Gerald Eugene Landrum

In the famous play Harvey, and in the Jimmy Stewart version from 1950, E.J. Lofgren is the cab driver who is to drive Elwood P. Dowd, the man who sees a púca named Harvey, to the “funny farm”. But in their staged version in 1975, says Hollywood actor Elliott Street, “There was already another Gerald who was cast in the show. So to avoid confusion during rehearsals, we called him E.J., the character he played in the play.”

The moniker stuck.

Gerald Eugene Landrum, 68, the actor and stand-up comedian better known to his many friends in show business as E.J., passed away on Friday, August 24, 2018 at his home in Mobile, Alabama. One of his biggest personal triumphs came in the late ‘70s when he became a regular at the famous Sunset Strip club The Comedy Store in Los Angeles. There he worked the same stage as Robin Williams, Michael Keaton, Dave Letterman, Andy Kaufman, and Jim Belushi, establishing himself briefly as a mainstay for good down-home humor delivered Southern style, but with a twist of lemon and just a dash of hemlock.

Born in Memphis on April 8, 1950, his father, Leotis Landrum, worked as a barber in Alabama and had previously been a Pensacola metalsmith for the Navy, a job that E.J. would later take up as well, welding for shipbuilders in Mobile. His mother, Doris Burkes, a housewife from Arkansas, died when he and his brother were young and his father remarried to a lady named Gert.

At various periods, he lived in California, Tennessee, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Florida, Georgia, and Hawaii. And there were other times that he lived abroad.

Spending time with Brother, as E.J. called him, the late guitarist Donald Landrum, were the best days. Swinging in swamps on wild vines from tree to tree and never touching the ground. Singing in church together. Playing guitar with Donny, when they were a brother group— he enjoyed their tight bond.

Still, sometimes he played solo. His favorite song was “Nightlife” by Willie Nelson and he liked any blues tune. Plus he diddled the ivories nicely, too.

He was adventurous and an excellent survivalist from his upbringing in the country. Rockhounding was one of his hobbies. During the ‘60s, he took part in an archaeological expedition where he studied reptiles and other species in the jungles of Mexico.

A true patriot, possessing excellent skills, ability, and awareness, he was a Vietnam War vet who spent time as part of the Big Red One during 2 tours of duty in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. As a result of conflicts between his strict Christian background and his having to fight for an unjustifiable cause, after his return home, he developed DSS as well as a spinal injury and neuropathy, with nerve damage from Agent Orange.

That’s when he really discovered that humor could help heal him— and others.

So he practiced on friends. He shared his comical insights on life with Geli and Kurt. Alongside his pal Mike, welding at Bender’s or going on benders. He tried out his material on them. Long time friend Elliott encouraged him to go out to L.A.— and leave Lower Alabama. On a wing and a prayer, he drove his truck out to the Left Coast to give comedy a shot, living in Elliott’s Harvey Studio in “Hollywood, North”, as E.J. called it.

Open mike nights quickly led to a much cherished regular spot at The Comedy Store, as well as one at The Improvisation, when famed owner Bud Friedman personally ran out to the parking lot to offer him a job after hearing his routine. Everyone loved his country fried commentary, quite refreshing for a jaded L.A. crowd. Not just his authentic, easy-going demeanor, but his inborn ability to “put over” a joke or a story. That coupled with laugh-out-loud lyrics and music made him a 3 ring circus and a true professional who knew that when the spotlight flashed on Eddie Cantor’s face, it was time to get off the stage.

He was an avid movie buff, starting from an early age with Creature from the Black Lagoon. Both Kill Bills and the prescient Idiocracy were on his Top 10 list. And he was the kind of guy that you wanted on your side in any episode of his #1 fave, The Walking Dead.

E.J. kept his brand of humor to the end and he will be sorely missed and the world’s light a little dimmer. He leaves behind loving family and friends too numerous to mention. But they know who they are. He was cremated and his ashes will mingle soon in the Gulf of Mexico with others dear to him.

Additionally, E.J. was a very big cat fan all of his life. His last in a long line of felines is Rose of Alabamy and she now lives happily and comfortably with his good friends Barry and Carol in Georgia.