It's No Joke: Funny Kids = Smart Kids

The older I get, the less stock I put in “expert” opinions.

I have reasons.

For one, it’s gotten a lot easier these days to debunk the opinions of “experts.”?Just as soon as an “expert” opines or prognosticates about a topic, it’s simple enough to search the Internet for an hour or so and find research that pretty much says the exact opposite of what the “expert” had to say.

Another is that, in today’s world, many “expert” opinions come with the extra baggage of a political or social agenda. I don’t know that I need to elaborate on this one. I think you all know what I’m talking about.

Perhaps another reason I’m dismissive of experts is that I’m a little envious. After six decades on the planet, I don’t consider myself to be an expert on anything. Sometimes, people will recall incidents in which I was involved from 10 or 20 years ago, and I won’t remember any of the details. Other times, I struggle to remember my own phone number or zip code -- meaning I’m not even an expert on ME, which is kind of sad.

But a few weeks ago, I ran across some findings that made me believe one group of “experts” were on to something.

According to a study released in October, kids who had strong humor skills also seemed to be kids with the highest levels of intelligence.

Researchers reported children with higher-than-average levels of general knowledge and verbal reasoning tended to excel at humor.

In other words, the smart kids were also the funny ones – the ones who made us laugh!

Now, this study was published in the journal Humor, so there’s no doubt the results were a little self-serving.

Still, the report confirmed something I’ve noticed for a long time, dating back to my first experience in grade school.

The funny kids were, indeed, smart.

And I have the receipts.

The first “Kid Who Made Me Laugh” (“KWMMLs,” for the rest of this column) that I remember was a guy named Tony Conroy. I still keep up with him on Facebook.

Every KWMML had an M.O. – a humor technique he knew would push the right buttons and elicit laughter from his victim every time, and Tony’s preferred method was “location based.”

In the 1960s, at Our Lady of Sorrows Elementary School in South St. Louis, we were required to attend mass each weekday morning. Now, any Catholic grade school kid worth his rosary beads knows that laughing in church is a sure ticket to hell – or at least a guarantee of being slapped upside the head by an angry nun. (My grade school friend and editor Barb reminds me of one such cleric who could whip a chalkboard eraser with such precision and force it would put most major league ballplayers to shame.)

So, Tony would literally “pick his spot” – sitting next to me in church, quietly nudging me with his elbow, pointing to some picture in the church missalette and making a wise crack about it.

We both knew at that early age that suppressed laughter was the best laughter, so I’d start to giggle and he would find another picture, make another wisecrack, and I would laugh even harder -- until I was hauled off to a secluded pew in the back of church, to sit alone in my shame and atone for my sin.?

The next day, we’d repeat the process. And I’d fall for the whole routine again.

To this day, when I think about these episodes – usually while I’m in church – I start laughing all over again, always keeping my head on a swivel to make sure a long ago Sister Who Liked to Spill Most Precious Blood won’t track me down, box my ears and sentence me to solitary in some remote House of Worship vestibule.

After excelling scholastically, then graduating from the Our Lady of Sorrows School of Comedy, Tony went on to high school and college and later, a successful career as a corporate lawyer.

He’s retired now, no doubt basking in the glory of his comedic achievements.

At the conclusion of fourth grade, my mother decreed that I would leave Our Lady of Sorrows to take up academic residence in the St. Louis public school system, at a place called Nottingham Elementary.

If it was my mom’s intention to separate me from the KWMMLs, it didn’t work.

In the fifth grade at Nottingham, I latched on to a kid named Harvey Fitzwater.

Now, let that name sink in.

Harvey Fitzwater.

Was there ever a better name for a guy who was always cracking wise in the classroom?

Harvey’s preferred comedic genre was physical humor.

A favorite routine was one that had a once-per-year shelf life.

While the teacher was facing away from the class, writing something on the blackboard, Harvey would toss onto the floor in the aisle between the desks a large plat of plastic faux vomit.?With precision timing, he would utter a loud “gack” sound just a split second later.

The unsuspecting teacher would wheel around and blanch in horror, then, realizing what was going on, banish Harvey to the principal’s office for the appropriate discipline.

So, Harvey would methodically rise from his desk, saunter down the aisle, pick up and place the fake puke in his back pocket and make his way out of the classroom to receive his punishment.

I’m still laughing about this scene as I type it.

I don’t know what became of Harvey. I do a Google search on him every now and then and I always come up empty.?

I hope he became a bank president or a doctor or something like that. I’d like to think he’ll prove my theory about funny kids also being the smart kids, and the smart kids growing up to be successful adults.

In 1974, I was shipped off to a big South St. Louis Catholic education factory called Bishop DuBourg High School. It was there that I befriended the third member of my hat trick of funny friends.

Jim Cody was his name, and the “poker face” was his game.

Much like church, the school library was sacrosanct – a place to be held in reverence. No talking, no laughing.

Any action demonstrating any sense of enjoyment was frowned upon.

So, as I sat with Jim at one of the tables in the library, he would usually tell an inappropriate but hilarious joke. I would laugh. The librarian would come over to admonish me with a stern warning about keeping quiet, prompting Jim to chime in with a perfectly straight face and a tone of disgust, “Yeah Bafaro. Stop disrupting the rest of the class!”?

Eddie Haskell had nothing on Jim Cody, and I mean that in the best possible way.

I no longer keep up much with Jim, although I’m told he had a rewarding career as a vice president of sales and general manager of a fabricating company, and is now happily contemplating retirement.?

Again, the theory rings true. Funny kid = smart kid = successful adult.

As for me, I’d like to think I was somebody’s KWMML in school. My comedic skillset was based on my ability to do imitations of our teachers. That was always good for a laugh at the rare high school party to which I was invited.

I was no Frank Caliendo, but hey, it kept things interesting.

I hope this study that links humor to intelligence (and success) gains some traction. It might open up a whole new path for America’s educators.

Going forward, perhaps the schools that reward their Scholar Athletes might find room to also honor “Scholar Comedians.” Someday there might be a “Comedy Fellowship” or a “Wise Guy National Honor Society.”

Maybe schools will choose the class valedictorian based on their ability to do four minutes of killer standup.

When you’re young, one of the biggest obstacles in navigating the education system is the challenge of finding the right kids to hang with. I was a smart enough student, I think, but never SO smart that I comfortably fit in with the brainiacs.

I didn’t do the sports thing, so the jock fraternity was also off limits to me.

And weighing just 135 pounds and sporting a mouthful of braces, the school tough guys were to be avoided at all costs. (As an aside, a college friend of similar slight build once told me he survived St. Louis’ rough and tumble Roosevelt High School by never going to the bathroom there in four years.)

So I gravitated to the funny kids -- the KWMMLs.

I find myself doing the same thing today: the people I hang out with these days have a great sense of humor, but they’re also smart, and successful.

Most of them have retired after long and rewarding careers.?All of them make me laugh - sometimes till I'm in tears -- and I’m pretty sure they first developed and fine-tuned their humor skills way back in grade school.

So here’s to you, you KWMMLs.

The brainy kids were named to the honor rolls. The athletes got to wear letters on their jackets.

We just laughed a lot, then led good and fulfilling lives.

I think that was pretty smart.

And I think the experts would agree. ?

As always, thanks for reading.?