When Small Fish
Move to a Bigger Pond
written by Michelle Peterson
Sam Norton and Ryan Walker were nearly perfect strangers when they moved to Chicago together. And though they’re both trying to make it as working stand-ups, they have distinct approaches how they’ll get there.
“I feel like I’m Luke Skywalker and Ryan is Han Solo,” said Norton, pictured in the hat. “We have different paths, but our main goal is taking down The Empire. ‘The Empire’ in that analogy is the industry, because it seems like they are all trying to fuck us with a Death Star laser.”
They don’t have much in common besides comedy: Norton’s into jazz and documentaries; Walker likes metal and Pixar movies. One’s a Romantic, the other’s a deviant. The dichotomous duo met doing open mics in Kansas City, Mo., and about seven months ago trudged into the uncharted territory of being friends and roommates in a brand new city.
“In two more months, our comedy baby will be born,” said Walker, bright-eyed and curious compared to Norton, a self-described “tiny, competitive man.”
Their friendship is grounded in comedy, and they spend their days and nights immersed in stand-up: writing jokes, telling jokes, talking about jokes. Despite different styles and outlooks, they’ve developed compatibility. Their wood-paneled basement apartment — with a blender that triggers the doorbell and a sink that sometimes needs plunging — sets the backdrop for this regular exchange:
“Hey, Ryan. You like this joke?”
“Not really.”
“Fuck you, I’ll make it work.”
They both shrugged off the idea that they’re writing partners, but agree that they help each other out. “I think we drive each other to write the best jokes we can because I’ll either make fun of him or he’ll make fun of me … which is productive,” Walker said. “I think, ultimately, we keep each other in check but our careers in comedy are our own.”
Norton pushes Walker on the business side of things—making calls, hitting the pavement and trying to land paid gigs—while Walker reciprocates by telling him when things don’t work. “[Editing] is a part in my writing that I’ve always struggled with and it’s nice to have Ryan there to say ‘Too long,’ or ‘What are you talking about?” and “I don’t care about the major players in WWI, just get to the dildo punchline!’” Norton said. “We both, on a daily basis, bust each others balls. It’s all joking, but I think in a weird way it keeps us both working and on our toes.”
Moving to Chicago was Norton’s bright idea. He exploited Walker’s broken heart to get him on board, broaching the subject after hearing Walker split with his girlfriend. “I saw the look in Ryan’s eyes that said, ‘I fucking hate everything and everybody,’ and I thought, ‘Oh, I am totally taking advantage of this,” Norton said.
Differences aside, they’ve got a real symbiotic thing going, navigating their way through a new city (Walker’s advice: “Lock your doors or you don’t have a stereo... twice.”) and immersed in a scene going through a renaissance. New mics are popping up everywhere while dead ones get Lazarus’ed. There’s a tangible feeling of expectancy here; something’s about to happen.
“Chicago’s a really awesome place to get super good, just with the sheer amount of comedy available. It would be really great to tackle New York or L.A. someday, and then already be really good when you get there, to just show up and be able to bring it,” Walker said.
Stand-up in Kansas City means two, maybe three mics a week, but in Chicago, they can get up five times on a Monday.
“It’s all about flight time,” Walker said. “If you wanted to learn to play guitar, but you only do it twice a week for three minutes at a time, you’re never going to get good.”
“If we want to follow that analogy, here you’re surrounded by other great guitar players,” Norton said. “That happened even when I moved from Witchita to K.C. The more you move up, you’re just a smaller fish in a bigger pond.”
Walker’s been doing stand-up for two years and 17 days. Norton gets his four-year chip this summer. Onstage, they’re just as different as off. Cameron Esposito, who co-hosts a show at Cole’s Bar, where Walker and Norton get up frequently, said they strike her as exact opposites. Norton’s self-reliant and cocky—on stage at least—and Walker, at 25, vibrates pretty high.
“It’s hard to imagine a more earnest comic,” Esposito said. “Ryan’s chipper and friendly attitude is one thing that sets him apart on stage. I am most impressed, however, with his patience. I’ve never seen him jockey for position at an open mic. He waits his turn and supports his fellow comics with great humility.”
Norton, on the other hand, has the attitude of—well, a 22-year-old
stand-up. “He came onto the scene very confident, had success early at open mics, and faced the harsh realization at a few shows that he was less adept than he thought,” she said. “I can relate to his outlook. I came to stand-up with a ton of stage confidence leftover from an improv background. For me, the realization of how far I have to go has always been humbling, and important in pushing my comedy further.”
If they have one thing in common, it’s their obsession with stand-up. “Ryan and I like talking about jokes because it’s the only thing we have in our lives,” Norton said. “It’s like parents talking about their kids all the time. When you don’t have them, you don’t care. But you always want to talk about your own kid, so when other people are talking about theirs, you don’t mind.”
“But let me tell you about MY joke,” Walker said
Even their plans to achieve on-stage success are different. Short term, Norton wants to become one of the top comedians in Chicago (to which Walker zinged, “She said ‘short term,’ Sam.”) and long term, land a television special. Walker’s wants to do a mini tour of the Midwest this year and just keep working. “No matter what, I’ll be busting my ass and doubting myself the whole way,” he said.
Norton’s been doing comedy a lot longer, and packs about a half hour in his arsenal. Walker, on the other hand, “can do a sketchy 15.”
“I could do 30, I could do 15, I could do seven, but it’s all sketchy,” Norton said. “To be completely honest, I’m only happy with three jokes of mine.”
“That’s four years & three jokes,” Walker said.
“That’s not even a joke per year,” Norton said. “I have confidence in three of my jokes.”
So why keep at it? “I have nothing else,” Norton deadpanned. “Okay, what I really mean by that is that, one, I dropped out of college, and two, I cannot conceive of anything that makes me happier. Even if I could go back to graphic design, that’s not a possible career for me. Comedy’s so fun—even my constant depression is fun. I can’t conceive of how everybody isn’t happy for us and how everybody doesn’t want to do this.”
For more on Sam Norton, check out facebook.com/samisfunny.
For more on Ryan Walker, visit facebook.com/ryanwalkercomedy.
Michelle Peterson is a writer & editor from Chicago.