George Wallace Loves You

We’ve only been on Zoom for five seconds, and already George Wallace is giving me shit. “The books in your background — have you read them all?”

The 72-year-old comic legend is checking out my built-in bookcases, which contain many books owned by my wife and me. When I tell Wallace I’ve read the books on my shelves, but not hers, he cackles in response, “The three books on your side, you’ve read those.” 

The fact that he has a big grin on his face makes the kindly ribbing all the more enjoyable. Spend any time with Wallace, who’s in New York during our Zoom, and what becomes clear quickly is that he’s all about love. His colleagues talk endlessly about his ebullient personality. And throughout our hour-long conversation, he laughs constantly — so much so that I didn’t bother inserting any of them into the Q&A you’re about to read. He’s in a great mood as we talk, but it appears that he always is. At one point during our time together, he’ll tell me he loves me — and then again when we wrap up. Signing off, he’ll declare, “I love you, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.” I believe him.

We’re here to discuss his new show, Clean Slate, which is streaming on Prime Video. The comedy, which he co-created, was spawned by a thought Wallace was kicking around. “(I told Norman Lear), ‘Norman, it’s time to reboot Sanford and Son,’” Wallace recalls, referring to the iconic television producer who had helped spearhead that groundbreaking 1970s sitcom. But Lear was skeptical, telling Wallace, “It’s pretty tough to do. But if you come back with a twist, maybe we can talk.” That’s when Wallace had his second brainstorm. 

“I was talking to a friend of mine, (writer) Dan Ewan,” says Wallace. “Orange Is the New Black was the hot show, and I heard so much about the actress Laverne Cox. I didn’t know her, didn’t watch the show, but I said, ‘This sounds like somebody I want to work with.’”

From there came Clean Slate, executive produced by Lear (who died in 2023 at the age of 101), which stars Wallace as Harry, who is visited by his child, whom he hasn’t seen in more than two decades. Harry has a surprise in store when he is greeted by Desiree (Cox), a trans woman who has found her true self since she and her father became estranged. Harry is shocked, but Clean Slate isn’t a show in which he feuds with Desiree about her gender identity. As Wallace puts it to me, “She has more problems with me, the way I live.”

The genial sitcom is a nice platform for Wallace, a stand-up legend for nearly 50 years who works clean like his best friend Jerry Seinfeld, whom he’s known since the beginning of their careers. (They were roommates for more than a decade during those early days.) Although Wallace has done his share of acting on the big screen (The Ladykillers) and the small screen (Scrubs, Seinfeld), he’s beloved for his work on stage, where his observational humor has made him timeless, even as he’s gotten older and those observations have evolved over the years. Like Seinfeld, Wallace doesn’t do introspective or confessional humor — he’s a straight-up killer, nailing joke after joke after joke. The two men remain close — in fact, during our interview, Seinfeld actually calls Wallace at one point. (They’re going to be working together later that night: “We still run the clubs and do new jokes,” Wallace notes, with obvious pride in his voice.)

But although he’s an elder statesman of comedy — “When I walk into the clubs, all the comedians go, ‘Hey, Unc!’” — Wallace has managed to connect with a younger fan base in recent years thanks to his proficiency with Twitter, which became another outlet for this prolific joke writer to let fly with his weirdest, silliest ideas. Few comics are veterans of Las Vegas and social media. (And, don’t forget, for years before he was a comic, Wallace had a successful career in sales and advertising.) He has no desire to slow down, but he loves telling stories about the old days. 

We talked about Clean Slate, but we also looked back at his childhood, the influence the church had on him and why he’s still so happy despite the fact that America seems to be going to hell. Throughout, his tone was unfailingly upbeat — except when he touched on his experiences with Johnny Carson. 

Clean Slate started off as an attempt on your part to reboot Sanford and Son. What did that show mean to you when it first came on the air?

When I wanted to be a comedian at six years old, Redd Foxx was one of the comedians that I would listen to — not supposed to because I’m just a kid. They were called party records — they were considered blue and dirty back in the day. The parents would go off to church or wherever, and they didn’t think we were going to listen to those records. (Years later, I had) an opportunity to be able to write for The Redd Foxx Show.

