- I grew up in a suburb that was pretty white.
I'm not saying I never saw black people,
but most of the ones I knew were on Sanford and Son.
But I moved to Los Angeles in '92,
which wasn't long after the riots happened.
And it seemed like everywhere you looked,
there would be a burned down building,
kind of reminding you of the tensions
that had torn the city apart.
And one of my first jobs was as a production assistant
on a show called Me and the Boys,
which was about an African American family.
So there was a lot of new experiences for me.
Me and the Boys was the first show
that Steve Harvey ever starred on.
Steve was a very successful comedian and people were saying
that he might be the next Bill Cosby.
Back then, that was considered a compliment.
Steve was gonna play at a club called Maverick's Flat,
which is a historic club in south L.A.
And I wanted to go see him, and he arranged
for tickets for me and another PA on the show.
We went to the club and the other PA is black,
and I only bring that up because
so was every other person in the club.
And we kinda made our way to the back,
we're getting drinks at the bar or whatever,
and the host comes out, he starts telling jokes,
and then Steve comes out from back stage,
and everyone's sort of surprised to see him.
He's the headliner, he's on early.
And he apologized, and he's like,
I'm sorry, hey, where's Ron?
And my heart just sinks.
And he's like, people are looking around
and he says, "Come on, I know you didn't lose him.
"Where is the white boy?"
And every single hand in that club shoots up
and a finger comes down, pointing directly at me.
Everywhere I look, people are like peering around pillars,
they're popping up over the bar.
It's like every finger is pointed at me.
And Steve figures out where I am
and kinda squints into the background,
and he goes, "Oh, hell no, Ron.
"We saved you a seat up front!"
And without another word, the crowd splits like the Red Sea,
and they form this like makeshift aisle
and I'm kind of guided to the front of the stage
where they have literally set up a throne for me to sit on.
Steve gets me seated, he leaves,
the host goes back to the show,
and brings on a series of comedians,
who are all hysterical.
They're all telling jokes about being black.
And almost invariably, there's some version
of a routine that's about how a black guy
does a thing versus how a white guy does a thing,
but it's not white guy tonight,
it's all, everybody's like,
this is how a black guy walks,
but this is how Ron walks.
People were laughing uproariously
and having a great time, and I'm having a blast.
The last guy to go on before Steve was this young comedian.
He was raw and edgy and electric and hilarious.
The crowd loved him.
And he starts talking about a word,
a very particular word.
Let's just say it's a different
expression for a black fellow.
And he's talking about how this horrible word
has been used to oppress people for generations.
But now black people had slightly tweaked that word,
like the way you might instead of say fellow, say fella,
and to him this version of the word
had taken it from being a slur to a badge of honor,
a way of recognizing someone else
as a fellow person of color.
And he felt like this is the version
of the word we should be using
all the time, the only version.
And he wanted to make sure that every person in that room
knew how to say it correctly.
So what he would do is he would say the word,
hand the microphone to someone
and make them repeat it back
and coach them on how to say it,
like how to pronounce it,
how to really get the feeling of that word.
And this is hilarious.
People are falling out of their chairs laughing.
Do you remember the part where I said
I was sitting in the front row?
Because I had forgotten.
I'm laughing, and I kinda turn to the person
next to me, we share a laugh, and I turn back,
and dude is right here, right in my face.
And I don't know how he got there so fast.
He says the word and he sticks
the microphone right in my face.
And the whole room goes silent.
Everyone is holding their breath,
waiting to hear what I'm gonna say, including me.
And then he pulls the mic back and says, "Not you."
And he holds the microphone up
and he lets it fall to the stage.
Now, this is 1994.
I had never seen a mic drop before.
The second the microphone hit the floor,
the whole place damn near exploded.
People are cheering, they're hugging each other,
they're high-fiving, laughing, and clapping.
It's just sheer jubilation.
And he leaves the stage to a standing ovation.
So Steve Harvey comes out next to close the show.
And one of the first things he does
is thank me for being a good sport.
And as insane as this sounds,
he gets an entire room of black people
to applaud me for being white.
Now, I've thought about this night a lot
in the years since it happened.
I write comedy for a living,
and one of the things I've learned
is that people laugh at things that are familiar to them.
And I think the reason people were laughing at me that night
is 'cause they could relate to the feeling
of being the only one.
Probably most of the people there
had had an experience of being
the only person with a different skin color
and it happened to them all the time,
and it happened to them in a Los Angeles
still reeling from the riots.
They'd all probably heard the words not you,
but it wasn't followed by a mic drop and a laugh track.
I had been given a chance to be a minority,
but as a tourist, this is the fun version
presented with love and laughs.
I think those comedians gave me a slight glimpse
of what it's like to be,
looked at the world as something different.
And I'm grateful for that perspective.
But I don't sit in the front row of comedy clubs anymore.
I'm Ron Hart, thank you for watching my story.
Oh, Jesus.
I'm Ron Hart, thanks for watching my story.
If you enjoy this, please , uh.
I'm Ron Hart, thank you for watching my story.
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Let me try again.