Published July 9, 2018

The third episode of the new season of “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee” on Netflix features Ellen DeGeneres talking with Jerry Seinfeld about her start in comedy. Seeing her in the car reminded me of when I gave her a ride in the mid-1980s, early in her career.

She was touring after being named Showtime’s “Funniest Person in America” in 1984, A downtown bar that was spun off from a popular eatery in my hometown had just started having a regular comedy night, and Ellen was one of the comedians I watched and interviewed for my college newspaper. Ron Crick and Joe Restivo were among the others.

Crick incorporated music into his act. One of his funniest bits was to play the long guitar introduction for “Stairway to Heaven,” and — with the notes hanging in the air before the song’s opening lyrics — he surprised us all by singing the first word of “Feelings.” (You may have to be of a certain age to fully appreciate that one)

One night, audience members were allowed to go onstage for an open-mic segment, and I went up and did my best Rodney Dangerfield impression. When I interviewed Restivo later that night, he told me that he’d written some of those jokes. I checked it out, and he was once a writer for several comedians, including Dangerfield, Freddie Prinze and Joan Rivers.

(I learned an important lesson when I tried out my Dangerfield routine and other bits for the people I interviewed at comedy night at Pat O’s Downtown: Don’t try to be funny in front of professional comedians. It doesn’t go over well.)

My favorite of the bunch was Ellen. She explained that she was on tour after winning the Showtime contest, and she told the audience that she wanted to document the experience for her mother. Pretending to record the crowd with an imaginary camcorder, she asked us to wave to her mom and say hello. She had us doing everything that she asked, and I don’t think alcohol explains all of it. Ellen just had a way about her.

There was nothing mean-spirited about her comedy. She didn’t use profanity. She didn’t put down women — not for a single joke or an extended thematic conceit — to get a cheap laugh. During my interview with her that night, she said those were crutches she didn’t want to use in her act. She specifically mentioned Rivers, although I suspect that more than 30 years later, her understanding of that aspect of Rivers’ career may be more nuanced.

Recognizing the lessons Ellen taught me that night has been a mixed bag for me. I feel lucky to have heard what was already remarkable wisdom and insight from someone so early on in her path. I cringe when I recall revealing how closed-minded I was about art, about the creative process, and even about my understanding of who I was. When Lionel Richie’s “All Night Long” began playing as we sat at the bar, I cracked unwise about this new direction in Richie’s musical résumé. Ellen said that she thought it was great that he would try to stretch as an artist. I’m certain I swallowed more than just a sip of my drink in the ensuing silence.

Some of her 1984 humor might not stand the test of time, but I remember laughing a lot. She alluded to the fact that cars had recently started talking to us — “Your trunk … is open.” … “Your door … is ajar.” — but that the voices were always vanilla, always white people. Her ethnic versions were funny, and because she grew up in New Orleans, they seemed a loving tribute to the rhythms and voices in that gumbo of a city, but I sometimes wonder how they would be received in 2018.

It’s been fun watching her stretch, from her groundbreaking sitcom “Ellen” and the coming-out period to her performance on “EDtv” to playing the voice of Dory and her appearances on such shows as “Mad About You,” “The Larry Sanders Show” and so much more. Her advocacy for human rights speaks for itself.

Learning that she was from New Orleans was a fun part of that night for this Louisiana native. Ellen talked about her brother Vance’s part in the Mr. Bill sketches on “Saturday Night Live” in the ’70s. Vance DeGeneres was Mr. Hands, although as Ellen told the story in 1984, he had the idea for the sketch stolen from him. (A judge ruled otherwise, and Ellen’s version of the story on “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee” omits the reference to the controversy)

One of my biggest regrets is that I no longer have the cassette tape of my interview with Ellen. Nearly a decade later, I told a friend of mine, a lesbian with a huge crush on Ellen, that I had met and interviewed her, and we were both bummed out that I didn’t still have the tape. The part of my brain that writes dreams in which I go back to college and discover mail I’d neglected to pick up no doubt is sure I’ll find the tape one day.

Another of my favorite Ellen stories is bittersweet. When my mother was dying in a hospital in 2006, “The Ellen DeGeneres Show” played on the TV in her room at times, even when Mom was in a medically induced coma. I’m not sure I had known before then that it was one of her favorite shows. I also have no memory of telling her my Ellen story from 1984 — even though I was living with Mom at the time of the interview and Ellen’s performance.

That night ended with Ellen asking me for a ride back to her hotel. Based on what I’ve read and heard about comedians working in small clubs at the start of their careers, saving her the cab fare probably allowed her to not worry about how she’d pay for her next meal. I was heading home to a mom who was happy to cook for me. (If only I’d thought to ask Ellen if she’d like a home-cooked meal. Mom, who would have had no way of knowing that she would become a fan of Ellen’s years later, would have just felt good about feeding another mother’s child when they were away from home.)

I’m not sure I understand all of the reasons that thinking about Ellen DeGeneres often makes me think of Mom. There’s not much of connection there, other than the fact that they both were born and raised in Louisiana. My mom was a devout Catholic, and she grew up in a time and place where she would not have been out of the mainstream showing disapproval of LGBT people. I don’t remember her ever doing so, though, and that could speak to her having come to grips with her younger brother being gay. Her love of him may have played a role in her acceptance of Ellen, too, but I think Ellen did most of that on her own. She’s hard not to like, in no small part because of the things she told me 34 years ago: no profanity, no mean-spirited comedy, and no laughs at the expense of women.

I’d like to think that Mom appreciated those parameters and approved of them, even if she never heard Ellen explicitly state them. In much the same way that music is the space between the notes, the absence of those comedic crutches reinforces their omission in the kind of gentle, playful, life-affirming humor that no doubt put Mom at ease.

When I think of her watching the “Ellen” show and appreciating what Ellen brought into her life, putting so many smiles on her face for so much of the quarter-century after her husband died, it adds layers of meaning to the evening I spent with Ellen in 1984. If you think about, long after that night, she gave Mom a lift on a regular basis.

If I’m lucky enough to see Ellen again, I’d love to, for Mom and for myself, thank her for the ride.