But Sanford and Son was really different after All in the Family, all of these shows that Norman Lear brought to the forefront. We thought it was just wonderful seeing Redd Foxx. You don’t understand this, but being Black — I think we were “colored” when that show came on — to see another Black man on TV, a Black family, was like, “Whoa.” We had seen Sammy Davis Jr. with the Bunkers and then The Jeffersons (after) Sanford and Son. Within the Black community, if we saw a person of color on TV, we would actually get on the telephone and call each other: “There’s a Black man on television!” Didn’t have to know the name or anything like that: “There’s a Black man on TV!” We did that throughout the community and the neighborhood. 

So (Sanford and Son) meant a lot to us. And the jokes — we knew the characters, Aunt Esther. Back in the day — we call it snapping now, talking about each other — that was everyday life for us, that’s why we love that. And then let’s not forget the first thing about the show that you love ​​— you don’t even have to watch the show to feel good when you hear that music. (Starts singing the theme song.) I mean, very seldom you hear it on radio, but if you do, no matter where you are, if you hear the great Quincy Jones (who wrote the Sanford and Son theme song), it makes you feel good.

So, was the idea to do a modern spin on Sanford and Son? 

I’m so crazy that I actually thought, “What if we rebooted the show with the actual scripts, just different actors?” I still think it could be funny. We did that with a movie called Friday: I read the John Witherspoon character and we read it to an audience, just a table reading of the original script, and the people went crazy. So I wanted a modern version of Sanford and Son, but it wouldn’t have bothered me to just revamp the scripts that were out there and just bring them up-to-date. I basically wanted to hear the music, and I knew I could do Redd’s Sanford. I got the hair, I got the walk, I got everything — I just wanted to do it. There’s a comedian called Luenell — I wanted her to be my Aunt Esther. 

So, you’re six and you want to be a comedian. How realistic a dream did that seem at that time?

Very realistic. You know why? Because what I heard on TV, I took back to school the next day, reenacting the jokes and getting laughs from the kids or the teachers that didn’t see the show. I got to present the package as a comedian. That’s when I knew I wanted to be a comedian because I just took all of the Richard Pryor, Red Skelton — some people don't know about Red Skelton — Moms Mabley, Pigmeat Markham and told those jokes and people would become happy. When I see happy people, it makes me happier. I wasn’t a class clown, but I was really appreciated when I walked in the classroom because I know I have a smile on my face and there were moments of happiness. If you can do that, that’s a special gift that God gave me. 

Other comics talk about how sunny you are. Is that who you are naturally? Or is that a choice you made of how to be in the world?

It’s me, it’s George Wallace — that’s my personality. I don’t know you, but I already like you. I love you. I love people no matter what. That’s why I knew I could play this character (in Clean Slate) when I found out more about Laverne’s life — my kids are her age. 

Let me put it like this: Everybody I went to grade school with, I still know and we still talk. All my school teachers, we still talk. My school teacher, she’s 96 years old, I talked to her last week. Everybody I went to college with — I was an R.A. — I still call these people. They still call me for advice, I’m still their leader — they’re still my friend. Everybody I went to church with, everybody I have grown up with, everybody I’ve worked with advertising in New York City, I still keep in touch with these people. These people, my friends, I love them. My best friend, Mr. Seinfeld, 48 years of friendship. If you’re good people, you’ll be my friend forever — I don’t hang out with bad people. 

This sounds like a real point of pride for you — you take care to cultivate these friendships, and you avoid toxic people.

There’s something embedded in me, maybe my community. There was a group of comedians that did drugs — I never did drugs. Seinfeld didn’t do drugs. Garry Shandling didn’t do drugs. David Letterman, Jay Leno, we all hung out in the front of the Comedy Store. Your Richard Pryors and your Sam Kinisons and your Robin Williamses and that gang — they hung out in the back of the Comedy Store. They were sniffing or whatever, but we didn’t partake in those activities, and so we separated. Those are good people, but we didn’t hang with them. Very funny people, they were — maybe that’s where their creativity came from, but we just didn’t do the drugs.

