In a world of non-famous comics, (James Gregory) is a phenomenon, who parlayed a few “open mic” appearances for fun at comedy clubs into what has become a cottage industry. He substituted funny stories for encyclopedias and kitchenware, and without a TV show, his own radio show or an advertising budget, sells humor through word of mouth.

He works talk radio like a healing evangelist works the halt and lame, and on 300 days a year he advertises himself without buying a minute of time. He averages appearances on 155 live syndicated morning drive-time shows a year and about 75 more shows in the afternoon calling in or dropping by Birmingham’s Rick & Bubba (24 markets, 800,000 listeners), Charlotte’s John Boy & Billy (120 markets, 3 million listeners) and Indianapolis’ Bob & Tom (180 markets, 4.3 million listeners)…

His drive-time humor is the weapon of the underdog, release for the traffic-clogged road rage of anyone headed for a bad day or coming home after one. For five or ten minutes, he awards commuters with a golden scepter…as he rags on eccentric relatives, health addicts, modern parents, out-of-control environmentalists, medical infomercials and violence in schools…

His fans hear and spread the word he is coming to town. They are much like his old customers who would buy a stove, tell a friend how much they enjoyed doing business with him and then return themselves to buy a refrigerator. Similarly, two people see his comedy show, they bring two people next time he performs, those four bring four more to the next show …

The common denominator of stand-up comedy is character. “If I just dictated my humor and you read it on a page, a lot of it wouldn’t be funny,” he admits. He is not so much a word illusionist as a facial and body contortionist, conveying humor physically with a rubber face and exaggerated body language. He is, in fact, an actor and he can make an audience see Cecil’s 82 year-old daddy on his 12-horsepower riding mower racing the next-door neighbor in his motorized wheelchair. He doesn’t just crack off one-liners, he tells funny stories. But he also tells stories funny, often taking minutes to get to the punch line. The buildup is often as hilarious as the payoff as he exploits his Southern accent with a series of cackles and whines. The character of his material somehow fits the character of the performer as well as the character of the audience, whether the customers are The Punchline’s ironic mixture of Buckhead and Douglasville bloodlines, or Dalton’s heartland working class…

That his routine doesn’t change all that often doesn’t matter to them, no more than it matters to those who have memorized every episode of The Andy Griffith Show or Seinfield or never miss a showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. “Humor, like music, doesn’t have to be new as much as it needs to be great,” James says in a reflective moment…”I learned that from George Jones. He told me one time, ‘James, anytime I have a new hit song, my fans want me to sing it. But if I don’t sing all the old ones they love, they won’t come back to see me.”