Ich bin ein [Texas-Born] Berliner

By way of preparation for what I myself hope to write about Dorothy day after tomorrow, this afternoon I pulled out a book I’d bought when it first appeared in 1981: “The Last Laugh” (Simon & Schuster), a collection of odds and ends left by that master humorist S. J. Perelman when he died.  I whole-heartedly commend that entire treasure to your attention (for one thing, the microscopic accuracy of Perelman’s vocabulary makes that alone a special pleasure for anyone who even tries to write), but here I’ll quote only an excerpt from his own six-page reminiscence about Dorothy that begins with what he calls his “scarifying” first encounter with her - characteristic of the kind of verbal stiletto-work on her part that dominates most people’s impression of her, an impression I hope my own memories may do a bit to counteract.

Perelman underwent this baptism by Parkerian fire at a cocktail party thrown by the Broadway producer Poultney Kerr, who’d invited “forty or fifty” New York sophisticates for the self-serving purpose of picking their collective brains for the perfect title he sought for a revue to which Perelman had contributed “some sketches” - but let Perelman tell his own story:

“Halfway through the proceedings Mrs. Parker arrived, visibly gassed but dressed to kill in a black confection by Lanvin, a feathered toque, and opera-length gloves.  Thirty-nine years old and a very toothsome dish, she immediately made every other woman in the assemblage feel dowdy, and for a moment the sound of their teeth gnashing drowned out the buzz of chitchat.  When Kerr introduced us, she straightaway fired off a barrage of compliments likening me to Congreve, Oscar Wilde, and Noël Coward.  Inasmuch as my total Broadway output was confined to one sketch in the Third Little Show, I thought the praise a mite excessive, but I blushingly accepted the tribute.” 

Kerr called for silence in order to get the title-seeking ball rolling, and all heads present automatically turned towards Dorothy.  She first came up with “Pousse-Café” and soon she in turn zeroed in on Perelman, who continues: ”I suddenly became aware of Mrs. Parker’s eyes fixed on me with cat-like intentness.  ‘What do you think of Pousse-Café, Mr. Perelman?’” 

The poor devil couldn’t, in spite of trying, make his mendacious response sound sufficiently convincing, and Dorothy went in for the kill when Perelman lamely finished with “I mean, poose-café - it’s too soft, somehow.”

“‘Oh really?’ she asked with a slow and deadly inflection” and she immediately aimed a second suggestion directly at him.  To that one he said: “I just wonder, though, if we can’t find something a tiny bit sharper, less static. . . .”

At that, she pounced.  “‘Well, goodness me.’  Mrs. Parker’s words dripped sweet poison.  ‘What ever shall we do?  Our wrist has just been slapped by the house genius there, who feels that we’re a bit dull-witted.  Of course, he’s in a position to know, isn’t he, leaning down from Parnassus - ‘

“‘Look, folks!’  Kerr broke in nervously.  ‘Have another drink.  Don’t go, it’s still early - ‘

“‘How privileged we are to have the benefit of Mr. P.’s wide experience!’ she overrode him.  ‘How gracious of him to analyze our shortcomings!  I wonder, though, if Mr. P. realizes that he’s a great big etcetera.  Because he is, you know.  In fact, of all the etceteras I’ve ever known - ‘

“Well, fortunately for me, the bystanders who had witnessed the carnage recovered their tongues at this juncture, and the rest of Mrs. Parker’s diatribe was lost in the babble.  I made my escape, and when Kerr phoned me the next day to apologize for her conduct, I swore that if I ever met the woman again, I’d skewer her with one of her own hatpins.  That evening I received a dozen magnificent roses from her, accompanied by a note steeped in remorse.  It was the beginning of a friendship that survived the next thirty-five years, with intermittent lapses. . . .”

Don’t expect my own intended contribution here to measure up to that, but I hope this little appetiser will have at least sharpened your curiosity about whatever comparatively modest contribution I myself may make.