Did you ever feel pressure to partake?

There was never a pressure because we had our gang — we felt just as good as they did doing drugs. We got our high on the stage — we walked off the stage, we were high. But it was never pressure because, the people that I mentioned, we’re all strong. I don’t need drugs. It’s like joining a fraternity: You’re not going to beat me or haze me to be your friend. I don’t need that — I’ll be your friend without that.

Some artists avoid drugs because they have addiction issues in their family. They’re trying to break a cycle. Was that the case for you?

I was born and raised in the church. If I never go to church again in my life, I have put my time in. We used to go to church on Sunday, didn’t get out till Tuesday. Just church, church, church. I complain today maybe it had been too much church, but it did keep us out of trouble — it kept us off the streets. 

I grew up in Atlanta, Georgia — Linwood Park, where we respected everybody in the community. There was somebody always watching you, which was really, really good. We so often talk about the village raising a kid — that’s where I grew up and I cannot explain how great it was. We couldn’t cuss — we couldn’t do that in front of our parents and adults, and we still don’t. I’m 70-plus years old and if I see somebody older than me, “Yes ma’am” — that’s just in me. I wish I could explain to you what kind of community I grew up in — it was all about love. Even growing up in Atlanta, with the segregation, I rode the back of the bus — a lot of people wouldn’t be able to say that, but I learned love back in the day. Atlanta was a city too busy to hate — we still like to ride with that title. We just love people and having fun.

How did being raised in the church inform your comedy?

I’m six years old, and they’re having the segment of the service called “Welcome to the Church”: “If you want to join the church, the doors of the church are open.” My dumb butt would turn around and look — those doors not open! I would get home and I would mock the preacher. My mom would always have to say, “Shut up, boy, don’t do that!” I said, “You know that preacher stood up there and told a lie. Didn’t the preacher say, ‘I won’t be long?’ That’s the first thing they say — that’s a lie, ma!” Or we would mock the people at church — the parents didn’t like it, but they laughed. They would sometimes say, “Do Brother Such-and-Such. Do Sister Such-and-Such. Sing the song the preacher was singing.” Oh yeah, they laughed. So the church was a heavy influence on me

I started off (in stand-up) as a minister in a big robe and the yellow pages. That was my Bible — The Good Book of Bell. “Whatever you need, look it up in the book, whatever you want.” We just started there, and then I got rid of the character, which I should bring back. I guess I would have to use a cell phone — well, maybe I should bring the (yellow pages) back so the kids could understand everybody’s number used to be in the book. I bet that would be exciting for the kids.

That character, Rev. Dr. George Wallace, you really haven’t done anything like that after your early career. Was doing a character easier for you when you first got on stage?

When you first start, you don’t know what to do. Somebody says, “Try this, try that.” I would mock the preacher — they said, “Yeah, you should do that,” so I put the robe on and people were happy. When they introduced me (on stage), I would walk into the room singing, “Oh, when the saints / Go marching in…” They had musicians, and the room would go crazy. I’m already liked by the time I hit the stage. Yeah, I should do that again.

But you don’t know who you are until, like, seven years in comedy. You start to get a point-of-view because now you’ve paid bills, now you experienced life, you bought a car, you bought a house, maybe got married, (had) some relationships that you can talk about. That character did help me out, but now I’m just basically a personality. It was hard to change up: “Okay, I’m just going to do these jokes.” But you learn and you grow, and I’m still growing. Every day I’m still learning. (He holds up a legal yellow pad filled with handwriting.) I’m still with the yellow legal pad. I still write every day.

You’re famous for how many jokes you write every week. Is everything scribbled on that page a joke?

