Septemeber 20, 2001. With only nine days separating us from the horrific events of 9/11, people at the SAK Comedy Lab were wondering if we could ever bring ourselves to do improv comedy again. We had canceled shows the first weekend but wanted to come back the next week. Our first show back had been booked for weeks by a local fraternity. And so we decided to move forward.

The show begins

With considerable trepidation, we took the stage, but our fears were soon put to rest; everybody, performers and audience members alike seemed to really need to do something to feel normal again. The show was humming along. We came back from the intermission and had completed 2 of the final 8 scenes. And then it happened.

As a co-host of the show, I asked two of the performers to do a 'Fairy Tale in a Minute' scene. In this format, the improvisers get a suggestion of a popular fairy tale and are required to replay the entire story in one minute, playing all the characters. Charles and Michael got the suggestion of Snow White and off they went, at breakneck speed. It started with Snow White, and the Magic Mirror, the evil queen, the honest huntsman. And then came time for the Seven Dwarves.

An audience member comes to play

Just as Michael got on his knees to portray a dwarf, an ACTUAL LITTLE PERSON from the audience jumped onto the stage and started hauling ass, sweatin', and a-arms-a-pumping at full speed. The lights went down and came back up and every person in the house went NUTS.

How do I describe what happened next? To call it a standing ovation would only serve to cheapen the moment. There is a Hebrew word, Ru'ach, which means 'the breath of God.' I tell you: the sound the audience and performers made as they leaped in the air was the Breath of God. And Ru'ach was present that night.

I waved the man over. He was still out of breath and his face was as red as a beet.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Erik," he said.

"Give it up for Erik the Dwarf," I yelled, barely able to contain myself, "The winner of tonight's show!" The volume in the theater seemed to double, which I didn't think was possible.

His fraternity brothers jumped to their feet and carried him out on their shoulders. There was not a single complaint that we ended the show nearly 30 minutes early.

The risk he took. The joy he gave us. He ran across that stage and bridged the divide between where we were and where we so desperately wanted to be.

I’ll never forget that night. We invested in the audience—and they invested in us right back.