By Amanda Estes
Staff Writer
When I walk into Uncle Andy’s Café on Ocean Street in South Portland, owner Dennis Fogg calls out, “Hi, Amanda,” across the small and cozy diner. We’ve never met before, but Fogg has a friendly demeanor that makes you think he greets each customer by name. As we sit down at the counter, I realize not only does he greet them, he knows customers by name and he makes a point to ask about their day. When regular Frank Weston comes in, Fogg pops up from his stool so Weston can have his regular seat.
It’s obvious that Fogg, 46, enjoys chatting with customers at the city’s landmark diner – it first opened under a different owner in 1954 – but they also provide him with an opportunity to test new material. When Fogg isn’t working as “owner, bottle washer, maker of sandwiches” at Uncle Andy’s, you can find him on stage, sharing humorous stories about life’s absurd moments and that comedy goldmine we all have in common: family.
When a Massachusetts law-maker proposed an anti-spanking bill last year, Fogg envisioned parents outsourcing the job to fourth graders on the playground. Evoking Marlon Brando’s strained voice in “The Godfather,” Fogg says, “How much would you charge to whack my son?”
On March 15, Fogg and fellow comedians, Tammy Pooler and Bo Michaels – known as Bo – will come together for “An Afternoon of Comedy” to benefit the South Portland Historical Society. The show will begin at 1 p.m. with a performance by local band, Box O’ Crackers, at the South Portland High School auditorium. Funds raised will benefit the society’s capital campaign to purchase the Cushing’s Point House.
    Fogg, Pooler and Bo are all part of Lease-A-Laugh, a comedic booking agency featuring some of New England’s funniest stand-up comedians. Fogg says there’s a lot of competition out there, but Lease-A-Laugh offers a way for comics to network and even help out some non-profits through their humorous events.
“I always wanted to have a discussion with adults,” Fogg, a father of four children, says about his inspiration to perform professionally. “My wife told me not to wait until I was 50.”
    Fogg’s first professional performance was 18 years ago at The Comedy Connection in Portland. Since then he has performed for diverse audiences throughout New England and his material has changed along the way.
    “Usually my first jokes were a lot of blue humor and things that I thought were funny,” Fogg recalls. “When I was younger, I thought it was all about the shock value.”
    Once he figured out who he was on stage, it was difficult to continue with the swearing and the sex and religion bits, Fogg says. He now thinks of himself as a storyteller and a gentle jokester.
    “I’m one of six boys with a divorced mom,” he says. “My way to get attention was to be the idiot or the fool…and it just seems to stick with me. There are a lot of strange people in my family. I’m the only one who likes to get on stage though.”
    Fogg grew up in Miami, Fla. and has lived in Portland since 1979, when his mother thought Maine would be a “slower life” for the family. He bought Uncle Andy’s five years ago after working as a corporate chef for 18 years.
    “You can’t ask for a better diner,” Fogg says. “The original Uncle Andy is still around and he still comes in and tells me what I’m doing wrong.”
    After the diner closed several years ago, the Fiddlehead Café opened in its place. When Fiddlehead closed, the new proprietor opened a diner and brought back the Uncle Andy’s name. Fogg toyed with the idea of calling the establishment,  “Denny’s,” but realized that might get him into some trouble.
Now, Fogg says “his poor waitresses” are subjected to the same jokes over and over again. He’s at the diner by 4:30 a.m., seven days a week, and says sometimes it is hard to tell if something is truly funny or if it is just his exhaustion kicking in.  
I ask Weston, who has sat down at his regular spot at the counter, what he thinks about Fogg’s jokes.
“He tries it once in awhile,” he says with a straight face. “Maybe he’ll improve.”
Fogg typically performs six or seven shows per month.  
“The further away I go, the better they like me,” Fogg says, adding shows in New Hampshire, Massachusetts and northern Maine tend to draw larger crowds than in the greater Portland area.
During a Houlton show, “the whole town closed up,” Fogg jokes.
“You get past Bangor and you’ve got all your teeth and a job, you start to look pretty good,” Fogg says. “In Houlton, I’m Brad Pitt.”
A good comic has a strong stage presence, Fogg says. He suggests budding comics frequent open mic nights to work out the kinks in their acts before they go after the bigger stages.
And don’t get discouraged.
“I was in Old Orchard Beach one time,” Fogg says. “I had a show where I thought I was just done with comedy.”
Fogg says, in reality, most of the comics had a difficult time that night.
“Sometimes it’s like real work up there,” he says.
Most of the time, however, Fogg says he can’t believe he’s getting paid to perform.
“I’m having a good time at it,” he says. “I really am.”