They’re just thoughts. Talking about what would happen if you lost your cell phone — I’m trying to get into that. I’m single, but I think I need to be married because you develop a lot of habits when you’re single. I asked the audience this question, “If you’re single and you live alone, do you have to make your bed?” The audience gets involved with this, half the audience going, “No” — and now (the other half is) shouting back, “Yes, you do!” Why? If you make your bed, you have had an accomplishment to start your day. But I’m thinking — and there’s a lot of people like me in the audience — I (haven’t) made my bed in a year or two years. Why? You’re going to get right back in it. But that’s what single people do — bad habits you develop. Is it okay if you’re single to drink straight out of the container from the refrigerator?

What was the response from the audience when you asked that?

Back and forth. Most people say yes on that one. So I advise you, if you ever go to a single person’s home, don’t drink nothing unless it’s a bottle of water. Put the cap on it and you make sure that cap is on tight. It’s got to pop.

You and Seinfeld have been friends for a long time. Starting out, you were roommates. At the beginning, how much did you influence each other’s comedy?

When we started, the word “networking” wasn’t (a thing), but that’s what we did. When we got off stage at night in New York City at pretty much four or five o’clock in the morning, then we’d go to a place called the Green Kitchen. Everybody would network: “What you should do with this joke, you should try this on the end.” We influenced each other and it was every night — Richard Belzer, Bill Maher, Paul Reiser, Seinfeld, Elayne Boosler, so many of us, we would do that every night. 

Everybody influenced everybody and helped each other. We just loved each other. They don’t do that as much now — they don’t hang out and network, especially in California because, nine times out of 10, you live 30 miles from the Comedy Store or the Laugh Factory or the Improv, so you got to get back home. 

Living with (Seinfeld), we (would) wake up any morning and say, “Put that (idea) down!” He said yesterday to me, “Write that down because I don’t want you to (forget)!” So I have to write it down — I put it in the phone at breakfast yesterday as we were talking about (jokes). 

What do you two talk more about these days? Comedy or life?

It’s always about comedy. If it is about life, it ends up in a joke. Our formula is kind of like 1,2, C — or A, B, 3. You talk about the subject matter and dissect it and put that twist at the end with the joke. We talk comedy so much, if we’re with our family we could start talking about something and the family doesn’t get it. We talk about simple things like ordering food — this is something new I’m working on. I live in New York City and I’m on the 31st floor, and I order food from DoorDash — the food gets here, concierge calls up, “Mr. Wallace, we have a food delivery. Do you want us to send it up?” “No, you eat it — you keep it down there.” Simple things like that.

People saying stupid things: “Mr. Wallace, what you doing at the airport? You’re going somewhere?” Just stupid stuff. We just write them down — sometimes you don’t even think they’re funny, but you don’t know what the audience is going to think. And that’s observational moments that happen in real life. Comedy is great — there’s always something to laugh at no matter what it is. 

A lot of people would say there’s not much to laugh about right now because of Trump and what he’s doing to the country.

We’ve got to laugh. No matter how bad the economy is, no matter how bad the presidency is, no matter what politics are, we’ve got to come around with a joke. That’s our job, to make people happy no matter what — bad times, good times. 

Of course, most of the comedians don’t like the situation as it is, politically — we’re sociologists, we know the ills of the country. Most comedians are very knowledgeable about what’s going on because we see the people paying them bills, the health situations. Matter of fact, we should be presidents — comedians should be in charge of the country. Just think if I was the president of the United States and Robert Klein was president of Russia and Marsha Warfield was in charge of Canada. Just think how life would be.

One time a preacher made a statement: “If everybody in this world was just like me, what kind of world would this be?” I will never forget that — I must have been 12 years old. Can you imagine what the world would be like if everybody was just nice and calm? I’ve been to Communist countries — I went before the Wall came down in Germany, East Berlin, and these Communist kids, next thing you know we’re laughing. 

I’m still thinking about this notion of needing seven years in stand-up before you know who you are. How do you know the moment when that happens, when you find your voice?

You know who you are because you’ve built your following — people that think like you think, people that like you. “These are my people.” That’s why different comedians have different audiences. People like me, they’ll come to see me — they won’t go see Seinfeld. People like me like Dave Chappelle, Katt Williams, Luenell. I have an old audience because I’ve been doing this for 48 years. That’s who comes see me. 

