Transcript of South Beach Sessions - D.L. Hughley New

You're listening to DraftKings Network.

The worst habit you have?

Uh, 2 martinis before a show.

What keeps you up at night?

2 martinis before a show.

You, you, you've done everything in entertainment. You've done stand-up comedy, you've done television, you have a radio show, you've done films.

D.L.

Hughley is with us. I don't know where to start with you. I'm a fan of all of your work, but you're also a writer, a prolific one. You've written several books, including your latest, Charlie's Boy, a memoir about your father.

Right.

Where does all this come from?

I think it's like water that comes in your house, same source, different uses. It's like a meal at Taco Bell. It's all the same shit, just folded a different way.

Well, but the starting point is writing, correct?

It is. The starting point, I believe, is my point of view and whatever kind of mode that takes, whether it's writing or speaking or whatever. But I think The one thing I knew right away was that I had a point of view, and if I could just remember it or get it out, it might serve me well.

What do you think is the most improbable part of your story?

That I would ever write books. I wasn't that great a reader. As a matter of fact, I didn't really learn how to read really well until I would go on the road. I've been doing comedy almost 40 years. I would go on the road, and back then they didn't have iPads and all that shit. So I would get a newspaper or a book or some kind of reading material, and I would read it until I would— if I saw a word that I didn't understand what it meant, I would read it and read it, and then my charge would be to use it in standup as soon as I could. So that helped me kind of. And I remember hearing that if somebody, I guess, read a newspaper from front to back For a year, they'd have the equivalent of a degree, of a BA degree. So I started to— it became improbable that not only would I like to read and write, not that I would become a better reader and a writer too.

What do you like doing the best? Because I love radio, but I've never done standup comedy.

Standup. I love radio. It's a close— it's a mistress, but standup is my wife. I love the stakes to it. I love the immediacy of it. I love the high-wire act of it. I think now the stakes are so much higher than they used to be, which I don't understand why it is that somebody having an opinion that they— having an opinion is so circumspect to people. And so I think it can be controversial sometimes. I think that being able to say something and see it right away, the immediacy of it, I think it's the greatest art form that ever existed.

What do you think the odds are, if you had to put numerical odds on you going from where you started your life to being right here, right now?

You know what? I think that I used to talk about this. It's like a rose growing through concrete. And it's one of the only things that I know I know I had to be— I don't know that I ascribe to a particular deity, but I know that something had to be out there to make this possible. I don't believe that it's just happenstance. I don't believe it's just my wherewithal. I think that something happened. And I think I don't know very many people like me. It tends to be when you grow up in the environments that a lot of people I knew grew up in, me in particular, I think— It is very, with exception, never the rule. The rule is quite different. So I think if I had to put odds on it, I probably have a better chance of winning the lotto or getting struck by lightning.

For those who don't know, it's South Central, it's gangs. You are a Blood, and you say in much of what you write that humor rescued you.

Yeah. I think that humor, I think that it was my shield and my armor. And my weapon. And I think that when I was growing up, I grew up probably 28 miles from right here. My mother still lives in the same house I grew up in. But I knew right away that there was something different. Like I remember it would be these dudes who had like the money and the girls and they were dope dealers and they were hustlers and they, everybody, and I would feel so bad for them. And I didn't know what it was. I was like, why do—

Why?

Later on, I would come to recognize that as something quite different, but I used to feel bad for them because I thought, this is all they're going to ever see. I am not shocked by what happened. I'm grateful, obviously. But when I go places and see things, it's almost like an Olympic athlete who trains really hard and wins. He's not shocked he won. He's grateful, but everything—

Oh, so you knew you were going to get it?

I knew that something would happen. I knew that if I strained to hear it, that something good would happen. I didn't know what it was 'cause I obviously had no— there was nobody that, you know, there was nobody whose example I could follow. But I knew that if I— and the very first time I picked up a stage, I went— I didn't know what epiphany meant, but later on I would come to know, and that was it. That was it.

What would you describe your first 15, 16 years like to a stranger if you were trying to sort of tell them who you were at the time or the things that shaped you from there?

I think I do a lot in the book. I think it was mostly fear. I think it was trying to be sometimes seen— like, I grew up here, right? So I grew up and I went to this school called Avalon Gardens. And they would— it's still an answer. And here's a clue. When you in a Black neighborhood and it has great names, it's a shitty neighborhood. Like, if it has gardens or terraces or courts or homes, it's fucked up. If it says gardens, the only thing growing there is frustration. But I went—

Yeah.

