Comedy to Tragedy – Sunday, August 22, 1943
There is a prevalent type of counterfeit humor which must not go unmentioned. It has to do with whispering huddles that proceed with sly side glances and break up with mirthless laughter—such huddles as can be seen almost anywhere—in the best and in the worst places. They are the mark of those who have mistaken bad stories for good humor, which brings us to remind ourselves that the whispered story which has indecency as its principal ingredient is not humorous even though cautious but attentive groups often disperse with loud laughter after someone has told one.
The after-dinner speaker, the club entertainer, the writer of yarns and anecdotes, and the man who draws you aside on the street, are merely fake humorists if they have to resort to questionable stories in order to get a laugh. This isn’t humor. It is merely the prostitution of humor, even though in some places it might be considered an indispensable part of any entertainment or proceeding. Dragging in off-color stories by the cars and trying to make them seem to have a point, is a common place but spurious substitute for a great art. And a good way to stop it is to walk away from that huddle at the club, or in the barracks, or at the office, or in public places when someone persists in the common error of mistaking a bad story for a good yarn.
If there is no audience, there will be no recital. Sometimes such stories stick indelibly in the minds of the young and impressionable, and do far-reaching harm—and always they are an offense to sensitive, high-minded people. Clean, subtle, keen-witted humor is an indispensable part of the great American heritage; but mistaking something that is filthy for something that is funny has no legitimate part in our way of life. To mark the dividing line between comedy and tragedy is notably difficult at times, but when we cross the line from real comedy to obscenity —that is tragedy. There are two kinds of people from whose association we should like to be spared: one is the man with no sense of humor, because we find it difficult to enjoy him; and the other—much worse—is the man with a perverted sense of humor, because he befouls the moral and intellectual atmosphere wherever be goes.
By Richard L. Evans, spoken from the Tabernacle, Temple Square, Salt Lake City, Sunday, Aug. 22, 1943, over Radio Station KSL and the nationwide Columbia Broadcasting System. Copyright – 1943.
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August 22, 1943
Broadcast Number 0,731