You blew up on Twitter several years ago when you started using the platform. Were you trying to reach a younger crowd?

That’s why I did Twitter: “I got to get a new audience. I got to reinvent the brand. Some of these young kids don’t know who George Wallace is.” You lose a part of America when you’re (performing) in Las Vegas for 15 years.

Initially, I thought, “I’m giving away these jokes (on Twitter) for free.” But then I said, “Well, wait a minute — those people will never be able to get to Las Vegas, so let me just share it with the people of the world.” We started off doing stupid stuff, and then they caught on. 

What did you learn about writing jokes by doing Twitter?

You have to write a brief joke — you got to get it in 140 (characters). So that started a whole new writing process. It’s basically the same as radio — you can’t tell the whole joke on the radio, so you got to wrap it up quickly and give a picture of it so that people can see it. When you’re (on stage), you can take your time and throw little innuendos or whatever you want to throw in and just be personal. But, Twitter, 140, bam, in and out, you’re done.

You knew Norman Lear, who’s an executive producer on Clean Slate, for 30 years. How did you meet?

Norman Lear wrote a show called 704 Hauser. This is the house that the Bunkers lived in. (On the show) John Amos and his wife lived there, and I (played) their best friend. Norman had seen us on stage — back in the day, they would come out to the Comedy Store and see people, and we became friends just like that. 

When we took the idea (for Clean Slate) to Norman, he said, “That’s the craziest idea I’ve heard in my life, but I like it.” We pitched it to Laverne’s management, and then Laverne agreed and came on as co-executive producer. We put the show together and we went around to different houses to sell the show — Norman went to every meeting at 100 years old. I knew we had to have Norman because that’s the key to the door: When Norman calls, everybody shows up at the meeting just to meet him. We shopped around — many nos. But I’m from sales — when I was selling advertising in Times Square, (you needed) only one yes out of 12 nos. We had the right people say yes, and the show came to fruition.

How much has your former career in sales helped you in comedy?

My first degree was in transportation — I love to travel, I love to meet people. My second degree was in marketing. I’ve gotten to the point where I know so much about marketing I can tell the young kids, “Marketing is just another name for bullshit.” As you can see, our President of the United States markets himself very well — loaded with bullshit. I’ve always known he is a bullshitter because that’s what I do — all bullshitters know each other. Mind you, we don’t know each other — but we know each other. 

Everybody’s in marketing — no matter what you do, you got to sell your program, you got to sell to yourself. You could be a doctor, but you got to sell your services. And do it with a smile. When I was a kid in New York City making $75,000 a year back in 1974, I knew going to some of these places, some of the executives are going, “Who the hell is this little Black kid coming here asking me for $200,000?” But I always knew one person (would say), “Okay, I’m going to work with this young person and make it happen.” You go in with the right attitude, and (after) the sales meetings, you write down what you talked about. You don’t see this person until a year later, but you go, “Your kid should be about 15 or 16 now, right?” You take notes — people remember those personal moments. Sales is how I made (Clean Slate) happen, too, going back to Norman Lear and saying, “Let’s reboot a good program.”

I watched your first stand-up appearance on The Tonight Show from 1979. I was shocked how timely so much of your material still was — you talk about being in Beverly Hills at 3 a.m. and being approached by the cops. Was there any pushback from the producers about the kind of politically- and socially-minded jokes you were going to tell?

We talked about that before we did the show. We took some things out because (Tonight Show producer) Jim McCauley thought Johnny wouldn’t like the subject matter, and I’m going, “Dude, I’m doing this all over the country.” I mean, I’m only in comedy three years — I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, to be honest — and I’m on The Tonight Show. I personally think I did it too soon. I would’ve been good no matter what, but I didn’t know the comedic atmosphere and the politics at the time. Now I know a lot of things I didn’t know. 

