COMIC SEES ROUGH TIME ON THE ROAD

Comedian Jerry Miner arrived here recently with a sense that his first Bay Area appearances would turn out to be a bad joke--on him.

His first clue: He had no place to stay.

Then, he found out that a prestigious Lake Tahoe date had been replaced by one in Benicia, an out-of-the-way town north of Walnut Creek. One show had been switched from Oakland to Mill Valley, while another had been dropped altogether.

When he pulled into this town, about 25 miles east of San Francisco, Miner was most annoyed at the last-minute news that he had no lodging. “It’s ridiculous. I mean, accommodations are always part of (working on the road). You don’t just drive up to perform and find your own place to stay,” Miner said. “You can’t make any money that way.”

Miner, 24, of Lake Forest began actively pursuing a stand-up career about two years ago. Calendar profiled him in March of 1985, when he was developing his act while working as a doorman at the Laff Stop in Newport Beach. By various accounts then--including that of stand-up star Jay Leno--Miner was a highly promising funnyman, but still at the opening-act level with significant dues to pay.

At that time, Miner himself acknowledged that in order to achieve his major goals--such as appearing on “The Tonight Show”--he had a lot of work to do, including logging some performance time on the road.

But it’s only within the last few months, as he moved up to middle-act status, that Miner secured some road work, landing a week’s stint in Dallas. He also put in a week as a middle-act at the Laff Stop, where he’s still a doorman.

So the shows here--originally scheduled to include dates in Pleasanton, Oakland, Lake Tahoe and Concord--represented his second efforts as a “middle,” as well as his Bay Area debut.

Actually, the phrase Bay Area had become a touchy subject for Miner. Looking back, he felt that when he originally agreed to do the shows, the booker had given him a different impression about where he would be working. “Yeah, working ‘six nights in the Bay Area ,’ ” Miner sneered, quoting the original pitch. “The Bay Area’s sure a big place, isn’t it?

” . . . I mean, it was stupid to drive seven hours for this. This is like inflicting pain on yourself. Too much (stuff) like this makes you realize what an unpredictable type of employment this is.”

SHOW TIME AT THE SUNSHINE SALOON: --A few hours before show time, Miner was still looking at--or for--the bright side. “If I get some good jokes out of this, I’ll be happy,” he said.

Dinner at a Mexican restaurant downtown began a string of odd events that may indeed have supplied Miner with some “good jokes” for future shows.

First, the busboy introduced himself (“I’m Blair; I’ll be your busboy this evening. . . .”). The waitress, however, did not. But she did help reduce Miner’s concern that the Sunshine Saloon--a standard bar--would be a tough spot to perform comedy. He asked whether she ever went to the Sunshine Saloon.

Her face brightening, she exclaimed, “Yeah, I’m going there later--it’s comedy night!” She added that people seem to have a good time there, are attentive when the comics are on stage and generally consider the shows to be entertaining.

Now it was Miner’s turn to brighten. His sense of reassurance--and the list of the night’s vaguely surreal aspects--grew as he killed time with a stroll down this sleepy town’s Main Street.

Nearly all the stores and businesses were closed. Window-shopping, Miner noted the rather odd juxtaposition of businesses, such as a rustic place specializing in saddles and other equestrian gear next door to a glitzy, neon-lit hair salon one might see in Hollywood.

He stopped in at the 135-year-old Pleasanton Hotel, intrigued by a large plaque near the entrance declaring that the exploits of assorted unfamiliar outlaws “helped make Pleasanton, California, the most desperate town in the West.” (That phrase amused Miner, and he quoted it periodically for the rest of the evening.)

Inside was a sprawling, lavishly appointed dining room and bar area, where the bartender confided that the hotel had not actually functioned as a hotel for about 75 years.

Still seeking reassurance, Miner asked a cocktail waitress whether she knew anything about the comedy nights at the Sunshine Saloon. She said enthusiastically that she attended them frequently, mentioning that such noted comics as Elayne Boosler and Mort Sahl had performed there.

