Yesterday, according to The Writer’s Almanac, was Phyllis Diller’s birthday. She was born oh seven, one seven, one seven. In case you are wondering, no, she is not still alive, but I, for one, am glad Garrison Keillor is still celebrating her birthday.
When I run across the performances of Ms. Diller, I usually think of my Grandpa Grossmann. He was appreciative of television comedians in general, and was easily provoked to laughter, but he slapped his own thigh and laughed especially hard when Phyllis Diller, on, say, The Ed Sullivan Show, delivered a string of self-deprecating one-liners or recited a litany of little complaints about her fictitious husband, Fang. “By God!” Grampa would exclaim. “Ain’t that woman a corker!”
My grandmother, concerned about the flippant mention of the Lord’s name, might say softly, “Earl, let’s watch our language,” but I recall that she shook with laughter, too, even as she gave her gentle scolding.
♦
