John C. Hinton
written by Ken Carlson
John C. Hinton went to an audition in 2007. It was for Bob Sumner, talent coordinator, Def Comedy Jam. Hinton hoped it wouldn’t be a replay of an audition for the same man several years prior when the young upstart tried to adjust his act on the spot and gave what he thought was a Def Jam performance; causing him to bomb miserably. This time around, things went differently. He got a standing ovation. Afterwards, Sumner waived him over. “He looked at me for ten seconds,” recalls Hinton. “‘You’re a funny man! How come I never heard of you?’ I couldn’t say, well, 18 years ago, I auditioned for you and got booed off the stage. So, I just told him I’d been taking care of my mom.”
When you go to a comedy show, you rarely get to see what goes on behind the curtain, what the comic went through to get there. I sat down recently with Hartford, Connecticut native John Cleveland Hinton at the Side Street Grille in Hamden, a suburb of New Haven. They have comedy every Sunday night. The bar is bustling with college students and older couples happy to get out and blow off some steam. There’s a Bush/Quayle ‘92 sign in the corner and heavy rock blares from the sound system.
The image a lot of people have of Connecticut is the country club lifestyle of preppies named Muffy and Chad. While Greenwich and Westport are where a number of financial and entertainment giants reside, they don’t tell the whole story. In recent decades, while some cities here became glamorous, others fell into decay. Hartford, with its high crime rate and embarrassing school system was one of those cities. Situated halfway between New York and Boston, one would think this town would be a beacon of success. But, as symbols of status, like the Colt firearms factory and the professional hockey team, went away, it became a challenge for many just to survive. Most comedians have to fight to make it in this business, but for some in difficult circumstances away from the stage, that willingness to fight means something else.
In recent years, Hartford’s arts scene has rebounded. It has a strong comedy presence and one of its members is John C. Hinton. He plays clubs and bars, down the street or any distance his car will take him. Back when he went to community college, he used to tell jokes that he heard around the barber shop and got laughs. Somebody told him about a place, Billy Jack’s in Glastonbury that had an open mic. He was scared as hell. But he went, bombed, and loved it. Most successful national comics come to a point in their career when they dropped everything without a care in the world, packed up, and moved to New York or Los Angeles. But what if you can’t leave the small town for the big lights? What if there’s something more important you have to do first?
Hinton grew up in Hartford. His mother got him into Project Concern as a small child which enabled this inner city kid a chance at education in the suburbs. He felt lucky at the time and recognizes now that it gave him the best of both worlds. “I’d listen to RUN DMC at home,” he says, “then go to school and listen to Journey, Led Zeppelin, or Hendrix. Back when we had boom boxes, I was in the North End of Hartford. All they heard coming out of my box was Tina Turner from Beyond ThunderDome. My friends would holler, ‘What’s that you’re playin’?’ ‘Nothing, it’s the radio.’ ‘But I heard you playing that shit yesterday! You like that, don’t you?’”
Hinton became a student of comedy early on. His cousin would sneak Richard Pryor and Red Foxx albums past his mother because she didn’t approve of the language. On TV, he’d watch the Andy Griffith show, The Dick Van Dyke Show, and marveled at the improvisational skills of Bob Newhart. He places a high value on diversity and dismisses blue comedy for cheap laughs.
“A lot of the black comics today,” says Hinton, “they’re not listening to what they’re listening to. Bill Cosby said, ‘Everything Pryor said was Pryor. There was substance to it. It’s not just swearing for swearing. It’s about character. Comics today aren’t even funny.’ It’s not the swearing that’s funny, it’s the joke’s that’s funny. If you’re using that language, but people can pick up on the substance behind it, then OK. If it becomes your act, how many times are you going to say motherfucker? Even some of the best comics today, those that are mainstream, still hold themselves back with it; Eddie Griffin, Katt Williams, Mike Epps. Even though I love Pryor, even though he was the best, like Bruce Lee as a master, that doesn’t mean I have to bring everything he did on stage in my act. His experiences weren’t mine. I wasn’t raised in a brothel, where my grandmother was taking care of prostitutes.”
“If they’re in front of a white audience,” Hinton continues, “where people came out because they saw them on television, they’re saying nigger this and nigger that. How can the audience go home and answer the question, ‘How was the show?’ You can say you laughed, but, you’re uncomfortable saying it because it’s so offensive. I don’t do that. If you do that, you’re selling your soul. People want the truth. I make the show personal, not the situation. I did a show recently for 250 firefighters in Long Island. I showed up and was the only black guy there. They hemmed and hawed, ‘Uh, you’re performing tonight?’ Yes I am. ‘Well, this town here has a lot of Protestants in it...’ It’s not like I have a Reverend White T-shirt on that says, ‘Kill Whitey!’ So, what happens? I got up there like a boxer and just gave them my best punch. You let that person in front of you know you’re serious. No matter where I am, I give them my best punch. I want them to say, yeah, this guy has it. You want to put me on the under card, fine. But I’m going to give my best fight. I’m going to be the one people remember. I go up on stage as a black comic, but I pride myself coming off stage as a funny comic. That’s what I want them to say after my set.”