Leaving the hotel, Miner’s optimism was tempered when he entered the saloon just before show time--and immediately decided that the people inside would not make a sophisticated comedy crowd. Evidence included the noisy, hard-drinking atmosphere and the enormous sign promoting the bar’s “4th Annual Iron Man Team Championship,” a competition consisting of nine holes of golf, three games of bowling, darts, blackjack and liar’s dice.

This was no joke, as Miner learned when he attempted to poke fun at “the grueling contest” and got no laughs. Aside from that misstep, though, and a few other jokes that were too subtle for the crowd, he was quite well-received.

In fact, he turned in an exceptionally solid set that elicited a strong response. Among the ways he achieved it: his habit of punctuating his jokes by laughing, which encourages (or “pulls”) laughs from an audience; including a few local references (mentioning the 580 Freeway as a segue into material about driving and the saloon’s drink prices as a lead-in to booze jokes); and by accurately reading the unruly crowd and shaping his set accordingly.

“I had to do dirty stuff at the beginning,” said Miner, who ordinarily avoids blue material. “I needed to shock them (into paying attention) right away, and I have a couple of jokes that work really well for that.”

Once he had the audience listening, he shifted to clean material, getting laughs for pointing out, for instance, that dogs love Christmas because it gives them a tree inside the house, and, later, wondering why police officers drive those station-wagon squad cars--is it to arrest the whole family?

“I know I have really good material,” he said afterward. “You can force good material down a crowd’s throat, and finally they’ll laugh because it’s funny stuff. They have to laugh if you have the material and stage presence, and you’re confident.”

Later that evening, when it came time to square up with the promoter, Miner insisted on getting money for a hotel room. He got the hotel money, but for the performance fee, Miner said he was paid a third less than he had agreed to. The Sunshine Saloon, and Pleasanton overall, suddenly seemed a lot less amusing.

MILL VALLEY, THE NEXT MORNING: --Miner spent the first part of the day cruising around San Francisco and Berkeley.

The biggest enemy of the road comic is boredom. Unlike many rock musicians who never have enough time (or sleep) between shows--what with lengthy drives between towns, sound checks, delays, late night performances and more long drives--comedians often have too much time on their hands.

You’re in an unfamiliar town to work at night for an hour--what do you do with the rest of your time?

In the afternoon, he worked on writing new material for his act. He penned lyrics for a humorous reggae song he would use to conclude his set. But the day moved slowly, and he was antsy to get on with the show.

Later, at an upscale dinner house in this Marin County town, Miner was optimistic as he discussed his career.

“I just feel that I’m at the tip of the iceberg, to where everybody’s going to want to book me,” he said between bites of steak.

Miner said that when he starts performing at comedy clubs across the country, he hopes to be booked as a middle act only once before returning as a headliner.

Asked about the rarity of moving up that fast, he responded: “It all depends how good your act is, how well you do. In a comedy club situation, I’m totally confident I could blow away anybody going on (stage after) me--with the exception of Jay Leno or somebody like that.”

Some comedy observers might suggest that Miner’s optimism is misplaced. After all, it often takes years for middle acts--particularly those who just became “middles”--to move up to headliner status. Some never make it that far.

SHOW TIME AT HEARTBREAKS: Nestled on the edge of Richardson Bay, Heartbreaks is an enormous facility divided into two nightclubs and a French restaurant.

Miner was impressed with the classy interior of the two clubs and with the panoramic view from the enormous windows. He was concerned, though, because Heartbreaks was obviously a dance club and had been presenting weekly comedy shows for less than a month.

His concern was justified. By the 9 p.m. show time, the club was empty except for Miner, headlining comic Jack Marion and Heartbreaks employees. An assistant of the booker, who arrived to oversee the performance, waited until 10:20 p.m.--at which time there were three people in the audience--before canceling the show.

Miner was not happy. He wrangled that night’s hotel money from the booker’s assistant and departed Heartbreaks. Outside the club, he decided he had had enough and would bow out of the remaining shows.

The next morning, he left for home.