We had a little real estate problem The unheralded story of Native Americans in comedy

Review by Booklist Review

With a title taken from a Charlie Hill joke ("My people are from Wisconsin. We used to be from New York . . . ."), Nesteroff (The Comedians, 2015) probes the history of Native Americans in stand-up comedy, from Buffalo Bill's Wild West shows, where Native performers were often "recruited" to avoid jail time, to the continued fight against racist portrayals by white actors. What the stoic stereotypes missed is how integral humor is to Native culture. Hill is perhaps the most famous name--and, to hear younger comedians tell it, the most influential--to come out of the stand-up boom of the 1970s and '80s, and he paved the way for the sketch-comedy group the 1491s and sitcom showrunner Sierra Ornelas, while Terry Ree keeps to the old-school musical-comedy routine that made him famous with partner Bruce Williams. In between longer chapters, current up-and-comers talk about their careers, including Johnny Roberts, who drives five hours each way for a few minutes of open-mic time in Minneapolis, and the intersection of comedy and politics at Standing Rock. Pop-culture and comedy aficionados will appreciate Nesteroff's compelling, wide-ranging work.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Comedian Nesteroff (The Comedians) delivers a veritable who's who of Native American comedy from "the rez" to New York City in this sometimes disturbing yet beautiful history. Starting with the contemporary Ojibwe comic Jonny Roberts--who, like many of his contemporaries, must drive hours to get to an open mic--and jumping back to the racist history of nearly forced Native participation in P.T. Barnum's and Buffalo Bill shows, Nesteroff's narrative returns often to the story of Oneida comic Charlie Hill. Hill's ability to weave Native politics artfully into his work made him a superstar in the '70 after he starred on Letterman, and he later used his success to jump-start the careers of other Native comics. Nesteroff also covers the 1491s--a Native sketch group--and the latest crew of Native comedic stars, among them Adrianne Chalepa, and TV writers Lucas Brown Eyes and Sierra Ornelas, who continue to work to put Indigenous actors on the big screen. This sharp collection addresses the politics, history, and merits of Native comedy in a way that's never been done before. Agent: Daniel Greenberg. (Feb.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

With a title inspired by one of Oneida Nation actor and comedian Charlie Hill's famous lines ("My people are from Wisconsin. We used to be from New York. We had a little real estate problem"), this latest work by comedy historian Nesteroff (The Comedians) focuses on an often-overlooked history. From Natives forced to become sideshow attractions in Wild West routines to white actors making a living playing Native characters in vaudeville and silent films, Nesteroff recalls an ongoing legacy of assimilation practices, stereotypes, and discrimination. The strongest parts of the book center on biographical sketches of Cherokee actor Will Rogers and how his grandfather signing the Treaty of New Echota, which led to the Trail of Tears, continued to haunt the family. Other insightful chapters recount the influence of Hill and his groundbreaking debut on The Richard Pryor Show in 1977. Hill, who became a regular at the Comedy Store and ended up writing for Roseanne, inspired several Native comedians, whom Nesteroff interviews throughout. While only a handful of women are featured, insight from Cayuse/Nez Perce actress Elaine Miles and Kiowa/Apache comedian Adrianne Chalepah is welcome. VERDICT With no real comparison book, this well-documented history, though uneven at times, should spark interest and future research.--Stephanie Sendaula, Library Journal