“If I had only one thing to say about him,” says fellow comic, Peaches Rodriquez, “is that “he’s a class act! I met John in 2003 in a dingy workout bar in New Haven and we became comedy friends. In the time that I’ve known him, John hasn’t lowered his material’s standards. His style and cadence reminded me immediately of Franklin Ajaye, an amazing guy doing stand-up in the 70s, then later in the mid 90s became a very influential writer for the Wayans projects. I find John clever and likable. He has high energy, and most of all, he’s the hardest working comic on the East coast. ”
“I’m used to driving from Hartford to Delaware for shows,” says Hinton. “Doesn’t matter where it is. Put in the GPS and I’m gone. A few weeks ago, I played a junior high school prom in upstate New York for a midnight show. It was me and a band. I do the same thing for every show, whether it’s the Bushnell here in Hartford, opening for Bernie Mac, or playing a junior prom where I’m the only black guy in that section of New York. They wanted me to do three sets, on for 20 minutes, then the band on for 20, then me again. It was a gig from hell, but I do the same ritual, tell them my experiences. The kids loved me. This is what I’m born to do, it’s a gift from God that he has allowed me to borrow. I don’t question it. Whether they laugh or not, this is what I do. Now, I’m able to take it to the next level. Opportunities that are available to me, I’m taking advantage of. Phone calls coming to me, where they need me somewhere right now, I’m taking. California, whatever. No hesitation. But I’m proud of what I did, putting my priorities first.”
The importance of taking advantage of opportunities and going the extra mile to get noticed for a comic can’t be overstated. In no way is it an assurance of success, but it certainly improves the odds.
“If you have somebody who raises you that has Alzheimer’s, but the person raising you is independent, full of vigor,” says Hinton. “You kind of take it for granted. If you’re close to that person, you kind of write it off in this society - it’s just old age. That’s another word that’s been overused. There’s a physical thing happening, scar tissue being formed. It starts with the little things – ‘Hey mom you put the dish detergent in the refrigerator. No I didn’t. Yes you did.’ Then they can’t find things or do something for themselves. The doctor told me my mom was suffering from dementia. They lose their memory and so forth. If you don’t know anything about the disease, you ask if there is a cure. He said there wasn’t. It was just going to progress and get worse and worse. At the time, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I thought I was going to be sick.”
“I always wanted to write a book, says Hinton, Bring Me Home Some Candy. That’s what she always said when I was going out. She loved peppermint. When you have that disease, you lose your taste buds. The sweet taste is the last to go. That’s why at nursing homes, they sprinkle sugar on some of their food so they can taste it.”
As Hinton’s mother’s condition got worse, her behavior got more erratic. He was locked out of his house more times than he could count. She called the police on him many times because of hallucinations. Looking back at the time John spent caring for her, he says he wouldn’t change a thing. In part because of other events that forced her to work extra hard to care for him.
“I lost my father as a kid,” says Hinton. “I took martial arts then. Bruce Lee was my guy. I always wanted to make my father proud and bring home a trophy. I knew my father loved me, but he was very distant with his words. But I could get him to laugh at my jokes. One day I heard my mom screaming. My dad was sick, had been in and out of hospitals. He smoked cigarettes and had emphysema. My father was slumped over and my mom told me my daddy was gone. I was ten or eleven.”
