Last week I was deeply saddened to learn that my dear friend Michael O’Connell had died. He was a talented stand-up comic and creator of The Comedians with Disabilities Act, a touring comedy troupe that brought laughter and awareness to audiences across the country.
As a wheelchair user, Michael rarely had a stage he could access on his own. His friends would often have to carry him on (and consequently become the butt of his first joke). Brian Crall of the Sacramento Comedy Spot had a ramp installed onto his stage, largely because Michael changed the way he saw access to comedy and performance. But Michael didn’t just make the stage more accessible in a physical sense; he helped make it a place where people like me could feel welcome and free to be themselves.
Before I started comedy, I remember watching Dane Cook on Comedy Central and thinking, “I can’t relate to any of this!” Where were the comedians representing my community, the people you don’t normally see on TV? When Michael created The Comedians with Disabilities Act, he gave a collective voice to those people in the stand-up world. He recruited comedians Eric Mee (a blind person) and Steve Danner (a Little Person), and from there it was off to the races. As soon as I saw what they were doing, I thought it was amazing and wanted to be involved in any way I could. I reached out to Michael and made my case. “You need a woman with a nonapparent disability,” I said. The hard sell wasn’t necessary; Michael was very warm and inclusive. He invited me to perform with the CwDA at the San Francisco Punchline, and I’ve been part of the group ever since.
That was more than five years ago. Since then, The Comedians with Disabilities Act has accomplished so much. Although Michael was limited in his traveling, we were able to appear at The Hollywood Laugh Factory as part of the Disability Awareness/Celebration events at LA City College. We recorded the first ever compilation album to feature, as the title suggests, Disabled Comedy Only. The group grew to include seven members and we worked with names like Geri Jewel, Kathy Buckly, Andy Arias, Aaron Snyder, and Jacob Marrow, to name a few. Last year we performed at the DisPlay Art Exhibit in San Francisco, where several talented artists did our portraits and displayed them to the public.
I’ve known many Disabled people and been active in many Disability movements, but I’ve never experienced anything like the Comedians with Disabilities Act. I think it’s because I’ve never been part of another group where everyone truly felt equal in terms of Disability status. There was no Disability hierarchy—the assumption that some people’s disabilities are more valid than others. Michael used to illustrate this concept in one of his jokes: “Everyone in this group has a disability of some kind or another, but let’s be honest, whose picture is on the [accessible] parking sign? Not trying to brag, but it is pretty obvious who the Justin Timberlake of the group is.” Jokes aside, I never once felt that there was a hierarchy in our troupe. We all had different Disability experiences, but in the end we were all united on the same front. With the addition of comedians Loren Kraut (Mental Health Disability), Steve Lee (Physical Disability), and Queenie TT (Medical and Physical Disabilities), our group grew to represent an even broader spectrum of the Disabled experience. Connecting with so many different people and perspectives through our shared expertise in comedy brought equality to us all. On stage, the only hierarchy that matters is how funny you are.
Since I learned of Michael’s passing, I’ve been crying on and off for a lot of different reasons. I’m sad to lose a friend. I’m sad to lose someone whose work meant so much to people with disabilities. I’m sad when I think about how Disability hierarchy continues to divide our community. I remember once being on a panel of individuals with dyslexia. One of the participants said, “I just have a difficult time reading, it’s not like I can’t walk or see.” So many times, we resist association with others who have more apparent disabilities because we don’t want to be seen as one of those people. And yet, by thinking in these terms, we are only denying ourselves. If I adopted that way of thinking, I would have never joined the Comedians with Disabilities Act, which means I would have never met so many wonderful people and done so many wonderful things. It breaks my heart to think I might have never known Michael if I held these attitudes.
Michael facilitated our voices as comedians with disabilities and made us feel like part of something larger than ourselves. But above all else, he was funny. He was one of the best joke writers I ever knew (I once likened him to a Disabled Bob Newhart, which he completely agreed with). So now, in the spirit of Michael, I’d like to leave you with something funny, and generally good advice, he said in his act:
“Wheelchair handles are like breasts... you shouldn’t touch them unless you have consent from the owner.” – Michael O’Connell, 1968–2016
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Last year the Comedians with Disabilities Act released their first album, Disabled Comedy Only. The album is available for purchase on platforms such as Amazon and iTunes. Michael’s tracks can also be downloaded for free on CDBaby.com. His legacy of laughter and friendship will remain for those who knew him and for those who are just getting to know him by the body of work he left.
