Pauly Shore Emerges From Years-Long Absence With Some Raw Details About His Life

"You ever see that YouTube video where the baby crawls across the highway, and, for some miraculous reason, doesn't get run over? That's like me and my life, you know?" Pauly Shore told the Chicago Tribune in 2011. The comedic character from films like Encino Man and Bio-Dome never fully turns off his trademark persona, but he doesn't sugarcoat his past.

People might wonder how a guy ends up maintaining a surfer-slang, party-boy character for 30 years running. Well, few have experienced what Shore has throughout his life. He was born in Hollywood with a stand-up comedian father and a mother who became comedy royalty, and Pauly and his siblings were along for the ride.

Sammy and Mitzi Shore opened the Hollywood institution The Comedy Store when Pauly was just four years old, providing him a front-row seat to comedy's greatest legends. Whatever your opinion of Shore’s own comedic stylings, there’s no doubt that he honed his skills by taking notes from the best. Even better, he got his hands dirty.

Shore described the strange things he witnessed comics do to the New York Times: “He’d pour milk on his head, rub a grapefruit on his elbow, and smear chocolate pudding on his chest. My little jaw dropped. After a performance, he’d go out to the parking lot to clean up. My first job at the Comedy Store was hosing down Lenny Schultz.” For the Shores, comedy was inescapable and all encompassing.

Pauly remembers how typical it was for stars like Robin Williams to show up unannounced at their house, dressed in his Mork and Mindy costume, to talk to his mother in her office. Early on, it was obvious that this was a profession that drew a specific kind of person.

“Comedians are very sensitive," Shore told the New York Times. "My mom knew that, and she was like the den mother to all of them. She knew how fragile Robin was, and they had this kindness for each other that was pretty special,” The lens through which Shore saw the comedic greats who passed through his mother's club was tinged with admiration and understanding.

Few people have known the kind of environment Pauly Shore was raised in, one where being a comedian was the peak of creativity, bravery, and grit. Plus, there was the fact that his mother dedicated her life completely to her club and the comedians that she believed had that special spark. It caused conflicts.

“My mom was very loving — but her first love was always the Store and the comics,” Pauly said. From his words, it’s obvious he was shaped to think comedians weren’t just heroes, they were tied to the love and admiration of his mother. Naturally, that left an impression.

Another part of being a child witness to the comedy culture was the instability. Pauly's reality as a third-grader was being awoken on school nights by the booming laughter of his mother and her famous comic pals, wafting the smoke from their joints up to his bedroom. Still, Shore's proximity to show business elites was too cool to deny.

“When Richard showed up at the Store, it was like a wave went through the club: 'Richard’s here, oh my God, Richard’s here.' I’d go out to the parking lot and open the door of his car. He’d get out, say 'Heeeeey little man!' and shake my hand." Shore told the New York Times. Paling around with Richard Pryor was the silver lining of his usual childhood, but there were drawbacks.

Despite his privileged position of having The Comedy Store as the family business, it was clear to Pauly that his mother wasn’t going to hand out opportunities. Mitzi Shore amassed an incredible wealth running her clubs, living the good life chauffeuring her family in limos. However, if her kids wanted something, they had to work for it.

“When I got into high school, I wanted a 100-gallon saltwater fish tank. Mom said she wouldn’t buy it for me, but that I could work for it — she made me the short-order cook on weekends at the Westwood branch of the Comedy Store.” It was abundantly clear that Mitzi wouldn't show her son favoritism just because he was her kid.

Besides filling orders in the kitchen, Pauly was expected to make some more out-of-the-ordinary contributions to the family business. The club scene in Los Angeles was competitive and cutthroat, which meant making strategic moves to stay ahead. Sometimes it fell to Pauly to find out information.

One of Pauly's high school classmates was the child of an owner of a competitive club — the Improv. The son of nightlife legend Budd Friedman was stuck in the same sort of showbiz upbringing as Pauly Shore, which marked him as a target. Shore poached the names of the comedians doing sets at the Improv and reported back to his mother. Mitzi Shore took betrayal very seriously.

Pauly knew which comedians his mother had on her banned list for the ultimate infraction of performing at rival clubs. She even felt scorned by comics who took spots on HBO's Annual “Young Comedians Special” hosted by Rodney Dangerfield. Some comics were exiled because they pushed Mitzi too far.

