’d have to learn the fine points all over again, watching YouTube clips of ancient, faded and flickering Make Room For Daddy’s. You’re never too old, I tell myself. It’ll be a surprise.
Gosh bless you, Mr. Wahl – for highlighting—and thus preserving and framing—the stuff that undergirds the culture here in our unspeakably lovely Palookaville. Your oeuvre resides squarely in the dynamo that drives and gives heart to this beloved nuthouse. THANK YOU, BUDDY!!