I went to this school, and I remember they would come— these people would come, and they would test us, and they would— yeah, they would just come and talk to us. So they asked my mother, could they take me? And this is in the book too. They would take me away, and they would take me to parks, and they would ask me questions, and they would ask me what I thought about things and maybe look at pictures and ask me what they meant. And when I would come back, everybody would treat me so differently, I stopped wanting to do it. So I stopped trying to be different. I stopped trying to fit in. I just wanted to be invisible. Partly what was going on at home, but partly in the environment too. And I wanted to be accepted, invisible, protected, because all those things in that environment mean a level of protection. part of a thing means you don't get singled out and all that kind of stuff. But later on, it just became— and when I look back, and I'm such a decidedly different person than I was then, but I'm grounded. And now I went from not wanting to be seen to not being able to be seen enough.

So it's a bit of contrast.

When you say what was going on at home, what was going on at home?

Like, I grew up with a mother. My mother was very young. And, you know, The funny thing about having a mother that is very young, and they didn't know anything about— we didn't know anything about postpartum blues. She had 4 children by the time she was 18. So she was very young, and I kind of looked like the guy who broke her heart. So I was always being made to feel a way that no one articulated. But the thing about— No matter how bad a mother treats you, society would go, you know, they were young and you don't know what they were going through. Now if I said exactly the same thing about my father, everybody'd be sympathetic. But a mother, you know, she gets so— it was always that thing. And it's funny 'cause now in the book we touch on it a little bit, but she has dementia. And how does somebody who lived their whole life remembering every goddamn thing not— Like I used to get in trouble for not remembering shit. Oh, you've— did you clean your room? I forgot. Oh, I'm gonna give you— I'm gonna help you remember. So it was a lot of— there were a lot of times where I was the only thing in my— and I write about my father specifically because he wasn't a verbose man.

He wasn't a warm man, but he was solid. It's like I describe it in the book, actually. It's like a raging storm, but the rock is so solid you can hold onto it. That's kind of what he was to me. In a very turbulent time.

We will talk about your father and the book in a second and your inspiration for writing it. But you are saying that legitimately your mother is looking in your face and what you're getting off her is the reminder is that the man who was responsible for you being here hurt her.

Yeah. But they don't tell you. I would find that later on. I got married at 20 and been married 40 years. So I There were a lot of questions I never asked, but— and a lot of things that I would find out through subsequent conversations because I just knew that I wasn't anybody's favorite. So I would, you know, I just kind of fell back within myself. And I did the things that kids do. I acted out of school. I didn't graduate. I got in gangs. So I did all of that kind of stuff. But it was really just trying at first not to be seen and then trying to count.

You got kicked out of school, right?

So many schools I got kicked out. But not— you know what? The funniest thing in the world is I'll never forget, I got kicked out of Gardena High. Then I went to San Pedro— no, then I went to Locke High, and I got kicked out in a week. Then I went to San Pedro High, and I got kicked out of there. So by the time— from 10th to 11th, I got kicked out of 3 schools. And I remember I was in trouble all the time. And I remember I had— I was standing at the bus stop and all these dudes started hopping the fence. And I was like, somebody about to get their ass whipped. And it was me. And I started running. And I run down Avalon. And there's a— right here in Avalon, there's a street called Avalon. And there is a— it was a liquor store on Imperial and Avalon. I ran in there. And it was a Korean grocer. She's like, get out. And I'm like, I'm gonna call the police. I'm like, fuck that, call the police. And so all these dudes outside, they gonna kick my ass. My father, I'm hiding in the honey buns.

My father walks in to get a beer and a little whiskey. He sees me and, come on, get in the car. So we go get in the car. My father, we're driving home, and my father looked at me and goes, Ain't you tired yet? Aren't you tired? And I was.

A man of few words too, right?

Yeah. Like, aren't you tired of this shit? Like, I got kicked out of school, and I had to go live in Ohio with my cousins. And they were always trying to keep me from doing not only damage to them, but this was a different time. I remember I used to steal my mother's car all the time, and I stole it to do a drive-by shooting. And then they shot at her in the car. So it's like— I could, you know, honestly, I could understand. No, I'm— I could understand why she didn't like me. But at first, I didn't start out that way. I didn't start out that way. I didn't. I was— it was a chicken before the egg thing.

Okay, so how bad were you? Like, what are you doing to get kicked out of all these schools?

Fighting, selling weed. Like, when I grew up, I was always the first dude picked for a fight and the last one picked for a game. And the result, the goal was the same. I want to win. I want to have odds in my favor. So if you're a big guy, you pick the little guy for either a fight, and he's the last guy you pick for sports. But after a while, it just, it seemed like I was always having to fight for something. And once I learned that once I learned that as long as you can take the ass whooping that comes along with it, it was the most freeing thing that ever— I think to date, it was the most freeing declarative statement I've ever heard. My sister said, you could do anything you want as long as you're willing to take the ass whooping that comes with it. And it was like a fucking mission statement. I was like, oh man. And trust me, I took a lot of ass whoopings too.

And you ceased to be afraid of them or you ceased—

I ceased to understand that they were part It was the tax you pay. It was a part of the equation. So I understood that—

But the tax you pay for what?

