After a decade away from the spotlight, 91-year-old Beverly Munter of Plainview is making a dazzling return to comedy, proving once again that passion has no expiration date. On Sunday, May 18, at 3 p.m., Munter will take the stage at Governor’s Comedy Club in Levittown, performing stand-up comedy in front of a crowd that will include her family, friends—and even the medical staff who recently cared for her.
“Getting back on stage at 91 feels like coming home,” Munter said with unmistakable joy in her voice. “I’ve always loved making people laugh and I couldn’t be more excited to get up on stage at Governor’s. Age has nothing to do with passion—if you love something, you never stop doing it.”
This performance marks not only a milestone birthday celebration but also a personal victory over a series of health challenges. Munter was recently hospitalized at St. Francis Hospital and is still a caregiver to her 90-year-old partner, Dr. H. Barry Waldman. Despite the demands of her health and caregiving responsibilities, she was determined to make her comeback.
“I do not tell typical comedians’ jokes,” she said. “I just base it on experiences. Real life is funny. People don’t realize that.”
And Munter has plenty of experiences to draw from. Her comedic journey began late in life—at the age of 81—when she enrolled in “comedy college” at Governor’s. At the time, she’d recently become a widow after 51 years of marriage and had embarked on a dating adventure that led to some truly laugh-out-loud moments. “I dated 43 men. I’m still with number 44—I call him ‘44’—and we’ve been together for 19 years.”
Her partner, Waldman, is a retired Stony Brook University professor of dentistry and their bond was instant.
“I asked him what he taught and when he wrote back ‘dentistry,’ I responded in big letters, B-I-N-G-O! My son, Ricky, is a dentist too. It was meant to be.”
Munter’s vibrant humor often veers into the unexpected.
“If you’re not afraid to hear words, I’m very…I have a potty mouth,” she confessed with a laugh. “Whatever comes out of my mouth—I never know. I’m not afraid to offend anyone.” Her style, both bold and deeply personal, resonates with audiences because it’s rooted in authenticity.
She’s also not afraid to challenge ageist assumptions.
“Most people think that a 91-year-old can’t perform or has no aspirations,” she said. “But I’ve just always been a comic. I guess I was always funny—I entertained at parties, at work, at the bank line. My family was full of performers—my mom was a dancer at the Apollo Theater, my dad’s brothers were in Vaudeville. It’s in my blood.”
Munter’s late husband, Paul, also lived a remarkable life, working on the Apollo Lunar Module at Grumman that helped land astronauts on the moon. The couple had lived in Jericho for decades before she moved to Plainview after Paul’s passing. Since then, Munter’s life has remained full—filled with comedy, her children, Holly and Ricky and their families and, yes, a whole lot of dating stories.
Beyond the punchlines and stage lights, Munter’s upcoming performance is also a heartfelt tribute to resilience. After surviving Legionnaires’ disease, COVID and heart issues, she’s grateful for the healthcare workers who helped her recover—and they’ll be in the audience to support her. “I’ve gotten in trouble at the hospital,” she chuckled. “They come into my room to hear my jokes and then they get in trouble. I use that in my act.”
Munter’s comedy comes from a place of lived truth, told with sharp wit and unapologetic candor. She lectures on dating for seniors, has performed at libraries across Long Island and even uses PowerPoint during her talks.
Her comedy is not about chasing fame or a career—it’s about crossing something off her bucket list, living in the moment and reminding others that it’s never too late to follow a dream.
Asked what her audience can expect on May 18, she quipped, “Shock; definitely shock. But lots of laughter too.”
For Munter, the stage is a place where she can connect, reflect and surprise. At 91, she’s not slowing down—she’s just getting started.
