Laughter Clubs such as this one are becoming more and more common (photo by Tym Altman).

A Laughing Matter by CHRISTINA BRYZA

There's nothing funny about what laughter exercises can do for your health and well-being.

It was a rainy, mock-winter-early-autumn afternoon in Chicago as I sulked along the slick streets, slimy leaves of orange and brown clinging to my boots. Usually optimistic if not upbeat, stress and fatigue were consuming, and I had not cracked a smile all day. Suddenly, as I avoided an oncoming vehicle and its resulting puddle splash, the delicate process of memory resurgence blessed my weary soul, and I was treated to a flashback:

In a warm haze of smiles and summer I see a circle of people on my television screen, wearing clown noses and pointing at each other as they laugh maniacally, bubbling with mirth. I realize it is some kind of club for laughing, just as--

The flashback collapsed, and I was back in the misery of November, pondering this mirage of a memory and hoping such a club really existed.

Turns out, there is indeed a club for laughing, and the meeting I glimpsed on TV last summer was just one of hundreds worldwide. But by the time I finally spoke with Chicago Laughter Club founder Sandy Dorrian, I was sure that her club was nothing but a hokey scam looking to capitalize on the desperate demand for humor and stress-relief.

* * *

It all began innocently enough. A quick online search after my rainy-day revelation located the website of the World Laughter Tour, organized by Ohio psychologist Steve Wilson, cleverly self-titled Cheerman of the Bored. An animated cartoon globe, clearly laughing hysterically, grinned aside the motto of Laughter Clubs International: "Think Globally, Laugh Locally." A mission statement at the bottom of the page read, "Together we can lead the world to health, happiness, and peace through laughter." Now this is what I had in mind! Get to laugh and achieve world peace? It seemed too good to be true! Of course my inner cynic suspected the futility of such a lofty goal, but it is always exciting to see people making an effort. I found contact information for a Chicago club and emailed the leader, Sandy Dorrian. In keeping with my crummy day, I learned I had missed a meeting held that very night, but, unwilling to wait another month to experience the "spirit of laughter" the organization promotes, I asked Dorrian to lead a private 45-minute laughter session at my sorority house the following weekend. This option, advertised at $125 for corporate clients, would only cost a nonprofit organization like us $75 and seemed well worth the money. When Dorrian said she could not make it but referred me to other Certified Laughter Leaders in the area, I should have known she was merely pawning me off in an underhanded attempt to make a quick dollar without having to work for it. At the time, I was just glad we could have a meeting.

Clint Phillips was, in short, a disappointment. In the week before his visit I had done a little research on the World Laughter Tour, but I still did not know what to expect from a meeting. I knew that laughter was supposed to lower blood pressure, reduce stress, and encourage unity. I had read about Dr. Madan Kataria, the man who founded Laughter Clubs International and started the first club in Bombay, India. I knew that Dr. Kataria considered laughter a form of ancient yoga not reliant on humor, and that psychologist Steve Wilson was so inspired by the Indian clubs that he launched the World Laughter Tour to spread the word. I also knew that to preserve the integrity of his clubs, Wilson presented weekend workshops across the continent to train bona fide Certified Laughter Leaders deemed qualified to lead meetings. I had seen the training brochure, which, for $339 (tax deductible), promised an impressive span of laughter theory, therapy, practice and leadership.

Spouting this information for a few days was enough to attract about 20 sorority sisters to our living room at 6 p.m. on a Friday, just after a hearty dinner of chicken wings with mac and cheese, and right before people headed out for the evening. Clint was tall with large muscles and a smooth, shiny head, sort of like Mr. Clean, except trimmer, and with wind pants. Well, and without the huge earring and bushy white eyebrows. So basically Clint looked like a personal trainer, which happened to be the case. Friendly but soft-spoken, he did not have a lot of command over the girls, who seemed quite capable of provoking their own giggles without his guidance. We watched a couple of short video clips, one a "warm-up" consisting entirely of individuals laughing solo at a camera, the second a snippet of a laughter club meeting in India held on the beach at dawn. Clint skimmed over the history of the clubs, dismissing the yoga element as an over-hyped gimmick used to garner interest. "My take on it is: it raises your mood, it makes you feel better, so do it anyway," he said with a shrug. He explained how "the cause of happiness and the effect of happiness go together," and warned that in the beginning, we might not feel like laughing. He told us to "fake it till you make it," reminding us that we did not need humor to laugh. "You don't laugh because you just heard a joke," he said, "you're laughing because you're forcing yourself to laugh." My friends looked confused.

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