The Bubble Man

The Bubble Man makes one thing clear: He doesn’t want his backstory to be the focus, colorful as it is.

“Previous articles written about me were about me, my work, or my previous life in show business,” he said from the Edmonds Waterfront Center. It’s on the beach here where Larson’s Pied-Piper act draws wide-eyed kids, parents too.

“And they are fine articles,” he continued. “But, in my mind, the real story isn’t about me. It’s about the bubbles, or more specifically, what the bubbles do for the people who experience them.”

OK, so let’s dive into the bubbles. But, so sorry, Gary, we will eventually have to return to your storied past. It’s just too cool, and to downplay it would be a journalistic sin.

So, the bubbles ...

Big, bodacious, billowy bubbles

First thing: These aren’t your father’s bubbles, the cute little type shot from a red plastic thing through a tiny blowhole.

These are big, bountiful bubbles, oozing to life from two long, skinny sticks tied together with rope, dipped into bubble brew, and raised high and freed into the air.
They wobble with the current, bending,
often breaking into two or more creations, their short lives burst from gravity and heft.

Or more often, poked, or punched to oblivion by a finger or hand. Typically from a child. “Making these giant bubbles is like a guy building a bonfire,” said Larson, retired and loving life at 70. “It’s fun to build a bonfire, and there’s a certain pride in being the guy who built the fire, but the real point of a bonfire is the fire itself. And the wonder it evokes in people who see it.”

Larson is a magnet on the beach, tools and bucket in tow. But he says he’s never considered blowing bubbles a service to the community. “Or at least that’s never been my motivation. The truth is, I’m just some old guy with a bucket full of soap and too much spare time. All I do is wave a couple of sticks around. Nature does all the heavy lifting, giving the bubbles their amazing shapes, colors, and movement. I’m as much in awe of the spectacle as anyone else.”

OK, but as magical as the giant bubbles are to watch, what’s even more magical is how they affect those pausing their lives to take them in. “One minute they are a bunch of individuals minding their own business, going about their day,” said Larson, “and the next minute they are this impromptu community, all sharing in this collective experience. Old people, young adults, little kids – all together experiencing this moment of innocent, childlike wonder.”

Like everybody else, Larson focuses on the bubbles. That means he’s not typically aware of those around him. But he hears their conversations. And what he hears can be pretty amazing.

“At first, a few comments with friends or family, oohing and aahing about the bubbles. Then this transformation happens, and people begin chatting back and forth, playfully conversing with strangers like they’ve known each other all their lives – like a community. It’s quite wonderful.”

The interesting backstory

Paraphrasing here, but a Seattle weekly once wrote the following: “There are two Gary Larsons in Seattle, and one is a budding cartoonist.”

That, of course, was a cheeky reference to the long-retired “Far Side” cartoonist – also named Gary Larson – born and raised in Pierce County. To be fair, the cartoonist is 73, so he claims the name first.

But the Edmonds Larson has had his share of entertainment fame – he’s cracked jokes on cruise ships, appeared on KING-TV’s long-running “Almost Live!” (playing a guitar while telling jokes), and written crosswords for the New York Times, among other accomplishments.

Brief aside: Don’t bother searching for Gary Larson comedy videos on YouTube. Due to that other Larson, the younger Larson took the stage name “Elliott Maxx.”

Entering the world of entertainment came when Larson, who grew up in Algona, Pierce County, attended Western Washington University. “I went to Western to become a lawyer,” he said. “But I dropped out of pre-law when I realized that show business meant you could sleep in until, like, seven or eight o’clock at night if you wanted to.”

After switching his major to theater, Larson realized that was not his fast track. He packed his bags and moved to San Francisco, where he tried stand-up comedy. His first gig was during open-mic night at the influential Holy City Zoo.

Influential? Yes. For that first gig, he followed a budding comedian named Robin Williams, pre- “Mork & Mindy” fame and sporting a cowboy hat and suspenders. Williams, of course, brought the house down.

Larson took hold of the mic and looked around.

“And there was one drunk lady left; almost everybody left after he got done. So there were maybe half a dozen people left. I got one laugh from the drunk lady out of context, because I hadn’t reached the punchline. I went home and cried for a while. Then I kept at it.” Larson took work at a convenience store gas station after the sun went down. It turned out to be his “regular” job. He only worked one day a week and said he only lasted about 10 days. Do the math. “One of my big desires was that I wanted to avoid work at all costs. I was like the Maynard G. Krebs of my generation. I just didn’t see any value in it.”

Luckily for Larson, his comedy and sketch skills found an audience in San Francisco and the West Coast and as far east as Minneapolis, scratching out an existence for his wife and three kids. He performed in a local comedy trio called Larson, Creighton, and Openshaw. “It’s a name I’m sure that caused many to mistake us for a legal firm,” he said “Peter Kelley and I were in a few theatrical productions together as well, both in college and later.” (Kelley writes the Back in Edmonds column for the Edmonds Beacon.)

It turns out Larson, or Elliott Maxx, was pretty good at standup comedy. He’s written several best-selling joke books and would go on to win the Seattle International Comedy Competition twice – once as Gary Larson and again as Elliott Maxx.

But things changed when, as Larson said, live comedy suffered an “implosion,” in part due to the prevalence of comedy shows on TV. So he took his act out to the high seas. His cruise ship gigs, with free room and board, were constant. And it turns out the money was not at all bad.

While onboard, Larson honed another skill: crossword puzzles. “I started doing them because I was bored. I was doing this baseball-themed puzzle, reimagining baseball phrases. One of the clues was ‘plastered at a picnic.’ The baseball term was ‘high and outside.’ It just hit me; it was a little joke. I write jokes. I could do this. How hard could it be? It’s a piece of cake. So 50 puzzles later, I found out it was pretty damn hard.“

He’s sold about 400 now, including many for The New York Times and Wall Street Journal. The Sunday Times recently published one. “That’s a big deal,” he said. “It’s like the World Series for crossword puzzle guys.”

Retired, Larson now lives in Edmonds and previously many years in Ballard. He and his wife wanted to move and considered several areas in Snohomish County. “I was very happy in Ballard, and she wanted to be in south Everett or locations nearby, so we compromised. It was the best thing ever. This is what Ballard felt like 20 years ago.”