Paradoxical Laughter

Kurt Vonnegut talking to his brother: 

“While my brother and I waited for the plane to take off for Indianapolis, he made me a present of a joke by Mark Twain—about an opera he had seen in Italy. Twain said he hadn't heard anything like it '...since the orphanage burned down.'”

We laughed.

Sigmund Freud in his 1927 essay Humor (Der Humor) puts forth the following theory of gallows humor: "The ego refuses to be distressed by the provocations of reality, to let itself be compelled to suffer. It insists that it cannot be affected by the traumas of the external world; it shows, in fact, that such traumas are no more than occasions for it to gain pleasure." Some other sociologists elaborated this concept further. At the same time, Paul Lewis warns that this "relieving" aspect of gallows jokes depends on the context of the joke: whether the joke is being told by the threatened person themselves or by someone else.

*****

Ever see someone who is just so batshit crazy they laugh themselves silly over some awful, traumatic event? It's weird to see but it happens. I saw it once with a schizophrenic being told his Mom had died during the night. Once the news settled in, he started giggling which then twisted into a raucous laughter. He did that till they stuck a needle into his arm.

It's socially unacceptable but I fully understand it. I've experienced it and it works. It's cathartic. (I haven't been diagnosed with schizophrenia before you go jumping to conclusions!)

Years ago we used to hang out at Rolls Touring, a nice comfy, intimate bar across from North Providence High school where I tried to explain to some others what “black humor” means. I finally had to explain it as this: “Look, unless you have lived in, been trapped by, absurdity, you won't get it!” That comment elicited a High Five and full understanding from a close friend sitting there with me.

My brother was the King of it. If my humor runs to the black, his was sucked in by a Black Hole years before I came to know it. While they were taking my father's casket out of the church to the hearse, down these long granite stairs, he bent toward me and whispered: “Imagine them dropping it, toppling over each other down the steps!” I, at 13, could barely keep from laughing but I managed. This is how he dealt with ugly and dire life events.

As a fitting send off at his own funeral 26 years later, half the Mass at St Joe's included readings from the comedy material he wrote. We had a little stand up comedy routine going on there. No one danced on his casket though a couple of his friends might have done so if encouraged. You really had to know my brother to "get the joke" of that. The Manning-Heffern funeral director, who sat next to me, at times, gave sidelong looks to the attendees who were laughing.

I'll give you at totally inappropriate situation where I chortled at some poor, innocent sap being screwed by daily life.

Dr. Peter Petrillo I think was his name? He was a history professor at RIC. Ah, I get old and probably forget what his name was, but that one pops up. He had a condition, ALS, Multiple Sclerosis or something that made him need a cane and walked like a rubberized man. Don't forget this guy was a full professor and not brain damaged. Imagine Stephen Hawking, if he could walk...badly.

I was sitting in the lounge which gave me full sight of the hallway in Gaige Hall. Along comes Petrillo, in an obvious rush to his next class. He was scampering along as best as he could with his briefcase and cane when he lost his footing and went down spectacularly. He ended up on his back with his cane, briefcase and books scattered on the floor. While he was down like that, he looked exactly like a turtle on it's back, all four appendages flailing about, trying to right himself and not succeeding at all. 

I burst out laughing.

“Holy SHIT! Did you see that?” I said. Several others in the room had seen it too. Lou A., the "Creeeyan-ston" spacone of our group, had the presence of mind to go out an help him. He got him up, dusted him off and he was more than able to resume his way to class. Petrillo did not hear my laughter as I was too far away. I wasn't that callous enough to ROAR it out and POINT with glee at him. I ain't that much of a prick. 

When Lou came back, he was aghast at my reaction. “Dude? Are you sick or something? How could that be funny?” Luckily for me, several other members of our little group understood my reaction, though they never blurted out laughing. I tried explaining why I had laughed. “Lou, look, here's a crippled man who was stiffed by life and he goes down...SPLAT!...it's completely unfair and cruel!” Once again, I can't help it, I bust out laughing again. 

Lou just stared at me. Meanwhile K.O. and M.K. who witnessed Petrillo's fall and my reaction, had succeeded at not laughing, but just barely.  I instinctively knew those two understood why I laughed. The difference was that those two could manage to keep to social convention and not make themselves look like boors. But given the freedom, those two would guffaw. 

Ah well...it's who I am. If you can't laugh at the absurdity of life, the other choice is to brought down by it.