"So, Phyllis Diller said you were 'the cute one,' huh?" an anonymous DJ chuckles over the airwaves.
A million miles away in a studio at New York City's Launch Radio Network, comedian John Heffron smiles wearily. He's been doing promos for nine stations, which will be sent out to 600 other stations in turn, for an hour and a half. He's been asked about Diller a lot. And it's getting kind of old.
"I've got to quit complaining," he says, inspecting his disheveled hair in the sound booth's reflective glass. "I'm technically putting in a seven-hour day already and then performing at night. But it's all stuff you have to do to make sure that people are still coming to see you. 'Cause now you're getting paid a little bit more, and you don't ever want to go down to the level where you were. So you have to put in that extra."
That extra he's putting in though, man, it can get monotonous.
He turns back to the microphone as he's connected to the next station. This time he's on with a pair of DJs in Seattle: "Hi there, John, it's great to have you with us. First off, congratulations on wining Last Comic Standing 2. Now, what's this I hear about Phyllis Diller calling you 'the cute one'?"
During the taping of NBC's Last Comic Standing 2, the Detroit native lived with nine other comics, including Monte Carlo opening acts Tammy Pescatelli and Corey Holcomb, who competed in immunity challenges and were voted off each week by viewers. (For the record, Diller's comment was made when the contestants roasted a fellow housemate before a panel of celebrity Friars.)
When the third season came a-callin', during which the contestants from seasons one and two battled it out in a strictly stand-up setting, Heffron was on the show for half the week and toured for the other half. "When I did season three I was hesitant, because I just did so much material on season two and I didn't want to give away every single part of my act," he says. "You still make your money on the road and I didn't want people staring at me: 'We've heard all of this before.'"
Heffron began performing while studying communications and psychology at Eastern Michigan University, emceeing at the Main Street Comedy Showcase. After graduation, he hit the college circuit, recorded his debut CD, Kid with a Cape, and moved to Chicago for a time to see what other cities had to offer. He even was one of those oh-so-witty radio DJs himself, serving as Danny Bonaduce's sidekick on Detroit's highly-rated Q Crew.
He was already a grizzled veteran before LCS came along, having seen a lot and learned even more. "I was actually surprised to realize how much the comedy clubs have been robbing you over the years when you got paid, as opposed to now. You're like, 'Oh really, that money's always been there? And you see that you get treated a lot different when you're selling out the clubs. It's amazing. Your hotel rooms change. 'Hey, that hotel was always there! You had me staying at the Econo Lodge. But that nice one's always been there, right?'" Heffron pauses. "The money's gotten better, but I haven't changed and my act hasn't changed. No matter what, there's always been a crowd."
"A lot of the jokes I'm going to do I haven't worked out yet, 'cause ya'll can't vote me off shit!" Heffron says, as he takes the stage later that evening.
It's a pretty young, Abercrombie-esque crowd, the exact twentysomething college crowds he first began performing for that he now makes jokes about. "You guys in your early 20s, I come to you from the future," he announces, before launching into material about girls, bars and video games.
The frat brothers see him as one in their own mold, the girls think—just like Phyllis—that he's pretty cute, and all the parents in the room think he's clean-cut and safe. Which he pretty much is.
Heffron's act is animated, filled with flinching, crouching, the throwing of an imaginary frozen Nerf football and the heaving of an imaginary shot put. He's not hip or cutting edge by any means, suited up with his hair decidedly un-disheveled. The nervous, bewildered persona first introduced to household audiences is in full effect.
"I'm old," he says. "I'm having a hard time with that." The 33-year-old's line causes a fiftysomething woman with dyed red hair to the left of the stage to wave her arm in the air like she just don't care and shriek, "Whoooooo!"
Yes, he's gotten older, and with his recent marriage, certainly more mature. The act reflects this. He warns of the repercussions of getting the bath mat wet and now the red-haired woman's husband is raising the roof and "Whoooooo!"-ing, as well.
His material is very nostalgic, and very sharp. It's mainstream, which is meant as a compliment. Unlike LCS 1 winner Dat Phan, who hired writers to fill 23 minutes worth of airtime for his Comedy Central Presents special, Heffron had already taped his own show long before auditioning for the reality program. Also unlike Phan, even though Heffron hasn't even been thinking of it much, his NBC talent contract may actually amount to something.
"They've still got to team me up with a show-runner and writers and stuff like that," he says. "Because even if I had an idea, those guys are going to have their own say, so it's kind of a waste right now for me to even use that brain power on them."
For the time being, Heffon's brain power is focused on editing a new CD, interacting with fans, and searching for the perfect balance between art and commerce. "I'll be one of those guys that will always be doing stand-up," he says. "It's a good life. But you want the show 'cause everybody wants the Ray Romano-Seinfeld cash. There's nothing shitty about that because then you sell out every time you're out. You can get it down so you don't have to work Wednesday through Sunday; you just show up for the shows Thursday through Saturday. You're home by Sunday, you make a boatload of money, you work two days a week. That's a good life, too."