Jerry and the Joker by Jerry Robinson

Author:Jerry Robinson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Horse Comics
Published: 2017-10-16T16:00:00+00:00

We had a few hours before the show was to start at eight o’clock that evening. Two jeeps pulled up to show us around the site. I couldn’t imagine what could be of interest—I saw nothing but sand and an occasional dune in all directions—but I was in for a surprise. We took off and before long came across a family of nomadic Bedouins with a couple of scrawny camels. They had apparently stopped for a rest during their trek across the Sahara and had shielded themselves from the sun with a small tent. As none of our sheltered group had ever seen a genuine Bedouin before—or a real camel, scrawny or otherwise, outside of a zoo—we were excited about even this small glimpse of real desert life. But our escorts had another sight for us a few miles on. Before we knew it, the jeeps came to a stop before a huge, yawning crater, perhaps a hundred yards across and twenty-five feet at its deepest. Although it was in the center of a patch of dirt where there was little sand, it was surprising that sand hadn’t filled it up over the years. Or was it the result of a recent meteorite? Or perhaps a violent sandstorm had uncovered the crater? No one knew how long it had been there.

That night, the small theater was packed. Eighty-eight men were in the audience—everyone on base except those who were manning the radar. It was great. They were starved for entertainment. I don’t think the base had been visited in over a year. They howled at every gag, good or bad. They loved the skits—the more outrageous the better. And of course our New York model added the needed sex appeal. Bill Holman, our intrepid leader, was in rare form. It was one of the funniest shows we ever did on the tour. We ad-libbed more than usual. Swept up in the euphoria of the occasion, we felt liberated from all restraints. The show, usually two hours long, ran for three and a half.

The head honcho was so appreciative that he threw a party for us afterward. Sometime after two in the morning, when everyone was pretty well soused, he casually remarked, “I feel sorry for those poor slobs on radar,” referring to the six on duty who’d missed the show. Holman quickly volunteered to do the entire show for those six men when they got off duty, even though we were due to take off at seven in the morning.

“They don’t come off duty till four,” said one officer.

“No problem,” said Bill. “We’ll just party till then.”

Just before four, we staggered over to the theater prepared to do a complete show for the six men. To our astonishment, the theater was again completely filled with eighty-eight men—all but the new radar shift. It was a riotous show. When it was over, we had to grab our gear and race to the plane. The entire base lined the landing strip to see us off.

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