Sadly, David Brenner passed away March 15, 2014, but I had the good fortune to talk with him in August 2013, about the performers who entertained at the Playboy Clubs from 1960 until 1988. David shared many ‘Playboy’ stories as well as other observations he formed during his career. He talks below about his very early years and his thoughts on working for the mob.

“Almost all the guys that started at the same time as I did were friends. We were lucky because there were only about a dozen of us—actually, someone counted, and there were something like 265 fresh comedians trying to catch a break at that time. Which really wasn’t a lot, the last I heard, there were somewhere between fourteen and seventeen standup comedians in America today.  And back in the early 70s’, about twelve of us hung around together.  We were all new faces—Jimmie Walker, Freddy Prinze, Steve Landesberg, Bette Midler, Steve Martin, David Letterman, Jay Leno, and a few others.

“We were all unique—we couldn’t trade our act. I couldn’t say to Jimmy Walker, ‘Listen Jimmy, I’ve got a sore throat, could you take over for me tomorrow? I’ll give you my act, No! We were all different. That was an advantage. Each one of us had a special personality, but we supported and nurtured each other.  Today it’s dog eat dog. Back then we’d come from the Village or the Upper East Side, and met for breakfast or after our shows, and we’d sit down and feed each other jokes. I remember once saying to Steve Landesberg, ‘I think I have a joke for you Steve, I can’t use it.’ He says, ‘What’s that?’ I said, ‘Jewish duck hunters. There aren’t any Jewish duck hunters.’ And he did this routine on Jewish duck hunters. I laugh to this day when I think of it—what a brilliant thing he did with it. You never see that today. They steal from each other like thieves!

“I’ve had to call a few people for stealing my material. It’s one thing if I give it away, but another if they just take it! One night I was watching an HBO special of a big star, and he did a seven minute chunk of my material verbatim.  This guy is famous for stealing, so I called his manager,  and said, ‘You know, I saw your boy last night on HBO. Funny stuff.’ He said, ‘Yeah, he loves you.’ ‘Yeah okay,’ I said. ‘You know me. I’m a neighborhood guy. We didn’t have lawyers in my neighborhood. We had the Bambino Club. Tell your client that if he ever does one line of anything that’s mine again, I’m going to rip his legs off, shove them up his ass, and he’ll be the shortest living comic around.’

“This guy still runs when he sees me, but lately  I’ve gotten to the point where I try not to get so upset. I have a line that I pop into my head to relax me, and that is, ‘I can create faster than anyone can steal.’ End of that story!

“I was the young kid in the seventies, and was very fortunate that some of the seasoned veterans took me under their wing and opened doors for me. Shecky Greene, Red Foxx, Johnny Carson—all those guys were so kind to me. Buddy Hackett got me a gig in Vegas, and I spent my career making money there in Las Vegas thanks to him. Like I said, you don’t see that today.”

While David was telling me about working Vegas, I had to ask him about working for the mafia because—well, because everyone knows Bugsy Siegel built Las Vegas. “Please,” he said. “They were grand! Here’s how it worked. You’d finish your run in the showroom in March, right? And a guy with no neck and a nose that touched his ear would come over and say, ‘Yo, Dave, I wanna talk to you a minute. You’re funny. Very funny. What are you doing the last two weeks in July?’ I’d said, ‘Why are you interested in what I’m doing in July?’ ‘Well, I was wondering if you’d work my joint, you know.’ I, of course would ask, ‘what’s your joint? Which hotel do you run? Sometimes he’d say he was the overseeing chef—but really he was from the mob in Chicago.

“It would continue with me saying, ‘Talk to me, what are you offering?’ We’d work out our deal, how much money, plus a car at the airport—a nice convertible. Sometimes I’d ask, ‘Do you still have the boat on the lake?’ ‘I’m not giving you the boat! Maybe one day, but I’m not promising nothing!’ We’d go through a litany of things like that—the show, specifics about the opening act and on and on. And the last word he’d say was, ’Alright, so we have a deal or what?’ I never knew what ‘or what ‘was, but I’d say, ‘We’ve got a deal,’ and he’d put out his hand and we shook.

“This is the amazing part—along comes the second week of July. Without hearing from him since the day I shook his hand, I’d get my own airfare— because that’s what you did then— and fly to Las Vegas. When I landed, there was a car waiting to take me to the hotel. My name was in big letters on the marquee. I had a beautiful suite with all kinds of stuff they’d put there for you. Everything was exactly like they told you. They never broke one word—nothing on paper—all on a handshake. They treated you like royalty with enough food in my dressing room to feed another country—‘Yo Dave, you never know, someone drops by your room, you want to be able to offer him a meatball!’

“Then the corporations took over, and even with a contract seventeen pages long, you never get everything they promised. Something would be wrong, so my agent would call and say, ‘Wait a minute, we have a contract. it’s in the contract!’ And they say, alright, sue us! Playboy was old school; they treated you like the mob treated you. That’s what was great about them. They treated you right!”

You can read more stories in my books Playboy Swings and The Persian Room Presents