Maya Angelou once said: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Michael McCarthy was the kind of person that could make you feel seen. A quiet and humble legend in the Chicago comedy community, many met Michael at the Second City, starting as an intern then moving on to become a cast member on the e.t.c. and Main stages, others met him as a writer for Saturday Night Live, while and others like myself discovered him during his years as a teacher at the Second City, iO, and DePaul. One thread that runs constant through the recollections of anyone fortunate enough to know Michael: he made people feel like the best possible versions of themselves
I look up and see a very blond, college student wearing wire-rimmed glasses with a book bag slung over his shoulder and a pad of paper and pen in his hand. “Excuse me, I see your jacket and well, are you with Second City,” he asks. “Sort of,” I say. “I’m waiting for them to arrive.”
The van is late, so I find a payphone and call Second City. My mom answers. I’m surprised and a little upset that she chose to not get in the van and come see me but my conversation goes to “Mom, not only are you not coming to see your only daughter but this guy drove two hours to meet with you and you’re standing him up. How could you do that?” I say in a kind of bitchy college student with a bit of attitude voice. Now imagine Michael. He’s standing next to me listening to me harass my mom for not showing up to meet him. Picture Michael McCarthy frantically waving his arms, mouthing NOOOO, NOOOO. “I’ll drive to Chicago to meet with her. It’s no problem. (looks at watch) I can be there tomorrow by noon…or Monday…or whenever is good for her.”
Pete Burns
I always considered Michael McCarthy an academic in the study of comedy. But unlike scholars who spend their careers pontificating to their colleagues about their vast knowledge of their chosen field of expertise, Michael actually created the subject that he was so passionate about. He wrote, performed, directed and produced comedy. And it was all very, very funny.
David Razowsky, improvisor/podcast host/former artistic director of Second City Los Angeles
My memories of Michael have less to do with specific events, but more to do with the kind of a man he was. To say he was kind is a given. He was also one of the most generous of souls. He would give a struggling student great advice not just about whatever she or he was writing, but how to deal with doubt, uncertainty, and a lack of confidence. He was, whether he knew it or not, a protege of Martin deMaat, whose philosophy was when creating “You lose all right to judge yourself.” He was snarky and, at times, angry. He dealt with those demons in a way we all could learn: Thread it into the tapestry of your art. His work at Second City (and later) wasn’t based on how well we all could get along, but rather, “Look at this fucked situation we got ourselves into. Ain’t it crazy?” He was sarcastic, snarky, and human. The Holy Trinity of Great Writing.
Like that time we stood in line to get John Cleese’s autograph at the Palmer House; that time we took our tiny audience on a tour of the building and you showed them how you changed backstage; that time you were so nervous about playing the guitar because Todd Rundgren was in the audience; those times the friends of Danny Breen gathered; that time my Dad improvised with us in a wedding scene; that time we COLLIDED in the dark on Mainstage and I had to go to the ER; that time I laughed at you, the serious little boy in traditional Nigerian garb. That time in LA when you helped me when I thought I was beyond help.