What were you—

Whatever. If I wanted to go somewhere and I knew I didn't belong there, or if I wanted to say something to somebody, if I wanted to do— I knew that as long as I was willing to take what came along with it. I could pretty much do whatever I want.

How'd you get out of the gang life? Was it going to Ohio?

Well, that started it. That going to Ohio started it. It was so funny because I had never known peace like that. Peace. It was always loud here. And I thought I would hate it. I thought I would hate Ohio. My father's from a town called Warren, Ohio, and Zanesville and Youngstown. My cousin Gary was a great athlete. He was a flanker back when they had him at that. And he was recruited by Ohio State. So when I went from LA to Ohio, I hated it at first, but then it became this thing. It was quieter there. I would go to school. I would, you know, started to open up and started to see things differently. So I thought I would never love Ohio or love being shipped off. And then it became, I think it became more of my salvation. And then all of a sudden you had to come back. So it was interesting.

It's an interesting detail to notice as a kid to not know that your childhood was noisy.

Yeah. Yeah. Until, you know, like what did they say? There's no— what is 0 degrees Kelvin? Is the absence of all light, right? So that's as cold as it can ever be. And I thought, I never understood how loud my life was until it didn't sound like that anymore. Or how it was almost like walking around with your fists clenched up the whole time or holding your breath the whole time, wondering what's going to happen. Like, it would be a lot of stuff that would happen. You unconsciously just held your breath all the time, 'cause it was always something.

You were always afraid in some form, right?

Always, always, yes. And I think that it was, I don't necessarily, I knew, like I used to equate the fear with the taste of pennies. And later on I heard a writer walk about the brass taste of fear, and I instantly knew what it was, 'cause your mouth would get dry on you. But it was something that was so constant, it seemed— I could not imagine that people lived differently, that there were kids that were growing up or people that were growing up in a different set of circumstances that didn't kind of feel that way. I think that— obviously, I think there's a lot of confusion when you're younger anyway. But I think I was totally unaware that people didn't all just live like this.

The taste of pennies. You can taste the fear even now as a 63-year-old man, right? Because that's formative. That imprints you. And how does comedy, or how does funny get you out of this? Are you funny at this time?

I think that there is— I knew— first off, I think that to say you're a thing means that it's settled and you've arrived. And I don't think art is that way. I think art is evolving. So every week I go on the road, every single week. I never miss— matter of fact, if my agent doesn't give me a gig a couple of weeks in a row, we get a new agent. But— and it's because I think I have so much more to say about so many things. And radio is like that too, but there's no interaction. But the immediate— like I said, the immediacy of it, the fear of it, the—

The pressure.

The stakes being high, people investing their time and their money and their resources to come see you, people having problems with the things you say, all of it is part of the allure of it for me.

But you were funny as a kid? You were funny from the beginning?

I was always funny. Always. Always funny in a way that was— people would laugh. And I was always a guy who I could talk about people. I I could, like when we have these sessions where we would just talk shit to each other, I would always win. And I wasn't smart or tall or handsome or athletic. So the way I could get girls was make them laugh. You make them laugh right out of their panties. Like, isn't that hilarious? Now we're both naked. But so it was my, and I started to understand, but just taking that to mean, to use, to know that that would become the thing. Like I told you earlier, I knew something would happen. I didn't know what, but when I got on stage for the first time, I knew exactly what— like Mr. Miyagi whacks on and whacks off. I understood what all those moments were for.

How old were you?

When I first— 20. 20.

And you know at that moment, I'm gonna make a career of this.

I knew that moment.

I was gonna be famous. This is what I'm gonna chase for the rest of my life.

I knew at that moment. I knew. Anybody who knows me knows I'm on the road all the time. I love the art of comedy. I love the stakes of it all. People are exhausted. I don't know how many road managers I've worn out because they can't keep up, but I love this art form.

dlhugelysgigs.com. He's touring with Don Lemon presently. You should know that if you want to know where the dates are. And is it an addiction? Is it because you want to get better?

Maybe.

Is it because you can't live without What's the—

Maybe I'm afraid of silence. Maybe. I don't even— it's so funny, man. You know what, when I perform, I never— I fall asleep with my clothes on every night. I never put on— I'll wake up the next morning at 6 o'clock in the morning, take my clothes off. If it's a fire at the hotel I'm staying in, I'll be the best dressed witness out there. They'll be like, man, what? I don't know. I think maybe it's you don't— I think if you work till exhausted, you don't need to hear yourself think, right? So probably. And I think part of it is that whole 10,000 hours thing, but part of it is just staying connected to it.

But you also sound like you're hiding in it.

Probably.

So that you don't have to look at some of what?

Yeah. I mean, it's so many.

