‘Doctor of Comedy’ Sparkles Whenever Stars Come Out

It was 9 a.m. and the “doctor” was off to his appointment. For Lee Haas, though, the mode of transport was RTD, not BMW.

“Doctor” Haas, a short, middle-aged Hawthorne resident garbed in a snazzy black sports jacket, shuffled five blocks to Hawthorne Boulevard, where he caught an empty No. 40 to Inglewood. There, he waited patiently outside the Pussycat Theater for the No. 212, arriving at his destination--Hollywood and Vine--about two hours after he had set out.

As usual, Haas, who bills himself as the “Doctor of Comedy,” was in plenty of time to claim a front-row spot for the ritual that would begin at 12:30 p.m.

The graying Haas is one of a handful of star-struck Southlanders who regularly attend Hollywood Walk of Fame ceremonies. Be it Ted Knight, Paul Anka, Joan Collins--or, on this particular day, Lorne Greene--whose star is about to be unveiled in the sidewalk cement, the doctor is on hand, camera in hand.

“I always go up early because if I don’t, then I can’t see much,” Haas explained, as a tinny version of the theme from Bonanza blared forth in front of the Merv Griffin Productions building. “You know, it’s one of the few times in life you get to see these people. And being slightly associated with show business, you know. . . .”

Haas has been “slightly associated with show business” for three decades. Indeed, his steadfastness as a ceremony-goer pales in comparison to his perseverance in his chosen profession.

Haas, it turns out, sells jokes by mail--advertising his business in magazines and newspapers and by placing index cards and stickers on buses, bulletin boards and benches whenever he ventures forth toward Los Angeles.

“I am a dedicated comedy writer,” Haas writes in an advertising brochure. “I got my first laugh on my honeymoon night. My ex-wife said, ‘ Very funny !’ ”

While laughter may be the best medicine, it’s not exactly an easy way of making a living. Haas, you recall, takes the bus.

But at age 55--and still seeking widespread acceptance in the mercurial world of show business--the doctor is neither perturbed nor disgruntled with his lot.

“I don’t have much, but I don’t owe anything to anybody either,” the soft-spoken Haas explained. “That’s a good feeling.”

Over the years, Haas said, he has sold jokes to entertainers, including comedians Rip Taylor and Phyllis Diller and TV weather forecaster Maclovio Perez. He has also peddled his wares to non-show-biz types, including a banker from Iowa, an ex-Congressman from Arizona and a minister from New Jersey--all of whom were seeking to brush up on his repertoire before public speaking engagements.

Haas keeps more than 50,000 jokes on file (many of them used, it would appear) in a handful of time-worn loose-leaf binders in his studio apartment--the walls of which are cluttered with glossies of celebs ranging from Marilyn Monroe to Bruce Springsteen.

Choose a subject--from love to laundromats, from fat to Falwell--the doctor will post them to you for $5 a page.

Through the decades, Haas has supported his one-liner habit by tending bar on the Santa Catalina Island ferry and managing a Beverly Hills grocery store. He has also sought to serve as personal manager for up-and-coming stars. That, unfortunately, hasn’t worked out too well either.

Haas says he has never had a strong desire to become a singer or actor himself. But he appears to be incurably fascinated by the aura of glamour, glitz and fame that surrounds the field of popular entertainment.

“I like to play it low key but I always liked to be associated with them backstage, you know,” he said. “It’s the only industry I know. I can talk their language. I’d be out of place with doctors, lawyers, you know.”

At the Lorne Greene ceremony, Haas took his customary front row spot beside a second South Bay regular, Sam Scott, 39, of Carson.

(Scott, a part-time gardener, attends the ceremonies because “you normally don’t see stars here except at an event and this is the most public event they have in Hollywood.” Of Haas, Scott said, “He looks like an agent. He probably would get ahead quicker as a character actor.”)

Before the opening remarks, Haas engaged in cheerful banter with emcee Johnny Grant, asking the glib host how he could place a budding starlet in the Hollywood Christmas Parade.

“She has to be big,” replied Grant. “It’s a star parade so we have to put the stars on.”

“She’ll be a star by then,” declared Haas.

“No one can become a star that quickly.”

“I lie a lot,” the doctor answered.

During the ceremony, which included guest appearances by Rich Little and Leslie Nielsen (Is it Robert Culp? Burt Lancaster? Robert Lansing? asked various members of the crowd), Haas took snapshots and applauded liberally.

He also kept plugging away for that one big break--handing his business card across the crowd-control barrier to a photographer and asking her to pass it on to Rich Little. Haas later explained that he had written to Little a decade ago when the comedian/impressionist was hosting a network TV show. The letter said that Little would flop if he didn’t hire Lee to write jokes. Haas never received a reply--but Little’s show was soon canceled.

After the ceremony, Haas gave Greene a glowing review: “I liked him; he talked a little more than most do.” Haas also affixed a sticker that read, “Lee Haas is a very funny fellow” on a bus bench at the corner of Hollywood and Vine.

“Hey, I might become a star like this,” he joked. “Just a little funny one, like Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

Haas, it seems, never stops pursuing his impossible dream. Still, he is realistic.

“People come out here from all over the country to try to break into show biz and 99% don’t make it--99.9%, in fact. It’s like Ivory soap--but they don’t float.”

Having grown up in an orphanage on the south side of Chicago, Haas remains satisfied with life’s smaller pleasures.

“I saw myself one day on the 5 o’clock news (after a Walk of Fame ceremony). I said, “Take a bow, Lee.” So I got up and said, “Bowwow.”

Or take the recent Walk of Fame ceremony in which a small girl in the crowd glimpsed his gaudy outfit and asked him if he was a star.

“She said, ‘Hey, are you anybody?’ ” Haas recalled with pride. “And I said, ‘I paid my rent last month so my landlord thinks I’m somebody.’

“I signed her autograph book and she kissed me and I felt like a celebrity. I made her day.”