Comedian Who Went to El Cerrito High Celebrated by Comics She Left Behind

SACRAMENTO — Halloween night, was on a stage raising the dead.

The 33-year-old comedian raised in the East Bay was in a near-empty Folsom bar testing out a new piece she had written about a fictional ancestor who was the lone African-American to go down with the Titanic. The still-developing piece culminated with the ancestor — a great-great-great granddad named Rotatus who had been bedeviled all his life by a society that froze him out of “whites only” institutions — pleading with God to keep him segregated from his oppressors one final time.

“Oh Lord, if it be your will that this ship go down and kill everyone on board,” Dillon keened, contorting her soft, cherubic features into an old man’s sorrowful grimace, “please, dear Lord, let it be ‘whites only.’”

It was the kind of piece most comedians don’t even try anymore: a slow-building, character-driven story that eschews multiple jokes for a single, stirring payoff. After Dillon had finished, her friend and fellow comic Sean Peabody threw his stout arms around her and said, “That was beautiful.”

On Dec. 28, 2011, the two friends hugged goodbye one last time, after Dillon performed at an open mic at Oakland soul food staple Dorsey’s Locker. Somehow on her way home to Sacramento, where she had recently settled, and plummeted 40 feet into the lower parking lot at Golden Gate Fields in Albany. The fatal accident sent shockwaves through the Sacramento comedy community where Dillon had quickly become known, and loved, for her large personality, expressiveness and her willingness to bare all in the pursuit of emotional truth.

“She put herself in a whole different category,” Peabody said of Dillon, who graduated from Howard University and produced plays off-Broadway. “She mixed her theater with the comedy. Kibibi would (create) a picture on stage rather than just telling you it. She was a master at it.”

Upon news of her death, remembrances poured into Dillon’s Facebook page and Twitter. A vigil was held two days after. A memorial is planned for tomorrow in Sacramento.

Thursday night, Sacramento’s comedy community gathered at one of their favorite performing haunts – Laughs Unlimited in Old Sacramento – the only way they know how: by turning their shared grief into tearful laughter. The benefit show was put together to raise money to help Dillon’s family with memorial costs, but another purpose to provide those who got to know Dillon during her brief stint in Sacramento a forum to exorcise their communal grief.

Dillon’s death, after all, was a rarity for this tight-knit community of stand-up comics, which isn’t used to losing members for any other reasons except success or retirement. “She was such a presence and such a light in everyone’s life that we had to do something,” said friend Samm Hickey.

Peabody, a local celebrity on the Sacramento comedy circuit, pulled the show together with the support of the owners of Laughs Unlimited. Everyone else quickly followed.

“Sean Peabody was the one who kind of grabbed the bull by the horns,” said comedian Leaf. “We all felt like we needed to do something, but we didn’t know what.”

The benefit was a well-attended affair, with an appearance by television personality Mark S. Allen and performances from local headliners like Andrew Bailey and Mark G.

The night was also filled with more personal tributes to Dillon. Comedian Sam Bruno tattooed Dillon’s initials on his microphone hand, “so that she will always be up on stage with him,” said Leaf. And in a fitting gesture honoring her profession, a stool with Dillon’s signature shot (Grey Goose vodka) and towel was placed on the stage as the red light that notifies comics when their stage time is done was shone. In all, 36 comics went on stage to share stories about the late comedian.

After the ceremony, Dillon’s mother took the stage and thanked those who participated in the event.

“We knew as a family how special she was, but to see how many lives she touched is simply amazing,” she told the audience, according to Leaf.

Outside the venue, those who knew Dillon clinked beers and shared their own stories. Comics Tristan Johnson, Shawn G., Leaf and one other sang Dillon’s praises to a reporter with a notepad. All swore she was on the precipice of breaking through in a career where such breaks are rare, with Johnson comparing Dillon to a young Whoopi Goldberg.

“She was on her way,” nodded Sean G.