Some good stuff here. I especially like UB Dan's method, above.

Fortunately, I don't recall running into that many hecklers. Maybe I was just lucky.

But in most of the places where I sang regularly in Seattle during the Sixties, the proprietors (Bob Clark at "The Place Next Door," Stan James at "The Corroboree" [Stan was an Australophile], and John Timmons at the "Pamir House") were pretty aware of what was going on and put a quick stop to it. They usually went to the to the heckler's table, picked up the check, and told them to leave now and don't come back.

On one occasion I had to take direct action, but I knew the audience was with me.

I had an acquaintance (I wouldn't call him a friend) named Alex. Alex was an out-of-work actor, and he loved the spotlight. He was also a self-appointed critic of everybody else's performances: actors, singers, dancers, whatever, he fancied himself an expert. He once told me that "It's a performer's job to capture my interest. If they don't, then they're not doing what they're paid for and they deserve what they get. Tough luck!" He was also full of advice on what was wrong with my performances and what I should do about it. He made one or two good points, but most of it I ignored, because it was goat-feathers -- just his ego exercising itself. One night at "The Corroboree" he kept talking to his companion, loudly, and in his stage voice -- as I sang. He was letting me know that I hadn't captured his interest. People kept shushing him, but he ignored them. Stan was busy in the kitchen, so I was on my own.

I finished the song I was singing. When the applause, punctuated by Alex's stentorian voice, died away, I put my mouth about an inch from the mike. It was normally about a foot and a half away, with volume adjusted accordingly.

Softly, I said "Alex. . . ."

It boomed through the place like the Voice of God. Alex, startled, looked up at me.

"Alex . . . Shut the hell up!!"

The place broke into prolonged applause, cheers, and whistles.

Alex got up and left, and I never saw him again after that.

Don Firth