I've never been a—

I don't know that I've ever been a reflective person. I could say I've never been— I don't know that I've ever been depressed, ever. I know that I've been in places that seemed gray for periods of long periods of time. I would never call that depression, but I know that there have been spans, large swaths of my life where I wake up and hasn't seen it. Like, I'll just I remember, I'll never forget, I was in Dallas and a girl walked by in a red— she had a red pants outfit on. And it physically hurt because it was so sharp. I hadn't seen anything. Everything was gray for so long. And I went up and I said, thank you, because I haven't seen anything in so long. I wasn't sure if I could. I wasn't sure what I was doing. But I remember thanking her. She thought it was the weirdest thing. And so now when I hear myself saying it, it is that thing when you go to Ohio and you realize you're catching your breath or you're clenching your fist. So I think that has replicated itself in many iterations in my life.

So I think not wanting to think about all the things you've done or come to grips with all the things that you see or that you haven't reconciled, it's probably a way— it probably is more of a coping mechanism than I would like to realize.

And yet you sit down and write this book, which forces reflection.

Which was really tough because Everything I say in the book, I would never have gotten to say to him. He would never have. But I think he was the kind of guy that— I know that I am what I am because of his work ethic. But there would be things biologically he couldn't give me. I remember being very angry with him because I wasn't his biological son. I remember resenting him for that.

Which you didn't even find out—

Which I didn't find out.

—until you were 10 years old, right? Until I was 10 years old.

Right. But I— the truth of the matter is they lucky to have me, Dan. The other Hughleys, I mean— You ever seen Property Brothers? That's me. I rehabbed the name. But I wanted— and I think it's because I wanted to be someone's son so bad. I wanted to be someone's son. That's why I used to be offended because the one thing that I got that my brother didn't get who was his biological son, was all of his friends would call, say, there goes Charlie's boy, or that's Charlie's boy. You remember that was when they were growing up, that was an ownership. I was his boy. And he never even called me Darryl. He called me boy all the time. So although it offended me a lot, it was also his stamp on me that I would come to recognize later on. So I wrote the book because of all the things that he taught me without saying a word. And I remember once we were somewhere and he goes, how did you learn to do that? How did you learn to speak that way? How did you learn to— and I said, I watched you.

And he would never— so he was— I've never seen a man like him. I think he hung the moon. I think he's the greatest human being I've ever known. And he would never know that.

No.

So this is as much a conversation with him as it is a memoir.

Do you remember the feelings specific to how you felt when you found out at 10 years old that he was not your biological father?

Betrayed. I felt betrayed. It was such an irrational thing. I'm sure he would've— And the thing for him is what I would come to learn and had to embrace all this thing. Imagine, Yeah. Raising the boy that the woman you love, that boy's a reflection of the love of her life. That got to be a tough thing to— I would never— and I thought part of what they used to do was she would be hard on me or be, I felt, dismissive of me. as a way of penance for him, I think. And he would let it happen. So it was, you know, I didn't belong here, didn't belong there. But I appreciated that he wouldn't— he didn't hit me. He didn't treat me— I think he loved me as— I know he loved me. But I think he loved me as best as you could when somebody reminds you of something you'll never have.

Well, and your mom is being a bit unkind to you as well.

Yes. Not a bit unkind. She was unkind. My mother's the most formidable human being I've ever known. And so, I would later on believe, come to believe, that that was her idea of proving to him that she didn't— that my biological father didn't have a hold on her anymore. Like, I remember when she told me that my biological father died, she was crying. And I was like, what the fuck? He was— But she had kept in contact with him that whole time, and I never had. I met him when I was getting ready to go— I was getting ready to do my second HBO special. My wife finds this guy, and he comes, and he looks just like me. And my kids are crazy about him and jumping all over him. And I— he would've been a nice enough guy, but I didn't ever want to dishonor Charlie Hugely. So I never saw him again. And I really thought he was a horrible man based on everything my mother had ever said about him. Come to find out, he was just a young guy who did— Who did stupid young guy things.

I can imagine you writing this book and just blubbering at the keyboard.

Oh man. You're the first interview I'll do, so this is my test run. So if I get through this without crying, I think I can make it.

I don't think you're going to succeed.

No, I don't think so either. We'll see. I'm going to do my best.

Well, I'm trying to think of what it is that's being summoned for you as you have the catharsis of speaking To your father and telling him all the things you want him to know, and wherever is mixed in also the regret of not having been able to tell him.

I don't think— I think that it's best this way because he would have never— I mean, didn't men back then, man, they was just— I remember I said, hey man, do you love me? He said, nigga, you can have a hamburger or you can have a hug. I'm like, come on, man. Come on, man. And I was like, wow.

That's not really an either/or.

You'll never work for Hallmark.

Why can't you have both of those things? Maybe not at the same time.

He was like, he was, he was, he just— but, but I knew he was capable of being warm because he loved my sisters and my, and my brother. But I think, you know, I just, I just, uh, I think it's easier Like, I think some people, when they can't say a thing, they put it in a letter. I guess this is the equivalent of that.

And what are the things that you are thinking of?