“The family came over,” Hinton recalls, “and was making arrangements for the funeral. I was supposed to compete in a tournament that weekend that Saturday, the same day of his wake. At the tournament, I had to sit around and wait. I think I missed my division’s fight, so I couldn’t fight with the juniors. I had to go against the advanced class. I finally got on around 5:00. They called my name. Nobody there knew my father died. I was private and I didn’t want anybody feeling sorry for me. The guy [ref] squared us off. My eyes were watery. He said FIGHT and something came over me. I ran, jumped in the air, and caught the guy in chest. It was that way the whole time. I was going through guys, feeling this aura after that. I wanted to quit. I knew if I started crying that would be it. Even though my father never told me he was proud of me, I felt he was there. I just wanted to bring something home. I heard my name called, Fighting for Third Place, which meant if I won, I could bring home a trophy. I won. Then I heard, Fighting for First Place. I didn’t care at that point if I won. I almost got disqualified when caught this guy with a kick in the head. But he wanted to continue and they gave me a warning not to kick anywhere near his face. The fight went on, it went into overtime and I lost by one point. I got a trophy about the size of your notebook. I left and begged a friend for a ride to the funeral parlor on Main Street. He dropped me off on 
the corner and I ran with my bag about a mile to get there. I got there for my father’s wake as everybody was coming out. I went up the stairs. I looked to the right and I didn’t see him. I looked to the left and there he was in the casket. I fell to the floor like a ton of bricks, dropped my bag and cried all the way home. The reason I tell that story, I knew one day, that I had missed my Daddy’s wake for a higher calling. Would I ever be able to do that again? Fast forward to 2007 when my mom passed. My mom was only at the nursing facility for a month. They said she couldn’t come home anymore. I knew it was a new chapter in my life. I wanted her to hold on. I went in on a Sunday and told her I loved her. As I left, a lady came in crying. Her mother had just past. I knew that would be me, but I knew I was OK. I had signed papers for full resuscitation but changed my mind. It was painful to do, could’ve broken her ribs in the state she was in. She died the next day. The doctor sat us down and said, “I’m sorry, I worked on her for half an hour, but couldn’t bring her back. One of my nieces screamed out. My other niece said, “Doc, a lady brought a child to my grandmother (my mother), left him on the porch, and never came back. My mother hid that boy for three months, not knowing if that lady would ever come back. That boy, pointing to me, never left her side. I realized that she raised me the best way she could. And biologically, I wasn’t hers.”
“I felt like a million bucks,” Hinton says. “She never told me that another woman left me on her doorstep. I’m blessed that I had my mom, that my son got to know her. I told me ex-girlfriend that story and she said, ‘Well I’ve got another part of the story. I’ll tell you later.’ I said, ‘No, I’m at peace, tell me now.’ ‘Well,’ she said, ‘do you remember when we broke up and you went back to your ex and ended up fathering a child. You know I had a tough time with that. I went to MayMay (John’s mom). She said, ‘Well baby, his daddy and I split up for about two years. When he came back, he came back with a little boy. That’s why I’m telling you, you’ve got to forgive JohnJohn like I did when his daddy came back.’”
“My father had fathered me,” says Hinton, “outside of the relationship by another woman then went back to my mother. She brought me to the porch, took off and never came back. My mother took me and raised me as if she was the one who gave birth to me. She never gave me the inkling that I was my father’s child, but she wasn’t the one who gave birth. That made me feel twice as special – to raise a child that your husband fathered outside the relationship like it never happened. My mom spoke through my niece to say he can know now. If you want to get spiritual about it, it’s as if God said, ‘I’m going to put somebody here who is going to love this child, until that child grows up. But I want that child to take care of that woman until I’m ready for her. I returned the favor, so I’ve experienced unconditional love.”
For all John’s been through, he’s one of the more easy going fellows with a healthy perspective that you can talk to. He doesn’t seem to lug the large amount of angst and self destructive behavior with him that so many other comics do. “Redd Foxx said there’s never been a joke that’s never been told before,” says Hinton. “Comics put so much stress on themselves. Oh my god, I have to be funny. A lot of comics go to open mics and get a drink to calm their nerves. Maybe they have to wait all night so they’ll have a few beers. Then they’re on stage and they grab a drink. If you get used to doing that and are up there so many nights over so many years, by the time you’re successful you’re a full fledged alcoholic. I didn’t want to follow Richard Pryor that way. A lot of comics have issues. The audience is our therapy. We take our darkest moments and twist them so they’re funny.”
For now, Hinton is just doing his best, following the lead of pros who keep at it, like Eddie Murphy, Ray Romano, and Jerry Seinfeld; successful men who keep at it in a professional manner. He’s keeping an eye on the economy, how some of the rooms are only having one show on Fridays instead of two. Some places that had shows once a week, now it’s once a month. He’s also taken note of the how the audience is reacting these day. “The people coming out to shows like this, come out because they need to laugh,” says Hinton. “They don’t know if they’ll have a job next year. They’re laying off at this building or that building. People are tired of worrying, being stressed. They will get back to their routine. But that’s why I’m here, to make them laugh. More clubs or bars are open to trying comedy now, anything to keep their business afloat. If anything, in times like this, comedy will flourish. When you go to a new comedy room, it’s lonely. Nobody knows you. If you go up and kick ass, suddenly everybody knows you. ‘Hey you’re funny. Got a business card? I’ve got to tell the owner about you.’ But when you go in, you’re like a boxer, in the locker room just before the fight, working on what you’ve been training for.”
For more on John C. Hinton, you can find him on Facebook or see his material on truveo.com and YouTube.com.