If you watch the first Tonight Show I did, I think I did a real good job. But what I found out is that you want Johnny Carson to give you that little “okay” signal. I got 19 applauses on the show. I could have been called over to the sofa — I was ready for it — but I found out five years later, one of the guys that hung out with Johnny Carson every night, Bud Robinson, who was Doc Severinsen’s manager, (said) that (Carson) was a great man, but he didn’t come across with the people of color too nice. Redd Foxx’s studio (was) next door — he never hosted The Tonight Show. Only people of color that got on the show were (the) in-people. Of course, Eddie Murphy was with NBC, Saturday Night Live. Bill Cosby was already there. Sammy Davis Jr. was already in the in-crowd. Flip Wilson, of course with NBC. 

I actually went to The Tonight Show with Shirley Hemphill. What’s Happening!! was number one in America — she was first on the show. She got (bumped), and she was so angry — I thought they could hear it while I was on TV (in) the studio. She said, “Fuck Johnny Carson, I’ll never come back to this fucking place again.” I’m going, “Oh my god, they’re going to throw all of us out.” But people of color were bumped at the time. His favorite singer, Joe Williams, never made it to the couch. And when they were going to invite him to the couch — his last time when Johnny Carson was retiring — he tripped and fell going to the stage and never (had) a conversation on the couch. 

That first Tonight Show appearance was a big deal: Suddenly, the next night you find yourself performing in front of 17,000 people, opening for Natalie Cole. You opened for a bunch of musicians: George Benson, Helen Reddy, Paul Anka, Tom Jones. I hear modern-day comedians complaining about what a tough gig that is — basically, music fans don’t want to see a comedian and take it out on the comedian. But it seems like you had no problem killing.

Listen, I had a personality back in the day and still do. I don’t give a damn who’s coming on next — I’m on now. 

When I started as a comedian back in the day, you don’t know who’s going to come in (to the club) and you have to follow. Richard Pryor will come into the room. Rodney Dangerfield will come into the room. And I’m already working with Robin Williams and Jay Leno and David Letterman. We’re already killing — we just wanted to get to the stage, we didn’t care. We weren’t smart enough to know this could be terrible — well, I wasn’t smart enough to know. I just wanted to get out there and work. 

People aren’t going to let you laugh by yourself. If you’re doing a good job and they love you — I have that salesman personality, “Come on everybody, let’s get happy, let it roll” — the next thing you know, it’s time for me to get my butt off the stage. I have the greatest life since Day One, being a comedian, loving what I do today as much as I did then. I wish everybody could do comedy. I have to tell young kids today, “Make sure you enjoy your life. Whatever you do, enjoy your life because life is backwards. You don’t have to remember my jokes — make sure you enjoy your life because life is backwards.” You hear people say, “When I turn 65, I’m going to retire and travel all over the world.” You’re too damn old! Young people, travel now. Go to the nude beaches — get all of that crazy stuff out of your life. Enjoy life, and whatever you want to do, the money will come. 

When you look back, were there periods when you just felt like the jokes you were writing were all terrible? Are there fallow periods for a stand-up?

I am hooked. Going on that stage is my sex and my drugs — there’s nothing better. I’m ready to go to work right now — we are going to work in about five hours. (Seinfeld) is going to pick me up at eight o’clock and we’re going to go to the comedy club and we’re going to try some new jokes. He’ll go up and bring me on — I’ll go up and bring him on. We still run the clubs and do new jokes. Big houses, small houses, it doesn’t matter. We don’t work together too much, but we work a lot.

Why don’t you work together much?

He can’t follow me! No, I’m just kidding. I make a lot of money — I can’t take all his money away. We worked together one show, I made so many thousand dollars, but he made almost like $100,000 more than me, and I said on stage, “Was he $100,000 funnier than me? Hell no!” 

We’ve worked together, but we made a decision not to do television together because we had a friend, Garry Shandling — he and his best friend, Lewis Smith, worked together, and Lewis got fired. Lewis said, “Why didn’t you tell me? You’re my best friend.” They broke up — they were never friends again. 

Business, friendship — separate. Maybe small parts here, small parts there. But I can never afford to lose a friendship like I have (with Seinfeld).