That I heard him, that he had an impact on me, that I appreciated his sacrifice. He was— And the thing I hate about this book the most is that I know I'll never see him again, ever, ever. And every time I wrote something, he died again. And I'm like, well, so it is what it is.

Was it healing?

You know, I don't know yet. I don't know yet.

I mean, you're allowing him to live on here. Yes. The love.

That's something we tell ourselves. I think I'm allowing myself to put him to rest, but he It's a fool's errand to believe that somebody— I just don't happen to believe that. I mean, I think people may need to believe that, but I do believe that I have given the best I was capable of in this thing at that moment. I remember Marvin Gaye wrote an album, my favorite album of his, called Here, My Dear, and he lost the album in a divorce settlement. He was supposed to give his ex-wife this album as a divorce settlement. And rather than write, you know, just anything, he wrote his greatest album. And it was called Here, My Dear. And I think that is— this is the equivalent of that for me.

Why would you be so cynical to believe that something otherworldly pushed you to this moment from South Central, that it couldn't have just been you and your will, that something brought you to this moment? Why wouldn't you allow yourself to believe in something form that it was him or a final gift from him? Or why would you be so cynical as to believe that that same sort of thing that you don't know about could also bring you to write a book? Why would you be writing a book? Why need to write a book about this? Why write at all, ever?

Actually, I didn't think that anybody would want to read it. I didn't think that my publisher— this is my 5th or 6th— I never thought that anybody, that he would say yes. Because I didn't think it would be that interesting to someone. But it turns out it's the thing I've done that I'm the most invested in and the most proud of. And I am cynical because I think I've watched too many times people say things that are placatory that I'm not sure they believe, but they say them. I would rather not believe it, be pleasantly surprised by it, than believe it and not. So I think cynicism in this case is just as protective as everything else I've probably done.

But it's as proud of anything you've ever made as an artist?

It is the— it is, other than my grandchildren, I'm probably more proud of this. But not— I think I've been proud of a lot of things, but they were very rooted in self-gratification. This is, for lack of a better phrase, a labor of love.

And why do it again? Because something about you can't— you can say it, but it doesn't ring true that you went to take it to somebody as an idea and didn't think they'd buy it. But you're taking an idea out there because you have a need to do this. Why? As someone who's not reflective.

I just thought that it would be nice to— Dan, I can't tell you what the fuck I was thinking. But I know now that I'm going to be doing these goddamn interviews, it ain't going to be fun. I didn't think they would say yeah. And then it became the thing. Now everybody, Then it just— it's become bigger than I intended it to be and more— less cathartic than I thought it would be.

Mm-hmm.

I thought it would— I thought it would do— in addition to being a labor of love, I did— I'd be disingenuous to tell you that I didn't think there was some level of catharsis. I thought it would have as many answers as it did questions. And that's Certainly that's not the case so far.

So you thought it might be something closer to closure for you?

Maybe.

But maybe you will go through this interview process and it rummages up all sorts of stuff that you hadn't considered. And I also ask you this, I don't know how much it's changed your telling everybody, the grandkids, the kids, everybody more often because you don't want anything left unspoken.

Well, I think I would have done that anyway. I think I have I know what it's like to not feel loved, and I would never make you— now, I haven't— I've done a lot of things, and I'm certainly not proud of it, both in my youth, in my marriage, in my interactions with people. I've done a ton of things that I— and I don't say those things proudly. I say them as a way of just being plain and flat. and sober about the way that I've done a lot of things. But the one thing I know for sure is that my children know I adore them and my grandchildren too. I know that for sure.

It's a nice thing to say. You are unusually open. You went on a 2017 podcast, you just said about in my marriage, and you just said, yeah, you volunteered. I don't know if you volunteered it, but an unusual choice to make.

It wasn't. I think that I I think that one of the things I am trying to do and have tried to do is to understand the things that I've done, but not to let them hold me hostage. So I wasn't bragging about it. I wasn't— it's certainly not something I'm proud of, but it happened. And I refuse to let somebody— Hold you hostage. beat me over the head with it or use me or make me cower from my own actions.

Well, but your wife made you feel very loved.

My wife made me feel very— it was almost like, I wish you'd have told me so we could have done it together. I don't think that there was any less pain involved, but I think obviously she— and I'm sure she'd rather I didn't do it, but I think it was as loving a response. I think that if I had what my children have, I might have been a decidedly different person. But I also think that I am— even a clock that don't work is right 2 times a day. So I wonder, If I were a different person, would I feel things the way I do? Would I say the things that I do? Would I believe what I do? So I think it's a— would I say it's worth it? Probably. All the things I've done. I remember somebody said something, and it's something I work towards often. It said that I'm the little boy, I'm the man now the little boy I was always wanted to be. And I think that's starting to become more true to me.

What do you think that man would be if he had been raised the way your kids are raised? As successful, less determined?

Well, yeah. Well, they don't work hard, to be sure.

