Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: SATURDAY, February 23, 1991                   TAG: 9102230451
SECTION: SPECTATOR                    PAGE: S-1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: DANIEL CERONE LOS ANGELES TIMES
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Long

DON'T WORRY; HE'S HAPPY/ COMEDIAN WILL PUT OFF RETIREMENT AS LONG AS THE JOB

Jonathan Winters sank deeply on the couch in his dressing room. His legs were crossed and stretched out straight, his hands folded comfortably on his barrel stomach. Dressed in faded jeans and jacket, a cowboy hat on his head, he looked like a tired old cowpoke.

"I pretty much made up my mind that I was going to retire," Winters continued, his eyes gazing absently ahead of him. "And that's a very scary thing when you come to it. Because I think that if you make up your mind, then it's like an athlete. There are no comebacks.

I'm 65, and my stepfather used to say, `Take time out to smell the flowers, because you can't smell them through a box.' And you can't."

But Winters decided not to hang up his comic spurs. Not yet.

The enduring comedian, one of the founding fathers of modern improvisational comedy, co-stars with Randy Quaid in ABC's sitcom "Davis Rules."

When asked why he balked on retirement in favor of the exhausting challenges of a sitcom - which includes commuting to Hollywood from his home 100 miles north in Santa Barbara - the Play-Doh of Winters' malleable face formed a smile.

"I took this specific job on because I felt it was a place to play, where I can have some fun," he said. "There are not that many places to play today. Not for me there aren't."

Winters once said that he never grows older, he just becomes an older child. He calls "Davis Rules" his new playground - a place of wonderment and good, clean fun in contrast to the crude humor he sees all around him today. In the series, Quaid plays the principal of a grammar school and the single father of three sons. Winters takes on the role of Gunny Davis, Quaid's eccentric live-in father and, like Winters, a former Marine.

Winters said the series, complemented by a host of cute kids and backed by guru producers Marcy Carsey and Tom Werner ("The Cosby Show," "Roseanne"), has all the earmarks of a hit.

"I'd hate to go out in a shambles," he said. "I'd like to go out in a fairly good-looking uniform, waving at the crowd, rather than sneaking down the road at night."

Despite headlining three variety shows of his own - one each in the '50s, '60s and '70s - and a long history as a regular cast member on an assortment of other variety shows, Winters has worked only one sitcom. In the 1981-82 season he played Robin Williams' son, Mearth, in the sitcom "Mork & Mindy."

On that set the fast flip exchanges between Williams and his idol Winters popped like flashbulbs. But Winters said the on-screen ad-libbing was limited by the writers. "They just wouldn't let us play. Here [on `Davis Rules'] they let me play," Winters said with a sideways smile.

Indeed, in the scripts of the new ABC sitcom, portions of Winters' dialogue are followed by " . . . " - a green light for Winters to take off and improvise.

Improvising is his specialty. It has been for 40 years, ever since he first made up his own characters to interview as a disc jockey in Dayton, Ohio. Winters' bountiful career has included movies ("It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World"), nationally best-selling books ("Winters' Tales") and critically acclaimed surrealist paintings. But he made his name as a satirist, using the host of characters that live inside his head, such as the doddering Grandma Frickert, to recreate comic portraits of reality.

"A lot of people come up to me at restaurants, gasoline stations," Winters said, "and they break into the bathroom stall where I'm seated and say, `Say something funny!' My answer is, `I would if I thought you'd get it.' I mean, if you saw Joe Montana would you ask him to throw a football the length of the room? It's interesting, that demand to be funny. You never really escape it."

Earlier in his career, Winters had several personal breakdowns. Entertainment author Tim Brooks called Winters a living example of the "fine line between comic genius and mental instability." Although Winters incorporates his past into his comedy, he prefers not to talk about his problems for fear of being considered a hypocrite.

"The thing is, there are people out there making a hell of a lot less money than I am who have a lot bigger problems. There's no sense in telling about the tragedy." He scrunches his face and breaks off into a mock sorrowful voice: "I went through a thing three weeks ago. You know, my mind was just out to lunch. But thank God for Dr. Bellenhoffer. He brought me back. Of course, it cost me $50,000 for the treatments, six of them. I had to go up into the Ojai area to find myself."

Today, Winters appears to be a happy man. He has been married for 41 years, still paints and is writing an autobiography. There are also cartoon voice-overs for Hanna-Barbera Productions, record albums (he is currently nominated for a Grammy for his comedy recording "Jonathan Winters Into The . . . '90s") and those Glad Bag TV commercials. For the moment, anyway, retirement is off the agenda.

Winters, who has never received an Emmy or Oscar nomination, acknowledged his contributions to improvisational comedy. But he likened the entertainment industry to the Olympics, with athletes standing on platform boxes to receive gold, silver and bronze medals.

When asked where he fits in, Winters said he wants "just to be in the picture." He then painted one of his verbal images.

"I think my place is inside the box, underneath the guy receiving the gold medal. They're playing the national anthem and I'm fondling a platinum medallion."

He laughed.

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