Jesus & The Second City

I don’t usually write something before my pieces, but I wanted to take a quick moment to thank everyone who has subscribed or has read any of the pieces I have posted. I greatly appreciate you following my substack and the kind words you’ve expressed. I try my best to post as much as I can because my current work schedule doesn’t allow much free time. I often wake at 3 AM to write for two hours. It takes a lot to get one of these out and I’m happy to do it. I have leaned on trying to make each piece the best I can over getting them out as much as I can. Your patience is appreciated and thank you for tolerating my inevitable typose and errors.  Thank you and now on with the show….

I accepted Jesus Christ into my life the way most people lose their virginity, in the backseat of a car while not fully knowing what I was doing. After the deed was done I expected to filled with light and love or greeted with the light warm kisses of angels as they ran their fingers through my hair. None of this happened. In fact, I felt like the same fifteen year-old kid I did a minute ago. However, now I had a loophole for my flaws and could ask for forgiveness for my masturbation.

I was seeking my place in life and didn’t have much direction other than I knew I wanted to be creative. Perhaps a writer, a drummer, an actor, or maybe all three. I tried a variety of cliques. I briefly hung out with the stoners, but Speed Metal made me anxious and smoking pot from a graphic bong made my lungs feel like they were hit with buckshot followed by intense claustrophobia. 

I switched gears and met up with some kids at the library to play Dungeons and Dragons. I found it to be so tedious I made an excuse and left early. In a moment of absolute loneliness tried Boy Scouts and found it to be more painful  than D&D. Plus, I had no desire to wear a uniform of any kind.

The group I hung out with the longest was the Jocks which was lead by Brian Hill. Brian could have been a villain in an 80s teen-comedy with blonde hair, blue eyes and a smirk permanently fixed to his face. Brian’s Mom would buy us beer and let us have parties in the basement. Some of the parties were just a handful of us drinking shitty beer and listening to records. Once in awhile there would be full on keg parties with a hundred people packed into the Hill home as people danced in the basement to the Animal House soundtrack, made out or puked. During these parties Brian’s Mom would stay in her bedroom reading romance novels. I’m amazed she never got in trouble for hosting these parties. 

I very quickly became the whipping boy Brian and his gang. Once Brian and the other jocks were liquored up they'd grab me, carry me to the toilet and give me a swirly. If you don’t know what that is, it’s when they dunk your head into a toilet bowl and repeatedly flush it. I tried to play along as if I too was in on the joke. I figured if I pretended to be amused they’d stop hassling me. This approach didn’t work. Their antics escalated and grew more violent. Pulling down my pants or smacking me on the head or face. I continued to act unphased, but the pain I felt inside outweighed the sting on my face.

At one party, as I talked to a girl I had a crush on Brian and his crew came at me, picked me up, carried me to the staircase where they handcuffed me to the railing. Brian pulled my pants and underwear down exposing me to the party. I was a late bloomer so my smoothness was a point of amusement to all who watched. As I lay their on the stairs my soul shrank as I struggled to keep my composure, but  inside my head the screaming could have fractured my skull. 

After that moment I felt a shift within myself. I withdrew and spent more time with books, music and watching old movies late at night on the UHF channels. I began writing on my Smith-Corona typewriter searching for a voice and direction.

It was around this time my brother Marty began asking me to attend a youth group called Son City at the Willow Creek Community church.  The idea of hanging out with a bunch of Jesus freaks wasn’t the direction I had envisioned for myself. Plus, the name ‘Willow Creek’ conjured up imagery of a small, white church with peeling paint where women wore long floral dresses and the males dressed in slacks and white shirts buttoned to the collars. 

I only agreed to attend Son City so my brother would stop asking.

I was surprised to find that Willow Creek Community Church was not a country bumpkin establishment, but a  large auditorium with a huge glass window that overlooked a manmade lake. As soon as I stepped into the lobby I heard the chatter and laughter of  500 Punks, Preppies, Goth, Metal Head and Nerd teens chattering, laughing and hanging out together. To top it all off, there were cute girls. One in particular with a wide grin and a bouncy behind that dizzified my brain approached introduce herself to me. No girl had ever approached me in my life.  

When the festivities began there wasn’t praying, hollering Jesus’ name, or condemning people to hell for their sins. In fact, it was a multimedia presentation starting with a live band playing  “(Don’t You) Forget About Me,” by the Simple Minds as a slideshow played on three large screens highlighting the events of last week’s Son City. As faces popped onto the screens the crowd cheered. A stirring arose in my gut. I wanted my face on that screen. I wanted the crowd to cheer for me. 

When the music ended the minister Dan Webster came out and greeted everyone, followed by more music and a comedy sketch. As the actors delivered their lines I thought about how I’d say them and what I would do to get more laughs out of the moment. 

I returned to Son City the following week partly because it was something to do once a week other than sitting in the glow of my black and white TV, but also because I was interested in being a part of the sketch group. When I inquired about it I was I was told I had to be further involved with the church and have relationship Jesus.