Controversial comic Sam Kinison was slapped with a ban after bringing a gun to The Comedy Store on a coke-fueled overreaction to a fight. Mitzi got angry with Pauly for hanging out with Kinison, but he assured her he did so for strategic reasons, “I said, ‘Mom, you don’t understand. I’m not hanging out with him for drugs — I’m hanging out with him because he’s a genius.’”

The fight between Mitzi and Pauly led to a breaking point. He went home, packed his things, and moved out the next day. That was the catalyst that made Pauly embrace and pursue the dream that simmered inside from the time he was a small child watching comics kill on stage — he started doing stand-up.

On the stage, Pauly could use his weird and somewhat dark, and neglectful childhood to get the laughs and work through the pain. He used what he learned from growing up in The Comedy Store to define a one-of-a-kind character that he’s never really strayed too far from.

Most people don’t know there’s a separation between Pauly Shore and his alter ego “The Weasel." Admittedly the lines are blurred, as Shore is every bit the stoner-surfer who remains categorically unruffled and communicates primarily through slang called dudespeak. His over-the-top characterization made him stand out and won an audience in the early ‘90s.

MTV hired Pauly Shore as a VJ in 1990, which categorically changed his life. His Weasel persona was deemed hilarious by legions of young fans, leading to his own show Totally Pauly. He was the perfect personality to host MTV spring break coverage and maintain the party-hardy fun-loving brand. It looked like he was set up for the comedy career he’d always dreamed of.

Then came Shore’s slew of films that showcased his Weasel identity. First was Encino Man, by far the most critically and financially successful, but he had others too, namely Bio-Dome and Son in Law. By the mid to late ‘90s, though, the tide rolled back on Pauly Shore’s opportunities.

The schtick that once made him a star became the fodder for cruel jokes and rejection. Working through his career stalemate left Shore depressed and creatively drained. In 2003 he made a mockumentary film called Pauly Shore Is Dead that chronicled his fall from stardom, which was well-received, though not enough to revamp his career.

However, giving up was never the Shore way. He learned from his parents how to weather the storm of show business and turned back to his roots — performing stand-up. For a decade, Pauly traveled the country as a working comic, and in 2020, he made his move comeback in the form of the Netflix comedy Guest House.

Shore explores new projects like impersonating political figure Stephen Miller and hosting his podcast Random Rants, but there's an even larger priority he's saddled with these days — managing The Comedy Store. Mitzi Shore bequeathed a role in the family business to each of her children in her will when she died in 2018. Pauly stepped into his mother's enormous shoes and inherited all the headaches that can come with it.

The biggest difficulty Mitzi Shore faced in her tenure as The Comedy Store's owner and overlord was the comedian's strike in 1979. Pauly explained to The New York Times, "My mom never really forgave the comedians, but pretty soon the drugs were flowing, and people were partying again, and everybody seemed to forget about it." The strike remains a dark mark on the club's history, though back then, they were breaking new ground.

In April of 1972, Johnny Carson moved The Tonight Show from its original home in New York City’s Rockefeller across the country to Burbank, California. Coincidentally, comedian Sammy and his wife Mitzi Shore opened the Comedy Store that very same month. They were ready to welcome the flood of hopeful comics who followed Carson out West for the chance to make it big.

One night in 1973, after killing onstage at the Comedy Store, Freddie Prinze impressed the right people. He was called to perform on The Tonight Show and overnight, his career exploded. From then on, the comics at the Store knew it could only take one great set to make you a megastar.

That same year, Sammy and Mitzi divorced, and as part of the deal, she got the club. The transition to the Mitzi era marked one of the most important moments in comedy history. She had a vision for what the Comedy Store could be and got straight to work enacting her strategic plans.

Mitzi's vision wasn't just about the business end of things either. She ate, slept, and breathed comedy. Every night she handwrote the show lineups, developing deep friendships with the comics she saw potential in. Her bluntness was legendary, but running the Comedy Store was her biggest passion and calling. She gave everything to the club, including taking big gambles to see it succeed.

Mitzi reconfigured the layout of the room, keeping the Original Room and adding the Main Room to the club where the top talent would perform. She switched to table service, so waitresses would come to your seat and take your order — now with a 2 drink club minimum, which became the standard.

Betting on her vision, Mitzi poured over 50 grand into the project with high hopes for the return. Thankfully, her vision paid off. But the success of the Comedy Store wasn't based on the nitty-gritty logistical reconfigurations. No, it was based on Mitzi's ability to spot talent. Every comic that set foot on her stage had to pass a Mitzi audition.