That's funny.

I think they don't work as hard. I think they think they do. I think they think they do. And I think they're more, Like, I had my oldest daughter, she went to Smith, and then she went to USC grad school. And right after she went, the day she graduated, I want to go to cooking school. I'm like, who the fuck? Why did— And then my daughter went to college, and now she wants to be a DJ. And my son went to college, and now he's a personal trainer. And so they're more whimsical than I am. And I'm very proud of them because they are free to try things. I remember when I grew up, you— I don't know that I ever did anything that I didn't have to do. You 21, 20 years old, you married, you ain't got— you're not educated, you, you got to do shit. You gotta make it happen. And I think that the thing I'm, I'm the most pleased by is I, I have at least helped contribute to the idea that they can do the things they want to.

About what age did you unclench your fists?

I don't know. I don't know. I would say, honestly, the first time I ever thought about what— I never conjured up or thought about happiness or what it meant or that it was even possible. I thought like my father. I thought you work, your entire life, and then you die. I thought that. I think when I turned 60, I'd had this real bad argument with my daughter, and we were very close. And it was the first time that I ever thought about what I wanted or what would make me happy. And I think the book came as a result of part of that too, was part of me just doing something just for me. I don't go on vacations. I just kind of work because I thought that that was what you're supposed to do. And now— and I know a lot of men like that. That's sad. But now I'm open to the possibility of happiness. I don't think it's a guarantee, and I don't think it's easy, and I don't think it's close. And I think it takes many forms, but I'm more open to that possibility than I ever would've been before.

Well, but you say you don't know depression, so you're living in the middle? What are you like—

I don't know that. See, because when I think of depression, I think of this debilitating thing. Just like when I think of alcoholics, I think I'm— I guess I would be a functioning depressive. I can get up. So I just—

Well, I don't know how long the periods of gray are and how many times red dresses make an appearance.

I would say that they are more— they have been more frequent than I would ever I think that every human being, and this is just my philosophy, I think we all have 15 great days, about 40 shitty days, and the rest are days we don't even remember.

So this is as hopeful as you've been about happiness.

It is.

This represents right here, but it doesn't mean you're gonna stop working, right? You're still gonna hide in the work.

Right. Still gonna drink and hang out.

The work is an addiction. So on the list of things that you've done, because I've I've got some itemized here. What's the best story no one knows about the Kings of Comedy tour?

This thing happened and it just happened out of just these guys. We were all doing our thing somewhere. Bernie in Chicago, Ced in St. Louis, Steve in Cleveland and all over, me in LA. We came together and do this thing. And it was kind of like the Negro Leagues. It was kind of like we were— it was solidly Black artists coming out to see these people from all over. And I remember we would play these union houses. So they were union gigs. And so if you went over, the promoter had to pay. And so I think once or twice we went over, and then we decided to do this thing. Every minute you went over, you had to put $1,000 in the kitty. And when it was all over, the tour was over, we would take that money and give it to charity. We didn't raise $1,000. And it was not for the money. It was because there was that much love and affection and respect for each other. each other. So when I hear people say things about people not sticking together and culturally, I watched it happen in real time where men just loved each other, respected each other, and worked for a common good for years.

And then you go and compete against Steve Harvey on the radio, right opposite him.

Yeah. Well, that's them, but yeah, we are right opposite each other.

Yeah. And that is fine and lovely, plenty of room for everybody.

Yes. I never He's one of my dear friends. I mean, that's— you know how corporate America is. Well, the good thing about it, he's in mornings, I'm in afternoon drive. But we obviously compete for the same advertisers and the same resources and stuff like that, or they do. I never have looked at it that way, and I'm sure he hasn't either. He's just a guy I love who does what I love. And I think it's a big world and enough room for everybody.

I'm going to give you a handful of the TV projects you've done. You tell me which one it is that you hold fondest in your heart. whether it's Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, of the silly ones. You did a little bit on the Jay Leno Show. You were on The View. You were on Dancing with the Stars.

I hated that. I can tell you what I hated the most, Dancing with the Stars.

I mean, you wrote, starred, and directed in The Hughleys. I'm sure that that is a source of great pride for you, just 4 years.

It is a source of pride, but I didn't enjoy it. I didn't enjoy it.

Because? Just too hard?

It wasn't too— it was that I was trying to tell so many stories, and that Hollywood was very, very specific there. And I was a young— I remember it's a guy named Peter Bonners, and Peter Bonners is a famous director, right? He's Mary Tyler Moore and Rhoda, like all— like a very— And I remember we were reading the script, and Peter Bonners goes, that's not what it says. And I— we call a break, and then my manager, Dave Becky, and I walk outside, and he says— I said, well, I'm reading the script, and he says, that's not what he says, and he's the director. And he looked at the door, and he said, whose name is that? He said, that's mine. He said, anybody else in there got that name? I said, no. He said, then the script says what the fuck you say it says. And that became a freeing thing because I wasn't a good actor. I couldn't read that well. I was very— but then that was a thing. And so then I was more task-oriented and goal-oriented, which was to get us into syndication, than I was enjoying it.