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Humor is a form of resistance--one reason why Native American performers have contributed strongly to the comic tradition. The modern Native comic movement owes to several influences, including Bob Newhart, Richard Pryor, and the Canadian TV special Welcome to Turtle Island, which inspired numerous performers north of the border. Don't forget Rodney Dangerfield, one inspiration for an Ojibwe social worker and part-time comedian to drive the many miles to Minneapolis to deliver lines such as, "I think it's great that Bruce Jenner transitioned to Caitlyn Jenner…but I don't think she should have picked a young woman's name. I mean--she's seventy years old….Her name should be Gladys." Says another stand-up who's been at it long enough to see another generation or two rise behind him, "We're like the Columbus of Native comedians." Nesteroff, well known for his 2015 history The Comedians, takes a long view of the Native comic tradition, looking at the hundreds of performers who toured with Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show as a means of escaping an oppressive reservation system, a motivation that's still operative. The author also examines historical humorists. Some are well known--e.g., Will Rogers, who, though often identified as White, was born and died on Native land and who quipped, "I'm not one of those Americans whose ancestors came over on the Mayflower, but we met them at the boat when they landed." Others will be new to most readers, including Muscogee Creek writer Alexander Posey, broadly popular in the early 1900s but almost unknown today. Their descendants continue to work the comedy scene today, and most deserve wider attention, such as Marc Yaffee, founder of the Pow Wow Comedy Jam; and Vaughn Eaglebear, author of lines such as, "I donated some blood a couple weeks ago. One of the nurses asked me if I was a full-blooded Indian. I said, 'Not anymore.' " A welcome introduction to an aspect of Native American life that merits broader exposure. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Jonny Roberts Drives Five Hours to Every Gig and Five Hours Back Jonny Roberts Drives Five Hours to Every Gig and Five Hours Back For an Ojibwe social worker and part-time stand-up in the Red Lake Nation, getting to the closest open-mic night requires an arduous five-hour drive. Jonny Roberts says good-bye to his wife, two children, and eight young foster kids before departing on this exhausting routine. Roberts is driving to Minneapolis to do a show for an audience that might not even show up. It's a long drive there and a long drive back--a total of ten hours--but it's the only way for this reservation comic to get himself some stage time. After having logged several hundred thousand miles driving vast distances from gig to gig, his 2004 Chevy Silverado has stopped working. Roberts thinks the transmission is probably dead. He borrows his wife's black Dodge Nitro this afternoon and heads in the direction of Highway 89. "It's pretty much farmland all the way until Saint Cloud, Minnesota," says Roberts. "There are a few malls and gas stations, but mostly it's a lot of nothing." As he drives past the water tower with the Red Lake Nation insignia, he stops at the Red Lake Trading Post to fill up the tank. It'll cost $120 to get him to the gig and back--a gig that pays zero dollars, and will last seven minutes. Red Lake encompasses eight hundred thousand acres of mostly flat landscape. Roberts grew up here, obsessively recording stand-up comedians off of television, hoarding VHS tapes of the 1980s comedy boom. Commuting is his only option. He has few neighbors who share his passion. " They've tried comedy shows at the casino here, but it's hard to get people to come out. There's not much interest for comedy shows in this area and not much opportunity for stage time. So I take the two-hundred-sixty-mile trip for the experience." There is resilience in Red Lake, yet the reservation reels from intergenerational trauma in the form of addiction and suicide. A survey by the Minnesota Department of Health and Education determined that 48 percent of high school girls have attempted to end their life, and 81 percent have considered it. In a community with fewer than two thousand people, friends, neighbors, and family members are affected. In his capacity as a social worker, Roberts is only too familiar with the issues. As he heads toward the highway, he drives past a series of homemade billboards created by local schoolkids as part of a class project: UP WITH HOPE--DOWN WITH DOPE and IT'S LIFE--OR METH. Thirty miles into the commute he enters Bemidji, Minnesota, and stops for a bathroom break. Down the street is a statue that stands eighteen feet tall. Made of concrete and plaster, the roadside attraction known as Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox has adorned thousands of postcards since 1937. Now armed with a bag of packaged popcorn, Roberts takes U.S. Route 2 out of the city and fumbles with a phone cord. He cues up a playlist of podcasts-- WTF with Marc Maron , Urban Indianz hosted by Gabriel Night Shield, Red Man Laughing hosted by Ryan McMahon, and the Monday Morning Podcast with Bill Burr. He has four more hours to go. Arriving in Minneapolis just as the sun is setting, he walks into the Spring Street Tavern, where fifteen young comedians are milling about. There are nine people in the crowd. Roberts sits in a corner, reviewing a notepad, scratching out some topics and adding others. Tonight is his first bout of stage time in forty-seven days. Ninety minutes later, he's onstage telling jokes. "I think it's great that Bruce Jenner transitioned to Caitlyn Jenner," he tells the sparse crowd. "But I don't think she should have picked a young woman's name. I mean--she's seventy years old. Are you kidding me? Her name should be Gladys." After the show, the other open-mic comedians are hanging out, smoking joints, talking about their next gig, but Roberts is already gone. He has to take his houseful of kids to day care in the morning. It's 11 p.m. and there's a five-hour drive ahead of him. "I've been doing stand-up for eight years," says Roberts. "Sometimes I think I should just quit." Compared to his contemporaries in Los Angeles and New York, the amount of stage experience Roberts has is minimal. In New York, a comedian with eight years of experience can get onstage every single night. Someone who's really hustling can do as many as six shows in a single evening. Roberts is lucky if he gets onstage once a month. That makes it hard to move forward. Most open-mic hopefuls are between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three. Roberts is in his early forties. " It's an advanced age for sure," he says. "Although they said Rodney Dangerfield went back to comedy at forty-four. So that's always in the back of my mind." Some of his ambition is motivated by a desire to get away from his job, and some of the things he has seen as a social worker have left him shaken. "I just want to walk away from the things I read about in the files. I just want to walk away from what I see on a daily basis.... I don't know how much longer I can deal with this.... I have no outlet." Roberts hopes stand-up is the answer. Excerpted from We Had a Little Real Estate Problem: The Unheralded Story of Native Americans and Comedy by Kliph Nesteroff All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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