In a back room of the Burren in Davis Square, the Guinness is flowing; the chicken tandoori is being devoured; and Jimmy Tingle is doing what he does best: Making people laugh.
No small feat when the occasion for the party is saying goodbye to Jimmy Tingle's Off Broadway Theatre in Somerville, which Tingle has closed after five years.
"The best thing about this theater was the people," the longtime comedian says, gesturing at the fans, fellow comedians, family, and friends from the neighborhood who have stopped by on this icy December night. "It wasn't the money, folks!"
With the boogie-woogie piano of David Maxwell as backdrop, Tingle - a glass of
"This is a reporter from the Globe. She is writing an undercover story on the dark side of Tingle," he announces. "Tingle's dark side. The abusive boss."
"Where's my check?" Jeanne Callinan, the theater's former bartender, immediately quips.
In testament to Tingle's appeal, the crowd is mix of young and old, celebrities and guys from Tingle's childhood neighborhood in Cambridge. Firefighters, college professors, tattooed twentysomethings and gray-haired hippies swap tales. There's fellow comedians Chance Langton and the Walsh Brothers, filmmaker Michael Bavaro, and Tingle's attorney, Isaac Machado, who hates to see Tingle leave Davis Square. "This is Jimmy Tingle square," he says sadly.
Nearly everyone has a story about Tingle's generosity, how he did a benefit for this relative, for that cause, for that incurable disease. "You could always count on Jimmy," one longtime friend says.
"You have to say he's got the biggest heart in the world," says Missy Goldberg, one of a group of friends who attended college with Tingle in the 1970s.
Tingle will have none of this. "Missy sold me a lot of drugs. Excuse me, Nancy sold me the drugs. I tried to sell them! I was a terrible dealer!" he screams into a tape recorder as his college friends dissolve in hysterics. Hyperbole, of course. But, they all agreed, "It was the '70s."
Tingle is in constant movement. Every few steps there is a hug, a muttered, "We'll be in touch" and "Thanks, brother." Attempts at seriousness are met with a joke. Tingle points out two neighborhood fans. "Unemployed! They come for the food."
"I want you to meet my buddy Dougy," Tingle says when Steven Douglas arrives. "He works for the state. No, he really WORKS for the state," as Douglas laughs. "He knew me in the blue period."
Tingle's long comedy career has had lots of what one might call "blue" and "red-hot" periods. A pioneering political comedian, he has had popular one-man shows, numerous TV and movie appearances and (briefly) a high profile gig with "60 Minutes II." At his theater, he did everything - from answering the phones to changing lightbulbs. All this has become grist for his comedy routines. Try to ask him about his career's ups and down - he interrupts gleefully: "Whaddya mean 'downs'?"
"Any comic draws on their experiences," he says. "Whatever they are. Some days they have good days, some days they have bad days. And a lot of time it ends up in the act."
In October, Tingle decided to shutter the theater to concentrate on his own comedy, in particular his "run" for president. "I hope I have your support in November," he says earnestly.
Somerville alderman at large Jack Connolly takes the stage to note that 75,000 people attended Tingle's theater over five years. "People in Somerville love Jimmy - even though he's from Cambridge," Connolly says.
Tingle graciously responds. "For every dollar spent at a theater in a neighborhood, three dollars are spent in the surrounding neighborhood." Pause. "We'd like the three bucks back."
Brother Garrett Tingle has other tales. "Do you know how Jimmy got started?" Back in 1980, a bunch of guys (we always traveled in packs) flew to New York City for a basketball tournament and also took in a Rodney Dangerfield comedy show. "Jimmy was absolutely entranced." On the flight home, the "well-oiled" group was in fine spirits. Jimmy got up into the aisle -- "Today you'd see him on MSNBC in handcuffs" -and started playing a comedy number on his harmonica: "Test-Tube Baby Blues." The passengers, first bewildered, then joined in as the plane cruised into Boston. "The rest of the story is why we're here today," Garrett Tingle says. "When Jimmy came down, he knew he was going to be taking off again. Some say he never landed."
Told of his brother's tale, Tingle rolls his eyes and laughs. He's interrupted by a fan bidding farewell: "I'm on your e-mail list forever," he calls to Tingle, who grins back and takes a long pull on the straw in his Coke.