I quickly began making friends. Two fellows in particular, Nick and Mark were  like characters from John Hughes movie dressed in paisley shirts, berets and vintage suit jackets. They were funny in an offbeat way. They also liked bands I hadI never heard; The Talking Heads, REM, Elvis Costello, The Dead Milkmen and U2.

They didn’t just listen to music they discussed it, noted who produced it, and dissected the production. This inspired me to listen approach music in a whole new way. In fact, Mark and Nic inspired me to approach the world in a different way. They weren’t content with living in Streamwood Illinois. They had plans to move to Chicago. Mark was already attending the Art Institute of Chicago and Nick was about attend theater school at Columbia College. 

Though I had given my life to Christ  I never l fully felt comfortable in the lifestyle. There were a lot of details about one's “walk with Christ,”  that made me uncomfortable. As a Christian you were expected to witness (telling your story of how you came to the lord) and convert people to Christianity. I didn’t agree with this. I felt my spirituality was my business and I didn’t need to go blabbing about it to random folks in hopes of a win for the team. I didn’t think most people wanted to hear about it anyway. If  someone wanted to find Christianity it’s not like it’s a hard thing to find in the US. It’s the McDonald’s of religion with locations everwhere. 

I was also bothered by the posturing of many Christians.  Some wore tee-shirts of a bloodied Christ on the cross, with bible verses and big bold red letters that read, JESUS DIED FOR YOU. I knew from personal experience that these shirts were more of a turn off than a means of inspiration. Also, I didn’t ask him to die for me. That’s something his dad did to him because his Daddy couldn’t grasp the concept of sin, which further perplexed me, because a five year-old knows the difference between right and wrong. Are five year-olds smarter than God?

I digress.

My growing hesitance about the Christian world was put on hold when I auditioned and got cast in the weekly sketches at Son City. My reluctance was further pushed down after I performed my first sketch. There is a strange convergence of chemicals in one's psyche when neediness and a modicum of talent receives unwarranted affirmation. Prior to stepping on the stage for my first performance I wanted to be a comedy god. After getting four laughs in the three minutes on stage my ego surged to David Lee Roth levels. My ego further expanded when various audience members came up to me and said, “good job,” and “you were funny.” 

I approached every script with this question, “How would Robin Williams or John Belushi play this sketch?”  Not exactly the Stanislavski approach to acting, but I was out for laughs. During performances I would often change my lines often to the confusion of the actor I was performing with. I told my fellow castmates it was something that happened in the moment. The truth was, I rewrote everything days before and passed it off as “inspiration of the moment.”

I began to map out my life to follow in the footsteps of my hero, John Belushi. Sans the overdose. The first step of this was to get to where Belushi started, The Second City theater in Chicago. I began harrassing Bob, the director of our sketch group that we should have a field trip to see a show there.  Bob was was reluctant. He wasn’t certain the experience would be suitable for a church group. I don’t know why I didn’t go to the theater with some friends, but I was determined to do so as a sketch group and I hassled Bob about it until he gave in.

I was almost in a state of disbelief when I approached the doors of the Second City. placed my hand on the handle of the door and thought, John Belushi opened this door. Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, John Candy and Gilda Radner opened this door. I am not opening this door. 

Bob called out to me, “Matt, we’re not seeing a show there. We’re going to the the sidestage.

My heart sank as I thought, side stage, what the fuck is a sidestage? 

I didn’t know it at the time, but The Second City ETC, was a recently new stage established inside Piper’s Alley so Second City could handle the overflow from the mainstage as well have a smaller theater that would be a little bit more edgy and experimental. Something that appealed more to what I was looking for. 

As the group headed down Piper’s Alley to get the tickets for the show I went inside the lobby of Second City to explore. I was instantly hit with the sound of chatter, clinking glasses from bartenders, nicotine, and the scent of brewing coffee, pistachio ice cream and stale booze. I was immediately felt the history and significance of the place as I looked at the myriad of cast photos of the theater’s thirty year history. by cast photos from the sixties with a myriad faces I had seen on countless TV and movies screens. 

I made my way to the bar and a guy washing dishes nodded at me. I envied his job. It didn’t matter to me that he was crouched over, scrubbing dishes by hand, he worked at Second City. He got to mingle with the actors and watch the shows whenever he pleased. 

The lights in the lobby flashed on and off signaling that the show would start soon. I grabbed some matchbooks with the Second City logo from the bar  I scurried out of the theater, through Piper’s Alley and into The Second City ETC. It was a small minimal black box theater, that seated maybe a hundred and fifty people with a stage that slightly jutted forth into the audience. A piano began to rumble  as the house lights went down. The piano crescendoed as the stage lights came up and a jolt of electricity coursed through my body. The show started with three fast and brief scenes and I felt that feeling I thought I would have after I prayed to accept Jesus into my life.  I felt the angels kiss my face and love fill my heart and I knew in that moment this was to be my church. This is where I belonged.