When somebody like Uncle Floyd goes, it really stirs up memories of a certain era of my life.
If you don’t know, Uncle Floyd – born Floyd Vivino – was a homegrown, under-the-radar Jersey icon. If that seems paradoxical, you have to understand, for decades he hosted a comedy-variety show that drifted around UHF and local cable outlets in Philadelphia and New Jersey. The budget for each episode must have been about $1.98 – it had all the visual allure of public-access – so I was surprised to learn the show was eventually picked up for “national” syndication, gaining further exposure in Chicago, Boston, and Hartford. I’d always assumed Floyd was as inextricably part of regional lore as the Philadelphia Mummers. Tastykake, and Taylor Ham.
When you turned on “The Uncle Floyd Show,” you knew you were in for a half hour of burlesque, under-rehearsed (if at all) sketch comedy, in-jokes at the expense of cast and crew (he got a lot of mileage out of Scott Gordon’s weight and Netto having gone to jail), their colleagues invariably busting up off-camera (often funnier than the show). It was also a showcase for Floyd’s nimble fingers, which played across the keyboard of a jangly upright with all the dexterity of Chico Marx.
Presented in the style of a kids show, it had a touch of Soupy Sales (Floyd was always interacting with puppets and slipping in jokes only adults would get). It was also a living museum of a bygone era, of vaudeville, the burlesque house, and the golden age of novelty songs. There were plenty of groaners among the jokes. A lot of the gags had whiskers. But I always say there are two kinds of comedy: the kind that delights because the pay-off is totally unexpected, and the kind where you see the punchline coming from miles away, but the delivery sticks its landing so well you can’t help but laugh. “The Uncle Floyd Show” was a showcase for the latter.
Floyd was a cult figure who somehow attracted fans like John Lennon and David Bowie, who both tuned in from New York. Also, like David Letterman in his early days on “Late Night,” he would introduce acts on the show that you would swear were put-ons, only to discover after not too long that their careers would explode. I remember seeing Cyndi Lauper on there for the first time, and I thought there’s no way she’s real. Is she?
Occasionally, he would have on a top act, and you’d wonder how the hell did Floyd get Blue Öyster Cult? Then he would gently razz them by cutting to a photo of one of their early gigs, playing a bar mitzvah in Long Island.
Everyone was a pretty good sport, except Joe Franklin, another low-rent cult media icon. If you lived beyond the New York broadcast area, back in the day, you probably have no idea who I’m talking about. Franklin interviewed faded movie stars and other people in the entertainment industry, notably up-and-coming actors who hadn’t quite hit. It was another entertaining show, but also very cheap and very, very quirky. Franklin was offended when Floyd appeared on-camera as Joe Frankfurter, with a garbage can over his head and talking over his guests. Franklin, notoriously thin-skinned, sued him for libel to the tune of $35 million dollars. Naturally, the suit went nowhere.
There was also a recurring sketch featuring “The Dull Family” of Easton, PA (my hometown, but I didn’t sue).
On weeknights, after dinner, my stepfather, my best friend, and I would often retire to the living room to enjoy the half-hour show. You never knew what kind of double-entendre was going to sail out of the tube. Often the material and/or execution was so lame, it was hilarious, and everyone involved was in on the joke. Floyd himself, however, was a consummate performer, with innate timing, and a virtuoso of his kind.
A staple of every show was a send-up of a ventriloquism act, in which Floyd would engage in some repartee with a puppet sidekick – only the camera would never show Floyd’s lips when the puppet spoke. The best known of these was Oogie, a diminutive clown with Larry Fine hair protruding from beneath a paddy cap, and a London Fog coat. Also Bones Boy, a skeleton who randomly exclaimed, “Snap it!” And Hugo, who was, well, a Hugo doll. (Look it up.)
What Floyd didn’t have was fashion sense – a blind spot he cultivated – and he proudly showed up at his gigs in trademark hat, bow tie, and jacket, all with clashing patterns.
I was surprised to see him break into bit parts in the movies, credited under his birth name. He’s quite visible throughout “Good Morning, Vietnam.” He also had other parts on mainstream television, appearing on “Law & Order,” “Cosby,” and others.
In the early spring of 2020, I learned that Floyd was scheduled to appear at an Italian-American event being held at a restaurant a half-mile from my parents’ house – the very house at which we had viewed so many episodes of the show. How could I not go? So I made the trip home to catch Floyd’s act, again in the company of my stepfather and my best friend. It’s hard to believe, the better part of 40 years had passed.
Floyd came out and entertained the crowd with well-timed jokes that all stuck their landings. He also had a keyboard with him so that he could share the kind of music he had championed his entire career. Yes, he had the hat and the jacket and a bow tie (black, because of the solemn occasion?).
We went back and talked to him after the set. He seemed fairly low-key, but he warmed considerably as it became obvious that we really remembered so much about the show and knew so many of the songs. My friend had his ukulele with him to illustrate. We got a couple of pictures taken, and he gave us an autograph. Floyd seemed genuine, but I could tell he was tired at the end of a gig. His eyes wandered around the room as he waited for his paycheck. When the bearer appeared, he excused himself, saying he had to get back to Jersey.
My friend and I were already in the car when we saw Floyd exit the building. I rolled down the windows, and my friend began singing and playing “Deep in the Heart of Jersey” as we pulled away like a couple of crazy kids, now in their 50s. I could see Floyd was genuinely amused.
Afterward, on my way back to Princeton, I was heading down Route 31, when I stopped at a light in Flemington. As I waited, I noticed an electronic bulletin board outside the Elks Lodge, advertising who should be scheduled to appear the next week, but Uncle Floyd! I thought how amusing it would be if my friend and I arranged to be there, so soon after the Easton appearance.
We probably wouldn’t have followed through on it (my friend, who doesn’t drive, would have had to come up from Philadelphia), but in the event, the show was cancelled anyway, as Floyd’s visit to Easton would be the last live entertainment any of us would experience for well over a year. The next week, the Elks Lodge and everything else was shut down as COVID-19 swept New Jersey.
“The Uncle Floyd Show” ran from 1974 to 2001. After the show went off the air, Floyd continued to appear solo and in comedy revues around the area. He also took his schtick to radio.
Floyd was 74 years-old at the time of his death on January 22. He made countless people smile and forget their troubles. It was a life better spent than perhaps he ever knew.
R.I.P.
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Uncle Floyd as Julia Step-Child
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=af-QDOPNNkE
An entire Oogie bit built around in-jokes about staffers Mugsy and Scott Gordon
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qjx_n2VB0kY
Floyd tickling the ivories
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4nnnnzfJ0P8
“Josephina Please No Leana on the Bell”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ki6q6bTaZR4
Floyd, before an appreciative crowd at the Capitol Theatre of Passaic, performing “Deep in the Heart of Jersey”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mm8ZOQkzyFc&t
Floyd entered the Guinness Book of World Records in 1999 after playing the piano for 24 hours and 15 minutes, to raise money for a local family to cover medical bills for their son with cystic fibrosis.