By the late '70s, the Comedy Store was the stand-up Mecca. It was a time when some of the greatest comedians in history were given Mitzi's stamp approval to cut their teeth on stage. When David Letterman was ready to call it quits and move back to Indianapolis, Mitzi believed in his talent and convinced him to stay. She had a sixth sense for seeing potential.

Talent scouts frequented the club searching for the next big star. It was all on the line when you walked on that stage. Besides getting the laughs, all your greatest dreams — a network sitcom, a Tonight Show spot, the role of a lifetime — all dangled in front of you. In order to catch them, all you had to do was kill.

To Mitzi, she was running a showcase. A chance on her stage was comedy college, training performers for what came next — their big breaks. It was an opportunity to step out on her Main Room stage, the most direct launchpad that a comic could find in LA. And that's where the trouble started.

Mitzi could talk about the major opportunity of performing on her stage until the cows came home, but ultimately, customers filled the seats every night to be entertained by comics. The Comedy Store was raking in huge profits, and none of the performers were getting a cut.

When people pressed Mitzi on the unfair policy, she stood her ground, claiming her club was akin to a college where you go to learn, not to make money. In fact, she doubled down saying the comics didn’t even deserve a measly $5 in gas money. The fallout was huge.

The stand-ups were done standing for free. Comic Tom Dreesen, a former teamster, decided to do something about it. He proposed that they borrow some tactics from the labor unions and advocate for fair treatment. Acting as the mouthpiece, he went to Mitzi with a proposal.

Dreesen laid out the terms of his plan. The club had a $4.40 admission price, so he suggested that by bumping it up by $1, the extra income could be split amongst the comics who performed that night. In essence, Mitzi would still make the same profits as usual and the entertainers would walk away with something for their labor. It seemed fair, but not to Mitzi.

The club owner refused the deal. With that answer, Dreesen employed the next part of the labor union strategy — the comics went on strike. The regular performers of the Comedy Store grabbed their signs and joined a picket line. Anyone looking to experience a fun night of laughs had to reckon with the biggest up-incomers in show business calling for change outside.

It wasn’t just one or two people. In total, 150 comedians stood to join the strike, refusing to cross the picket line. If Mitzi refused to come to an agreement and pay her comics, they wouldn’t budge. They called for the Comedy Store to close.

News of the comedians' strike was picked up by major news outlets, giving the Comedy Store some seriously bad publicity. Inside the club, the reaction was just as grim. The strike caused a schism between Mitzi and the comics. Everyone was forced to choose. The work of laughter became nearly impossible and Mitzi took it hardest of all.

The strike took a major toll on Mitzi. She felt betrayed by people she considered friends, people she had uplifted, believed in, and helped propel to success. It was the only time in her tenure that Mitzi considered selling the store. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.

Not every comedian who worked the Store agreed with the strike strategy. One was furious enough to drive his car straight into the gathered mass of strikers, hitting and knocking down Jay Leno. Most of Mitzi’s supporters understood the love and dedication she had for her club and felt gratitude for the leg-up she’d provided. They wouldn’t disrespect her.

For six tension-filled weeks, the strike continued. Friendships were ruined, not just Mitzi's, but between the divided base of performers. But the biggest tragedy of the Comedy Store strike was the death of a comedian who jumped off the 14-story hotel nearby, carrying a suicide note reading: "My name is Steve Lubetkin. I used to work at The Comedy Store."

Finally, in June of '79, the strikers and Mitzi reached a deal. Performers in the Original room were paid $25 per set, and Main Roomer got 50% of the door fee. In truth, it took her three weeks of sitting with the terms to agree to them, as she'd been gutted by David Letterman's presence on the picket line. In the end, some relationships were too broken to repair.

While the strike took a lasting emotional toll on Mitzi, she rolled with the punches and continued doing what she did best — running her club. The comedian who participated in the strike remained "unionized" for another year, but there wasn't much of a need. They'd changed the game and established that comics should be paid.

Mitzi passed away in 2018 leaving her club to her children, one of whom is comedian Pauly Shore. The strike left a blemish on the Comedy's Store legacy, though it didn't undo the decades of hard work and dedication Mitzi contributed to the world of comedy.

As for Tom Dreesen and Jay Leno, they didn’t take the stage of the Comedy Store ever again. They turned to the other big LA clubs like the Laugh Factory. The sting of their rift with Mitzi taught them a valuable lesson about how friendship shouldn't trump mutual respect.