Some television moments transcend their medium, becoming cultural touchstones that define an era. For Tim Conway and Harvey Korman, the Emmy Awards stage wasn’t just a place to collect trophies—it was an extension of the anarchic comedy brilliance that made them household names on The Carol Burnett Show. Throughout the 1970s, these two masters of mayhem transformed what should have been routine acceptance speeches into unforgettable performances that audiences still celebrate nearly five decades later.
The 1978 Telegram That Changed Emmy History
The date was September 17, 1978, and Hollywood’s finest had gathered at the Pasadena Civic Auditorium for the 30th Primetime Emmy Awards. The Carol Burnett Show had just won Outstanding Comedy-Variety or Music Series, and Tim Conway stepped to the microphone for what attendees expected would be a standard thank-you speech. What they got instead became one of the most quoted moments in Emmy history.
Conway, with his characteristic deadpan delivery that could make reading a phone book hilarious, announced he’d received an important telegram that morning. The room fell silent as he unfolded the paper with mock solemnity. Then came the punchline that would echo through television history: “Tim, we know this is your day, but we hope you’ll take a few moments to think of us. Our thoughts are with you always. Love, the gang at the Tarzana Pitch-n-Putt.”
The absurdity was perfect. Here was one of television’s most celebrated comedians, at the pinnacle of industry recognition, sharing a “heartfelt” message from a miniature golf course. The audience erupted. Conway’s commitment to the bit—delivering the fake telegram with the gravity usually reserved for messages from heads of state—showcased exactly why he’d won the Emmy in the first place.
As Kelly Conway, Tim’s daughter and author of My Dad’s Funnier Than Your Dad, later explained, her father’s humor had a specific philosophy behind it. He wanted to create comedy that grandparents and toddlers could watch together without anyone feeling embarrassed. That family-friendly approach, combined with impeccable timing and fearless spontaneity, defined Conway’s entire career.
A Comedy Partnership Forged in Television Gold
To understand why Conway and Korman’s Emmy moments resonated so powerfully, you need to understand their extraordinary partnership. The two first met in 1966 on The Danny Kaye Show, where they discovered an instant chemistry that would define both their careers. When Conway joined The Carol Burnett Show as a full-time regular in 1975 (after years of guest appearances), he reunited with Korman to create television magic.
The Carol Burnett Show ran for eleven seasons and became one of the most honored programs in television history, winning 25 Emmy Awards and 8 Golden Globe Awards. During those years, Conway and Korman perfected what would become their signature dynamic: Conway as the agent of chaos, delivering outrageous improvisations, and Korman as the “straight man” who simply couldn’t keep it together.
The famous dentist sketch—where Conway played an incompetent dentist accidentally injecting himself with Novocaine while Korman’s character sat trapped in the dental chair—became legendary precisely because of Korman’s inability to maintain composure. Carol Burnett herself has called it “one of the funniest things you’ll ever see in sketch comedy” more than 50 years after it first aired. Conway’s goal, according to Burnett, was always to make Harvey break character, and he succeeded spectacularly and repeatedly.
“The Oldest Man” character Conway created—an elderly, shuffling figure who would take minutes to fall down a flight of stairs in slow motion—left Korman in tears of laughter so frequently that clips of their “corpses” (breaking character) became as beloved as the sketches themselves. Conway, a trained gymnast with exceptional body control, would roll these improvisations out with perfect timing, all while maintaining an absolutely straight face.
Multiple Emmy Moments Create a Legacy
While the 1978 telegram speech stands as perhaps the most famous single moment, Conway and Korman created multiple Emmy memories throughout their partnership. The Television Academy’s archives document how their performances at Emmy ceremonies became almost as anticipated as the awards themselves.
One particularly memorable incident occurred when Harvey Korman won an Emmy and Tim Conway did not. Rather than gracefully applauding from his seat, Conway walked up on stage, stood directly next to Korman at the microphone, and said absolutely nothing—just gazed at him with the expression of a sad, defeated puppy. The visual comedy was pure Conway: no words needed, just perfect physical expression and impeccable timing.
Comedian Bob Newhart, recalling this moment after Conway’s death in 2019, wrote: “We lost one of the greatest today – Tim Conway may be the greatest ever. I will never forget on an Emmy Awards when Harvey Korman won and Tim did not. Harvey went up to accept his award, Tim went up and stood right next to him, not saying a word.”
These weren’t accidents or spontaneous crashes. Conway and Korman understood that their chemistry transcended the boundaries of their show. They brought that magic everywhere—to talk show appearances, touring stage shows, made-for-television specials, and yes, to the Emmy Awards. Their performances on those stages demonstrated a fundamental truth about comedy: the best laughs come from genuine human connection, not from scripted perfection.
The Art Behind the Antics
What made Conway’s comedy so effective was its foundation in discipline and craft. Despite his reputation for wild improvisations, every seemingly spontaneous moment came from a performer with complete control over his instrument. His background in gymnastics gave him the physical control to execute complex physical comedy in slow motion. His understanding of timing—when to pause, when to move, when to say absolutely nothing—came from decades of honing his craft.
Harvey Korman, for his part, wasn’t simply a victim of Conway’s pranks. He was a four-time Emmy winner himself (taking home awards in 1969, 1971, 1972, and 1974) and a Golden Globe winner in 1975. His ability to play the “straight man” while barely containing his laughter was itself a performance—one that required acting skill, self-awareness, and perfect comedic instincts.
In interviews later in life, the two men would sit together and reminisce about their Emmy moments with obvious affection. In one particularly touching video, an elderly Conway and Korman watched clips of their various Emmy appearances, commenting on them with the ease of old friends recalling shared adventures. “You can’t take everything seriously,” Korman reminded viewers—a philosophy that guided both men’s approach to life and comedy.
A Legacy That Endures
Tim Conway died on May 14, 2019, at age 85, leaving behind a body of work that earned him five Primetime Emmy Awards total, a Golden Globe, a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and induction into the Television Hall of Fame. Harvey Korman had preceded him in death on May 29, 2008, at age 81, with a similarly decorated career that included four Emmys and recognition as one of television’s greatest character actors.
Carol Burnett’s tribute to Conway captured what made him special: “I’m heartbroken. He was one in a million, not only as a brilliant comedian but as a loving human being. I cherish the times we had together both on the screen and off. He’ll be in my heart forever.”

The 1978 Emmy telegram moment—along with all the other Conway-Korman Emmy appearances—continues to circulate online, introducing new generations to a style of comedy that feels increasingly rare. In an era of heavily produced, carefully scripted television, their willingness to embrace chaos, to commit completely to absurd bits, and to genuinely crack each other up on live television feels like a relic from a more innocent age.
But perhaps that’s why these moments endure. They remind us that laughter—real, uncontrollable, infectious laughter—is one of humanity’s greatest gifts. Tim Conway and Harvey Korman understood that the best comedy comes not from perfection but from the joy of performance itself, from the pleasure of making someone else laugh so hard they can’t breathe.
On that September night in 1978, when Tim Conway shared a fake telegram from a miniature golf course with television’s elite, he wasn’t just accepting an award. He was demonstrating, one more time, that comedy is an act of generosity—a gift given freely to anyone willing to receive it. And judging by the laughter that filled the Pasadena Civic Auditorium that night, and the smiles that moment still generates today, it was a gift the world desperately needed then and continues to treasure now.