Stand-ups talk a lot about “status”: whether a comic positions themselves above the audience, looking down—perhaps derisively, certainly without neediness—or whether instead their weakness, or anxiety, or ineptitude is the object of amusement. Some comedians are high status: Katherine Ryan, Sam Morril, Judah Friedlander. Others are more vulnerable: Rose Matafeo, Mae Martin, Emo Philips. And a few cannot be classified, the Schrodinger’s Cats of social hierarchy
Status is something I struggle with as a would-be stand-up. If I introduce myself as an MIT Professor—both because it is a memorable fact and because I go on to talk about teaching philosophy—I’m instantly high-status. But that position is at odds with my comic persona, which is insecure and full of doubt. There’s pressure to deflate the presumption of confidence, and competence, conjured by the initials “M. I. T.”
Of course, accomplishment in philosophy is one thing, comedic skill is quite another. Why not emphasize my inexperience as a comic? But this comes with challenges of its own: I don’t want to lose the audience’s trust by implying that I’m no good at my—current, in progress, onstage—job.
My plight was made worse when I was appointed Peter de Florez Professor—named for the sponsor of MIT’s Fund for Humor, an endowment meant “To encourage humor in all aspects of life.” It could now be said, without complete inaccuracy, that I am a Professor of Humor at MIT. But it would be a bad idea for me to say it.
It tells you something about MIT that we have the money for a Humor Fund, endowed in 1988 with $500,000 … and that we so desperately need one. Levity can be in short supply. So we should be grateful to de Florez—and curious about him, too. Who was this man, indelibly linked now, at MIT, to the sound of laughter? Why did he set up a fund specifically for humour?
It’s hard to find out much about PdF. According to the Alumni Register, he graduated from MIT in 1938 with an SB in Management. His father was Luis de Florez, a noted aviator and Rear Admiral in the US Navy. But Peter seems not to have followed in his footsteps. Judging by the patents registered in his name, he went into the book binding business, though he also designed a candy making machine.
But why bury the lede? By far the most notorious record of Peter de Florez involves his arrest, in November 1935, with fellow MIT student, Cornelius Roosevelt—Teddy’s grandson—on the charge of assault and battery with a dangerous weapon, for firing an air pistol at the cops. The story is whitewashed in this article by MIT News, which assures us that the “stunt [was] harmless”—adding that de Florez was “a successful manufacturer who enjoyed hot air ballooning and scuba diving.”
It’s true that the case was eventually thrown out. As the New York Times reports in January 1936, the DA declined to prosecute on the ground that “Neither defendant has a criminal record, and their actions were actuated in a spirit of fun and playfulness.”
Which brings us full circle, back to the de Florez Fund, sponsoring events and projects that contribute to “innocent humor” while insisting that they “not involve risk of damage to persons or property, or embarrassment to others.”
Was Peter’s comic status high or low? Was the endowment of the fund a snarky affirmation of the DA’s judgement? Or reparation for a youthful sin, a joke made at his own—in this case, literal—expense?
POSTSCRIPT: After writing the above, I managed to acquire two documents about de Florez, thanks to Florencia Pierri at the MIT Museum. The first is a development report from 1986 about the prospect of a Humor Fund, which confirms that he was indeed “an avid scuba diver and hot air balloonist.”
The second is an alumni obit from 1989. Turns out PdF and I have more than humour in common: we share chronic pain, and a mantra for coping with it.
A decade before entering M.I.T. Peter had an unsuccessful leg operation that dogged him the rest of his life. As a consequence, in the recent past he became increasingly immobile and was constantly in severe pain—undergoing numerous operations here, Europe, Russia, any place that offered hope. So he came to take “one day at a time.”
Oh my God! A fellow philosopher who also loves Standup comedy? That is brilliant! I'm curious to know if you know of others in this tiny Venn diagram intersection, and also those who are actual standup comedians! And where can I watch your material, Kieran?
Interesting on many levels. From many standpoints? :) Having spent some time in Cambridge, that MIT needed humor was hilarious. Well done!