"The Adventures of a Class Clown"

By Jerry Zezima

On May 23, 1985, a date which will live in journalistic infamy, my first humor column was published. Now, 40 years later, I am still writing it for two unsound reasons: I am spectacularly unqualified to do anything else and nobody has stopped me.

I knew I wanted to be a writer in high school. My decision was made in an English composition class.

We had to write an essay about a particular topic (I forget what it was) and get up in front of the class to read it. Nobody wanted to do this — except me. Everybody took it seriously — except me.

I wrote the silliest, stupidest, funniest stuff I could think of. When I read my essay, I got big laughs.

Around this time, I started to read my hometown paper, the Stamford Advocate in Connecticut, and got hooked on the humor columns of Art Buchwald and Erma Bombeck.

I resolved to be like them because I was the class clown. My professional goal was to be silly and irresponsible and actually get paid for it.

In 1976, a year out of college, I strolled into the Stamford Advocate newsroom and announced that I wanted a job.

The editor, Roland Blais, asked what experience I had. I told him I had none.

Instead of throwing me out, Mr. Blais — kind, patient and a true newspaperman — gave me a test that included grammar, history and current events.

I did well enough because I was hired. But there were some questions to which I didn’t know the answers. Instead of leaving them blank or taking halfhearted guesses, I remembered what I did on that essay in high school and wrote the silliest, stupidest, funniest stuff I could think of.

Later, in his office, Mr. Blais said, “That’s what got you the job. It showed signs of creativity.”

I was going to say that I didn’t think you were supposed to make stuff up in a newspaper, but for once in my life, I kept my mouth shut.

Over the next nine years, I was a succession of things: copyboy, police reporter, sportswriter, assistant metro editor and features editor. I failed miserably in all of them until there was nothing left to do but write a humor column.

I decided early on to write about family foibles and the funny little things of everyday life.

My wife, Sue, without whom I would be either dead or in prison, has been the star of innumerable columns. One of the most memorable was when I went to the bank to apply for a loan to buy her the $10 million Millennium Bra from Victoria’s Secret. I didn’t get the money, so I bought her a flannel nightgown.

I wore pajama bottoms to work to impress our two daughters, who wore them to school. It was the only time they ever thought I was cool.

I called the White House to see if I could qualify for federal funds to clean up the disaster area that was our younger daughter’s room when she was home from college. Not only couldn’t I get the money, but she put a lock on the door.

And of course I have written about our five grandchildren, who are more mature than I am. I’m proud to be their favorite toy.

Other column adventures, which number more than 1,500, have included being a model in a women’s jewelry show (I got a turquoise necklace for Sue), running for vice president of the United States on the Cocktail Party ticket (my running mate and I actually got votes), playing blackjack with our dog (I lost), making my own beer (it went down smooth and came back up the same way) and taking Sue to the dump on our anniversary (I’m surprised she didn’t leave me there).

After 40 years, I’m still writing nonsense and having more fun than the law allows.

Not bad for a class clown.

Copyright 2025 by Jerry Zezima