I had a lot of fun yesterday at the annual Marymount Manhattan Writers’ Conference. First, I participated in a panel on Humor Writing hosted by my friend and benefactor Lewis Burke Frumkes, on which I was honored (a much-abused word, but in this case, totally appropriate) to join my friend 
Ben Cheever; Tony Hendra, whom I found so funny when he appeared with Nick Ullet on The Merv Griffith Show in 1964; the maestro Bruce Jay Friedman; and the endlessly Shopping Correspondent of The New Yorker, Patty Marx. I am pleased to say that we played to a packed house. Among the best comments: “Nobody laughed at my funny stuff,” said Ben, “but I found that when I wrote sad stuff, people laughed, and if you wrote really sad stuff, they would chortle aloud.” Said Hendra, “You can make more money in lawn maintenance than you can writing humor.” Said Bruce: “I love editors who say, `Could you make it a little funnier?’ They are paid a lot to say that to you. That’s where the real money is.” Said Patty, “I’m not sure it’s 
possible to teach people to write comedy, but I have found that it’s possible to get paid to teach people to write comedy.” Afterwards, we all went to a big lunch where we listened to the keynote speakers Joseph O’Neill, the author fo the splendid Netherland, which I just read, and Christopher Reich, the author of such thrillers as Rules of Deception and The Patriot’s Club. O’Neill was often funny, particularly when he said “Publication is the punishment you receive for writing a book.” I was disappointed when he told me afterwards that President Obama‘s mention that he was reading Netherland has not made much difference in sales. Reich was pretty amusing in recounting his adventures in publishing thrillers, particularly when he told of meeting Gen. Tommy 
Franks, “ a man’s man who not only chews tobacco, but chews, smokes and drinks Diet Coke all at the same time.” Reich said that during the three days he met with Franks to talk about a TV series Reich was developing, Franks’ adjutant kept staring at Reich. “We knew a writer once,” explained Franks. “His name was Seymour Hersh. We’re trying to figure out whether you’re one of the good guys or one of the bad guys. We’ve determined you’re one of the good guys. Let’s go have a drink.” I was flattered when Reich told me he was a fan of mine from Spy days. I closed out the day by going over to the W Hotel in Times Square to have a drink with Jim Noonan, my old pal of nearly three decades’ standing, who was in from the coast. It was great to see him.
