But yes, Mr. Rich Piepho, beloved friend and member of Wilhelm, has gotten a writing job in L.A. While we are saddened to see him leave - he was the only attractive member of our group, after all (nah just jokin', I'm pretty good looking) - we are also very, very proud of him and wish him the best. Our little boy has grown up.
I say "little boy" because, unlike the other two members of Wilhelm, I can say that I have known Mr. Piepho for almost my entire life. We were both born in upstate New York, in the small town of Lakeport. We met by chance at a Coal Miners Family Convention - you see, our fathers were both coal miners, and desperately wanted the two of us to continue our families' legacies. But the moment Rich and I met at the ages of 8 and 9 respectively, our fathers touting us around the convention floor as if we were soot-covered trophies destined to be apart of the New Coal Generation, we knew that this shallow life wasn't for us.
It was then that the two of us heard of the magic that was the Connecticut comedy scene. My older cousin, attending the University of Connecticut at the time, invited us to see his sketch comedy group - the Razzlin' Dazzles - perform. I'll never forget what I saw that night: the lavish backdrop of the Von der Mehden Theater, filled with eager comedy aficionados waiting to have their artistic visions fulfilled, talking excitedly to one another in nervous anticipation not unlike those who were about to witness Leonardo da Vinci's paintings for the first time. Once young Rich and I saw the Razzlin' Dazzles' dead-on impression of former President George Herbert Walker Bush shouting "READ MY NIPS!!", the both of us knew it. We were destined to be Connecticut Comedy Stars.
For years we practiced. At first, things were golden; Rich and I shared similar comedy dreams and instincts, and some of the sketches we wrote back when we were 12 stand up even today (ask me and I'll send you the "Deep Brew, the Chess Playing Beer" sketch; great comedy knows no era). Not only that, but we practiced improv non-stop, much to the chagrin of our fathers. I clearly recall Rich and I in the middle of a scene about a gay cop and his son who turned out to be Carson Daly, making each other laugh furiously in my bedroom, when the ominous THUMP THUMP of my father's mining boots came from right outside my door. The moment he walked in on Rich and I, dancing and serenading each other in a hilarious fashion, he looked at us with cold, cold eyes; the soot had covered his entire face, except for those eyes, yellowed with age. He truly looked like a demon. With total bemusement, he handed me a shovel, told me to "get down to the mine" and walked away.
It was never the same after this. Rich and I stopped talking. The only time I would see Rich would be at the Coal Convention, but we would barely talk; neither of us knew if we would ever escape the coal trap our fathers had made for us - even worse, we were unsure if this whole "comedy" dream was worth it. Once I finally escaped that hell hole and bused it to Storrs CT, I was rid of that evil town forever - but I never saw Rich again.
That is, until late 2007. Steve Winchell and I had started Wilhelm Comedy, and desperately needed talented performers. As far as I knew, Rich Piepho could have been a dead man, buried under miles and miles of coal in Lakeport - surely, even if he were alive, he'd probably given up on our comedy dream. So when he walked into our audition room, shot me a smile, and performed his new revision of our old "Tom and Jerry Visit A Gay Bar" routine, I almost cried. He'd never forgotten our dream of escaping the coal mines and becoming Connecticut Comedy Stars - and now, we'd fulfill those dreams, at long last.
The rest, as they say, is history.
I've sure Winchell and Kress have their own stories about Rich, but I assure you that they are no where near as interesting as mine. I mean, come on. Mine had George Bush Sr. in it.
But I will say that on behalf of all of us, it has been a wonderful semester working with you, Rich. You're an immensely talented writer and performer, and we know you will kick some serious ass in L.A.
Just don't kill anybody. That will reflect badly on the club.
RICH PIEPHO: WILHELM MEMBER AND BELOVED FRIEND 1986-2008
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