So when you say Mary Tyler Moore and Rhoda, that's not exactly Black television.

No. But it was— see, back then, we all watched the same thing. Like, my father loved his— he loved All in the Family. We all sat and watched the same thing. We all knew the same jokes. We all knew the same writers. So there was not this à la carte viewership now. Everybody kind of had to watch the same thing. And then it went off at 2 o'clock, 1 o'clock in the morning with the Star-Spangled Banner, national anthem, and went off. So we all told the same story. But I was very well aware of who he was and what he meant in television. And it was intimidating. And I was with all these great actors. And so once that happened, I knew that I had all these people who were depending on us to be successful, and these people had invested in me, and I became so determined to make sure that happened. I didn't see— it's like one of those times we talk about where I look up and then 5 years have gone by.

So it wasn't quite interference. It wasn't— it was just a lot of pressure that you couldn't enjoy any of it because you're trying to make something and you're proud of what it is, right? You think you're making something good, but it's not enjoyable and you don't— You fairly winced when I mentioned it, and it's your name on a sitcom on network television, which seems insane.

Yes. Yeah. I didn't— I did not— that seems to be such a conundrum, but I did not enjoy the process. I loved the product, but I thought the process was Exhausting. Exhausting. The meetings and the arguing with the networks and trying to have an artistic vision that's inconsistent. It was a whole different thing.

So how did it last so long?

Sheer— I remember Marietta de Prima, who was— she played Sally on the show. She said, you're like the Israeli army. You're just going to keep And I said, okay. Just like, no matter what, I was going to get us a syndication. And that's— it's like anything else you do. If you— I don't care if you making love. If it's just about the thing instead of the journey, it's not— it's nowhere near as enjoyable. It's so task-oriented. It robs you of anything else.

Is there anything else in your career that you've done that you react to similarly, that you have the similar relationship to as that, where it's so arduous that you can be proud of it, but you look back on it and you're like, that wasn't any fun.

That was my— yeah, that was my— and that was actually when I was doing the HBO special, I Met My Real Father. So I had a part of it, my obligation was to not shit all over his name and do anything that would— so that was that too. But I think because it was his name, because I didn't read that well, because I was doing something no one had ever seen before, it became I just was determined to make it happen.

I know stand-up's the most fun, but what's second place?

Radio.

And among these other things, like the movies, the movies do anything for you?

Radio, stand-up, radio, and I love my podcast too. And I have really, I really have loved writing these books. I really have. Not this one as much because it feels but not this one as much. But I had so— like the last book I wrote before this, I was recovering from COVID And I remember there was all this, a variation of what's going on now. Everybody's saying nothing's real and this was all a hoax and all that kind of stuff. But I had watched people die.

You were ahead of the curve. You saw some things.

Your books have titles that suggest that you see things or have lived And I called Peter again. I'm like, I want to write this book about— So I love that part of it. But to me, the radio and the podcast and the stand-up are— I think they're pretty much the same thing.

Your experience with the Scream movies?

That was very— I loved working with Leslie Nielsen. I thought that— but, you know, see, Dan, I'm a lazy dude, and you know what it is, these fucking movies take all day.

They sit around. There's a lot of waiting.

Like, man, I can't do that. So I'm very judicious about the things I do like that. And you know what, now I only do the— like, I remember my publicist told me about you. I was like, oh yeah, I really like I only want to do things that I find that I want to do. If I don't want to do them, I just won't. It's just too hard to get up, drive across, and sit across and talk to people.

Well, you've been working for a long time, dude. Like, you've been grinding at it. For those who don't know how hard it is to be touring the country all weeks with Don Lemon, I'm surprised you're still doing it at that pace.

I love it. And I love, you know, so I couldn't stand Don Lemon before. Couldn't stand him. I could not stand him. I just didn't like him. I thought he was arrogant and smug. And it is one— this is a real teachable moment for me in terms of my assessment of people, because we all have our idiosyncrasies and things we don't like. So his mother and my co-star on the radio show, talked us into meeting and talking. Once I talked to him, I felt so stupid that I didn't like the guy. And then we became very, very close. And then it's like a late-blooming brotherhood. And that thing, that really taught me literally, because most of us know, you may not like somebody, you may not know why, but you feel like, if I don't like them, there must be something to it. As if you have some clairvoyant vantage point that no one else is privy to. But it was one of those things that taught me, even if I can't stand somebody, I'm willing to hear them.

What an interesting poignancy though, in you specifically, touring the country, collaborating with somebody who's not a comedian, And tackling our political times with a journalist in tow, someone—

Who just got arrested. You know what? If I told you me and Don Lemon were going on tour, you would think I'd have got arrested.

