Top of the comedy class

About 10 years ago, Atlanta comedian Jeff Justice was wondering if his comedy classes were falling flat. Justice, who had been nurturing wannabe funny folk since 1990, was considering giving it up and strictly focusing on his corporate programs and presentations. He even pushed the punchlines aside and prayed.

“I was thinking about it,” Justice said. “And right then, a guy walked across the store I was in and came up to me. He told me that everything that’s gone good in his life was a direct result of my comedy class. So I said, ‘OK, God, I’ll keep doing it.’”

Today, the Jeff Justice Comedy Workshoppe continues selling out regularly. He remains the granddaddy among the local Jedi joke masters, offering classes for those looking to delve into stand-up comedy or simply live out a fantasy.

For Justice, being a stand-up Yoda came by accident. While traveling the country as a comedy club headliner in 1990, Justice would spend his Monday nights home in Atlanta at comedian Jerry Farber’s comedy venue. That’s where he’d work on new material while fresh-faced funny men and women cut their teeth on Farber’s stage.

“I started noticing amateur comedians doing things wrong,” Justice said, “whether it be putting punchlines in the wrong place or being too wordy.”

After Justice passed on some advice to the up-and-coming comics, he saw those who took his suggestions were getting better.

“They were getting more laughs,” Justice said, “so about eight of them got together and asked if I’d put together a comedy course.”

Armed with a half dozen sheets of paper photocopied from a how-to comedy book, Justice launched his first class. After the first group helped pack Farber’s club to the gills for a graduation night performance, some of the audience members asked Justice if they could sign up for the next session.

Now 23 years and more than 2,500 students later, Justice continues helping others hone their humor. Although he says not everyone who takes the class has the natural ability of a Richard Pryor or a Billy Crystal, he guarantees he can help make anyone funny for four minutes.

The basic structure of the six-week class, which takes place Monday nights at the Basement Theatre comedy venue, remains the same. According to Justice, lectures make up about half of the first two sessions, including tips on how to properly handle a microphone and look professional. He spends the rest of those first two weeks on writing exercises.

On the third week, students return with two jokes each and Justice critiques. He’ll help them rewrite, if needed, and passes on survival skills such as how to handle hecklers. By the fourth week, the participants are practicing three jokes, rewriting together with Justice and focusing on delivery.

“It’s all about delivery,” Justice said. “Just look at Steve Martin. Just saying ‘I’m a wild and crazy guy’ isn’t funny. But Steve Martin delivering it like he did was hilarious.”

During week five, Justice divides the class in half for final rewrites, fine-tuning the delivery and concentrating on memorization. The final gathering takes place on a Saturday at Justice’s home, where students perform as if they were onstage. The afternoon then wraps with a potluck meal.

The graduation performance takes place the following Monday at the Punchline in Sandy Springs, a hallowed hall for touring comedians. The event typically sells out as each of the students takes turns dishing out four minutes of stand-up comedy on the same stage where comics including Eddie Murphy and Jerry Seinfeld have performed.

You’ll see everyone from housewives to executives to budding comics at Justice’s graduation shows. Local author Hollis Gillespie, Atlanta radio icon Gary McKee, Spanx founder Sara Blakely and MindSpring honcho Charles Brewer are all alumni. And successful professional comedians who have taken Justice’s class include Landry, Jamie Ward and Angela Miller. But one thing you won’t see or hear is raunchy language.

“I really stress clean comedy in my class,” Justice said. “If you can go onstage for the first time and be funny and stay clean, you can do anything. It’s easy to go up there and curse, but if you do that, that’s all you’re going to do. If you’re going to be clean, you’re going to be better.”

At the Laughing Skull Lounge in Midtown, owner Marshall Chiles comes from a different school of thought. Chiles, a former Justice student, says he allows students to “be themselves.”

“Justice and I butted heads in class about having to work clean,” Chiles said. “I respect Jeff’s point of view, but comedy is an art form. In order to be a great artist, I believe you have to be honest. And if that means cursing, then that’s fine.”

Laughing Skull Lounge’s Comedy 101 class passes on some of the same stand-up basics you’ll find in Justice’s class. The four-week course, taught by Chiles and Big Kenney Johnson, takes place Monday evenings on the Laughing Skull stage.

“It’s actually taught at the comedy club where graduates will perform,” Chiles said. “Sometimes the stage itself can be intimidating. So by the time our students make it to the graduation night show, they’ve already performed on the stage.”

Being a veteran owner of comedy clubs, Chiles said he also gives his perspective of the stand-up business. And those who are unable to make it to the Midtown club for classes can take an online version of Comedy 101 made up of one-on-one Skype sessions.

Although Chiles and Justice may have different approaches to teaching stand-up, both agree on the pleasure found in sharing the art.

“It’s the most fun and rewarding thing I’ve ever done in my life,” Justice said. “You see people come in nervous with no idea what’s going on. Then six weeks later, they’re onstage at the Punchline living out a fantasy. It goes better than they imagined.”