It was supposed to be quick. A basic fireman gag, a burst of slapstick, a few laughs before moving on. But the moment Tim Conway shuffled onto the stage, the fate of the sketch was sealed.
Appearing as his painfully slow old man character on The Carol Burnett Show, Conway didn’t rush the joke—he dismantled it piece by piece. Every step was delayed. Every movement felt like it might never finish. The audience already sensed danger.
Then came the rescue. Conway’s character attempted mouth-to-mouth CPR in the most awkward, mistimed, uncomfortable way imaginable. What should have been slapstick instantly turned surreal, stretching seconds into eternity.
Across from him, Harvey Korman tried to hold on. You could see it in his face—the clenched jaw, the darting eyes, the internal battle not to break. He knew exactly where this was going, and there was no escape.
Each botched breath made it worse. Conway lingered too long. Paused at the wrong time. Restarted when no one expected it. The silence between actions became the joke, and it was lethal.
The audience completely lost control. Laughter rolled through the studio in waves, growing louder with every second Conway refused to move on. Applause, gasps, shrieks—people were no longer watching a sketch, they were surviving it.
Korman’s composure crumbled in real time. Shoulders shook. His face turned red. He tried looking away, biting his lip, doing anything to stay in character—but Conway kept pushing, mercilessly slow and perfectly aware.
What made the moment legendary wasn’t chaos alone—it was precision disguised as accident. Conway knew exactly how long to wait, when to pause, and how far to stretch discomfort before snapping it again.
There were no flashy punchlines. No clever dialogue. Just timing, silence, and the unbearable tension of waiting for something to finally end.
Decades later, fans still revisit the clip, amazed that something so simple could become so uncontrollably funny. It’s taught in comedy circles as a masterclass in patience and psychological warfare.
It was meant to be a quick gag. Instead, Tim Conway turned it into pure, unhinged television history—the kind that proves sometimes the funniest thing you can do… is refuse to hurry.
