Diagnosis: Laughter

Kimberley McGee

Tuesday, Oct. 13, 1998 | 9:51 a.m.

Stu Silverstein wants to have you laughing all the way to X-ray.

"I've never had anyone tell me their doctor was too funny," he says.

Silverstein, a pediatrician and "medical humorist" from Stamford, Conn., will appear at the Official All Star Cafe on Friday to present Las Vegas physicians with an evening of humor -- and a philosophy that laughter truly is the best medicine.

"Medicine is intimidating for patients," he says. "Humor is not only useful for distress, it's a lighter approach to the patient. The patient will ask more questions, even embarrassing questions, and be more willing to follow the doctors orders."

The goal of his seminars is to help physicians understand the finer points of a good sense of humor -- spreading bad jokes and punny one liners to nervous patients. He has addressed more than 100 organizations since 1990 and continues to perform his lecture/stand-up performance approximately four times per month.

The call

"I was in my second year of residency and I was very burnt out," he says, recalling the start of his dual career.

The lack of sleep and the pressure depressed the usually extroverted Silverstein. He began looking for alternatives when he saw his peers graduate with little excitement for the profession.

"I thought about getting into something else, art school ... something, and I watched comedians on TV and I knew I can do that," he says. "I didn't know how hard it was."

And comedy as a career went against Silverstein's traditional upbringing.

"Comedy wasn't something that was an option as a career," he says. "Growing up a Jew in Brooklyn you had two choices, law or medicine ... maybe accounting."

So medicine it was -- but comedy had already taken its hold on young Silverstein. Comedy tapes, records and shows were collecting not only in his room, but in his brain.

"I naturally gravitated to comedy," he says.

The "call" for change came to him on a Saturday two years into his residency at San Fransisco area hospitals.

"I was reading the entertainment section of the paper and there was a picture of this big guy with a big beard," he says. In contrast to his appearance, the man was a professional -- a doctor, to be exact, who had left the medical field to be a hippie, at times selling jewelry on the street.

"I realized 'Here's a guy who took some time off and did it' and at the bottom of the page was an ad for a comedy workshop at one of the comedy clubs," he says. "I said 'I'm gonna do that' and I went down the next morning."

And the doctor caught the entertainment bug. "I loved it, it was great," he says.

During the workshop, Silverstein received lessons on comedy writing, delivery and survival. "I was fascinated by this whole process," he says. The commitment to comedy made for a budding part-time career.

He began with "open mike night" formats, quickly moving to bookings at the Improv and the Holy City Zoo -- the latter now defunct, but famous at the time as the comedy club where Robin Williams got his start -- and finally, to comedy showcases.

With his rise came the hecklers and the joiners -- "they think they are helping you with their comments," he says -- and the occasional flat-out bombs.

"I went to a (University of California at) Berkley show, to open, and there the thing to do was destroy the opening act and I didn't realize it," he recalls. He completed his act to the thunderous boos and banter from the audience.

"It was 15 minutes of hell," Silverstein says. "I just wanted to get off the stage."

He didn't exactly bomb "since they couldn't hear me anyway," he says.

Brush with greatness

One night at the Holy City Zoo, he was asked to introduce a special guest after his set -- Robin Williams.

"I was totally ... just ...'Wow!' " he says. But it is against the comics' code to act "star struck," especially backstage at one of the hottest comedy clubs in town.

"The clubs in the San Fransisco area were like (Williams') high school, where he developed. And there is a rule among comedians that you don't hassle your colleagues."

He would run into Williams again, this time as a physician in the same hospital where Williams' wife was having a C-section birth.

"He was in the nursery, looking at his new baby," he says, "and remembered 'the baby doctor' who opened for him years before at the Zoo.' "

Stage to seminars

Silverstein continued to practice pediatrics part-time as he traveled to shows, but his passion for his new art began to wear off.

"It didn't seem that satisfying to perform on the road for $100 per week," he says. "And it's low prestige."

He began receiving requests from medical societies and associations. They wanted Silverstein to pair his comedy with his knowledge of medicine for a seriously funny lecture on combining medicine and comedy.

"We try to have things educational as well as entertaining," Lisa Puleo, executive director of the Clark County Medical Society, says. "We want them to enjoy being there for the evening and take home skills that they can use in their practice." The society holds four to six seminars per year.

"To be a speaker carrying a message was great ... it just took on a life of its own," Silverstein says.

Applying his medical knowledge with a sneaky wit to a roomful of doctors was the perfect combination for Silverstein.

"(Speaking) allows me to be funny from a comedy viewpoint but also from the viewpoint of doctor," he says. Although he never used medical humor for his stand-up routine, he now has a forum in which the audience will "get it.

"I'm very pleased -- not only am I using my creative abilities, but also helping doctors," he says.

He is a doctor first, he says, using comedy to place a human touch in a sterile environment. "The comedian sees the painful part of society and gives it back in a different way," he says.

Recently he did a stand-up comedy act for manic depressives -- no joke.

"I got them to laugh," he says. A woman approached Silverstein after the performance.

"She said to me, 'That is the first time I have laughed in years' and she meant it," he says. "That made me feel good. That's the perfect example of the role of physician and comic being the same."