I mean, you casually told a drive-by shooting story an hour ago.

Well, there was that.

You were an actual cop.

But that was when I was young. He got arrested at 60, so come on now. Yeah, that's forward momentum.

But just the idea though that you're collaborating on stage creatively in making news.

I don't know how much you follow Josh Johnson.

I love what he's doing with the form.

He's able to do sort of a radio show, his comedy, in an hour every night. So he turns over his material all the time. You're doing something inventive here with Don Lemon. It's a very strange collaboration.

It is a strange collaboration. It's like stripes and solids, but stripes and polka dots, but it works. I just— we did it once at the City Winery, then did it again, then we did it again, then it kept selling out, we did it again. Then finally a promoter just decided to take us out, and we're going to do 30 cities.

I'm gonna do a quicker session with you here for today's short attention span society. I'm gonna just ask you a handful of quick questions.

Sure.

The song that you're ashamed to admit you know the words to?

If You Get Caught Between the Moon and New York City.

The worst habit you have?

2 martinis before a show.

What keeps you up at night?

2 martinis before a show.

The weirdest food combination that you're willing to admit to that you put together?

What do I like that's really weird?

Somebody—

I don't think I'm fairly— I'm like a straightforward dude. No, I don't really too much eat anything weird. I eat the same things over and over again, so I'm not really a weirdo like that.

You don't have to sweat that. Would you like to know the way that you die?

No. Uh-uh. I want to read the ending just like everybody else.

The moment that you felt that you had arrived at real confidence?

I was on Jay Leno's show and Don Rickles was on the couch. And I think at one point I had done Jay Leno almost more than any other comic had at that particular time. And so whenever somebody would fall out, I would come in and I was always ready. And it's Don. I do my thing. I'm sitting down. Don is dismissive because he's Don Rickles. Then I would say something. He'd look. He'd look more, a little more. And then he was engaged. And then he said, you're so funny. And I said, I know. But to have a legend That was probably the most confident moment I'd ever had.

It's a great story. A person you're in awe of?

My old man.

The last time that you were nervous performing?

Every time. Every single time.

What's an irrational fear you have?

Um, I think that I am going to forget everything. And that's why I speak so fast when I get on stage, like, because I think I'm going to forget everything I wrote every time, no matter what. Even the radio, no matter what. I don't care. I think I'm gonna forget everything.

Every time?

Every time.

Every time before you perform?

Every single time.

You think you're gonna forget how to speak?

Every single time. There is a— there, we say, we'll say, see you on the other side. Right? That's what we'll— when my road manager or I or Gary Monroe will say, I'll see you on the other side. Every single time I almost want to go, I can't do it, I want to go out. Every time. Every— and I don't care if you got 4 shows. Like, if I do 3 shows a night, I don't care. It's still the same thing. I always want to go. I can't do it.

I don't want to go.

I can't do it. Every time.

That seems impossible to believe. You've been performing for 40 years.

Every single time. Every single time.

That can't be true.

It is. And this will be my— I'm working on— I'm writing a special called Mirror Mirror. It'll be my 12-hour special. And I— every single time—

You're gonna keep saying it, and I'm gonna keep not believing it.

It's true. Every single time. My publicist will tell you, every single time. I don't wanna— I think I should— but I never— I never do it. That's why I have 2 martinis before I go on stage. But no, every single time.

This is weird for a number of different reasons, but not least among them is the fact that I think you are genuinely confident about making things.

Oh, I am.

So that is truly irrational.

It is irrational. It is. And I think if I— yeah, it is.

Something you can go broke buying?

Golf. Golf shit.

Are you? You're a golf sucker?

I am. I am. I think you could buy a game. That and sunglasses I could go broke buying.

Are you any good at golf?

I was. Well, if a 9 handicap, I was. Yeah.

But so you've stopped? So you can still—

No, no. I still play, but whatever I used to have, I don't have anymore. But I think I was playing 2, 3 times a week, you know, taking lessons once every month, that kind of thing. Now I just get out there when I can. I'll just sneak around in, you know, once or twice a week, once or twice a month.

How many sunglasses do you think you own?

If I pull that bag out there, you see that all that has sunglasses, all of it.

Just all sunglasses?

Yeah, all sunglasses.

You want to end the segment by just like— just— There's a big show here to show off your collection here? All right, let's see. Let's see.

I got like 5 bags like this.

Okay, so.

It's crazy. Now watch. Now I'm not even making this shit up. These are all—

Look at that. What is that?

I don't know.

All right, that's some good shit right there.

Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

I'm gonna tell the people again as I say goodbye to him, dlhugleygigs.com is where you go.

Hughley's Boy is the memoir. He's also got the DL Hughley Show. That's his radio show.

It's daily. You just— I could just leave the room and you could just keep stacking them up here.

Stealing.

It's a never-ending bag. I'm not joking. He's not joking.

We'll be back with a new podcast.