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It's a cliché as old as show business itself: the sad clown, the guy who makes everyone laugh while weeping on the inside. But for Jeff Allen, 51, that cliché didn't just describe his life. It threatened to finish him off.

Allen got started in stand-up comedy in 1978, right at the beginning of a boom sparked by the rise of cable television and the popularity of funnymen like Richard Pryor, Steve Martin and Robin Williams. "As bad a comic as I was back then, there literally weren't enough of us to go round. In the early 80s I was on the road 48 weeks a year."

But "the road" can lead to some strange places. While Allen worked alongside some notable up-and-comers — Jerry Seinfeld, Tim Allen, Ray Romano — and met his wife, Tami, in a club in Ohio, he also developed a taste for drugs and alcohol.

"I remember thinking that if I can keep it under a 12-pack before going onstage, then I can keep it together," he said. "I was a mess. After a while, I felt so humiliated I joined AA."

Five years later, with drugs and alcohol out of his life, Allen moved his family to Phoenix. ("Not exactly a comedy hub," he remarked.) With his comedy career in freefall, he grew depressed, and not the "rainy days and Mondays" kind of depressed, either. This was rage-fueled, self-destructive and total.

"I was so full of bile but I couldn't say why," he said. "At night I would drive out to the desert and scream at the heavens. My family didn't want anything to do with me, and I figured that if I was going to feel like this for the rest of my life, I should let them go."

Meanwhile, his post-comedy career was non-existent. The low point came when he blew an interview at Domino's Pizza.

"The kid asked me what I was qualified to do, and I said tell jokes," Allen remembered. "Then I started giving him a hard time, saying ‘it's not like we're splitting atoms here.' After I got home I said to myself, ‘You can't even get a job delivering pizzas, you are so screwed.'"

In 1995, Allen declared bankruptcy. In 1996, he and his wife signed divorce papers. Then, on the day they were scheduled to appear in court, Tami decided to take him back. A few weeks later, she ordered him to start listening to the Bible tapes a golf buddy kept sending to his house.

A lifelong atheist — he never knew what to think when his AA sponsors mentioned "a higher power" — Allen wound up listening to the tapes over a period of two months, finding a sense of peace. Next came a Bible study class. Then came a total commitment, with Allen offering everything up to God, including his comedy.

"In my heart of hearts I believe God revealed himself to me in a profound way," he said. "But I had nothing to offer except this little dog and pony show, my comedy."

The dog and pony show has paid off, both spiritually and financially, ever since. In 1997, he moved his family to a suburb just outside Nashville — the buckle of the Bible belt — and has worked a clean act for some of the biggest faith-based organizations in the country, including The 700 Club, mega-churches like the Saddleback Valley Community Church in Lake Forest, California and the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, DC.

Does he ever miss the dim spotlight of a smoky Manhattan comedy club? Does he ever regret losing that "edge"?

"I go to comedy clubs about three times a year, and it does nothing for me," Allen said. "A couple of years ago, I called Carolines in New York. The head guy called me back in ten minutes and said, ‘Where you been, man? You were always one of my favorites.' I told him I had some things to work out."

Want more? Visit our Laughter channel to watch Jeff in action.

RELATED LINKS 

• Buy Jeff's videos or DVDs.
• Visit Jeff's online store.