I stopped loaning money to my friends — I cannot afford to lose your friendship because of money. Let’s just don’t do money. When a friend says, “Don’t worry about me — you know you can trust me,” that’s when you know you’re not getting a dime back. So my friends understand me now. They’ll say, “I know you don’t loan money, but would you…?” Sticking to the rules, buddy — I’m sticking to the rules. 

Earlier, when you were talking about still being close friends with so many people throughout your life, I was tempted to ask, “Yeah, but how many of them ask for money?”

I was doing this joke about four years ago about COVID. I said, “The pandemic, I lost five friends. Oh, they didn’t have COVID — they just owed me money. They got to go!”

I understand that you’re hooked on comedy. But after so many years of writing, how do you know if the new material you’re writing is as good — if not better — than the stuff you’ve done before?

When Johnny Carson would do a joke, (if) it didn’t work, all of a sudden he’s going (perfect impression of a flustered Carson), “All right, well…” I love that. I have this yellow pad, and I go and I do my new jokes, and I go, “Joke Number One.” I’ll do the joke — I note (out loud), “Worked real good.” Joke Number Two: “Worked real good.” Joke Number Three: “Needs work.” Joke Number Four: “Joke’s funny, audience sucks.” They go crazy when I do that.

You’re working on a new joke, and some nights you position them sometimes just to get (the audience’s) reaction. Writing these jokes, keeping it fresh, it’s a different audience every night. Sometimes it’s presented in a different cadence. Sometimes I’ll just slow down and start talking to the people — sometimes I’ll do crowd work, and next thing you know, my time is up. 

You always walk off stage going, “I forgot to do this joke.” I was in London, England, with Seinfeld — we had 20,000 people. I had a joke about (going) to Buckingham Palace and the Queen was there — she was still alive — and I said, “I’m wondering, she’s always walking around with her purse. How many of you ladies live in your own house and you’re walking around with your purse?” I forgot to do that in London. That hurt me so badly!

On Clean Slate, Cox’s Desiree is big into therapy. Have you ever tried therapy?

All the psychiatrists I know go to psychiatrists. Look, I’m so stupid — my head isn’t right, okay? The hell I’m going to pay somebody to listen to my bullshit while I lay on the sofa: “Let me tell you, you lay down, I’ll be your doctor.” 

Therapy can help a lot of people. That’s what I do, to be honest — people come to my show to laugh and forget about their problems, forget about their bills that are due, forget about a death in the family. You’d be surprised, the compliments we get: “Thank you so much, I haven’t laughed in three years since my husband died.” That’s why we do it. That’s payday for your butt right there, when people come up and thank you for situations (they’re) going through. Laughter is the greatest medicine in the world.

Something you and Seinfeld have in common: Your humor is not especially personal or confessional…

You’re so right. I need to do more personal stuff. People need to know that I can’t touch my toes. People need to know that I can’t cross my legs. I got to do stuff like that and tell things that people can identify with — I need to talk about me more.

Why has that not been an interest for you up to this point? 

Maybe it’s the era that we came from, and previous comedians. For us, it’s Robert Klein and George Carlin. Man, George Carlin was really great, and we learned from him — if he were alive today, he’d still be right on the money: “The government’s got you by your balls.” But the young kids tend to talk about their lives and their relationships and what they’re going through — I think sometimes maybe I should do that. I should talk about me not being able to do certain things. I do talk about my age when I get to an older crowd. It’s good to be able to say, “You know you’re getting old when you start peeing before you start peeing.” The older people can relate.

In this conversation, you mentioned having children — that’s not something you talk about a ton in your jokes. You’re single — I wouldn’t necessarily know that from watching you on stage. I guess there’s part of me that’s curious to hear that side of you up there. 

My thing has been that since I’ve been married to comedy for so long, that is my life — that’s my wife, my life, my family. I’m just different — my family, we’ve always been about making sure everybody else is happy. “Don’t worry about me, I’m happy — what can I do to make your day better?” Even if you call my phone, that’s my message: “This is Dr. Wallace. What can I do to make your day better?” That makes me happy.