An Up & Coming Dick

The story of my friendship with Andy Dick before he moved to LA

The Stand Up & The Heckler

Chicago, 1988: Andy Dick, never known for his patience, was very mad at me. “When you press the buzzer, it buzzes,” he scowled, demonstrating how his front door bell worked. “And when it buzzes, it buzzes loud, and we fucking hear it the first fucking time. So you don’t have to keep buzzing the buzzer” — frantically pressing the button to make his point — “because buzzing the buzzer a hundred fucking times wakes up the fucking baby. OK? OK?! OK?!?”

As if on cue, his three-month-old son Lucas started crying from his crib. “See what you did? This is your fault.” “You’re the one making a racket now, Andy,” I pointed out. “Yeah?” Andy snapped back. “My baby doesn’t know you’re an idiot, but I sure as hell do. I just did the world a favor by letting him know, too. Maybe next time try knocking on our goddamn door instead?” Staring at me through his big, bulging, beady blue eyes, he showed me how: Knock, knock.

Andy and I lived a few blocks from each other in Edgewater, a once-grand and then-sketchy lake front area. Introduced that spring by a woman we both lusted after, Andy and I and became fast friends, creating an instant Abbott & Costello, Lucy & Desie rapport. I often visited the cluttered apartment he…