Forever, Erma
Page 30
I feel so lucky about having the greatest mom and dad that anyone could ever have.
Matt Bombeck, from his remarks at the memorial service
What I loved and respected most about my mother was that she was a doer. She didn’t contemplate, analyze, think about it; she just did it. There wasn’t a room in the house she didn’t want to paint, a trip she wasn’t planning, an idea for a column she didn’t have in her head. I was constantly amazed by her discipline and originality. You had to have respect for a writer who could get a column out of my answering machine.
My brother and sister and I were lucky. Both my mother and father gave us so much: stability, always a place to come home to. Whatever path we chose, that was OK. And if it turned out to be the wrong one, that was OK, too. They are my example. They are my anchor. And for that I am eternally grateful.
I will always hear my mother’s voice. My mother’s laugh will always be with us.
Erma Harris, Erma’s mother
Since Erma loved to sing and dance, I would show her off every chance I got. Her feet were never still and her mouth never shut. I couldn’t lay claim to fame at this time, but I thought to myself, “Move over, Shirley Temple. My daughter is on her way to take your place.”
When Erma was in the seventh or eighth grade, she started to write little jingles and poems. In 1939 she wrote one called, “We’re in God’s Country.” It was in Stars and Stripes, a publication for the service boys of World War II.
In high school she wrote part-time for the Dayton Herald. She wrote obituaries and a column, “Operation Dust Rag.” She told housewives how to clean house in fifteen minutes with a ten-minute coffee break. At this time I knew that Erma was going to be a writer. Our dream of another Shirley Temple was gone...or was that just my dream?
Although I’m the proudest mother in all the universe, I don’t love my daughter for being famous. I’m proud of her for being the most generous, warm and caring person I know. She used her God-given talents to help others. Erma is the kind of daughter every mother would be proud to have.
What was my proudest moment? The day God gave me this priceless and special person...Erma Louise.
Dear Readers:
In 1989 Erma began to experience a series of painful medical problems, but she disdained letting her readers know most of the details. She usually brushed aside rumors and inquiries with a joke and a plea that her purpose was to write humor and make people smile. Health reports are not funny. Her greatest fear was to become a “poster child” and have people feel sorry for her.
Throughout these assaults she remained unbelievably optimistic. Erma always knew that there was a pony in there someplace. Not only did the research and writing of her book I Want to Grow Hair, I Want to Grow Up, I Want to Go to Boise provide a nation with the heroics of kids surviving cancer, but it also helped give Erma the courage to face her many trials, including her last one.
I have met astronauts, war heroes, firefighters and police officers, but I have never known anyone with more courage than Erma. Courage has been called grace under fire. I would propose we call it Erma under fire.
Erma would not have approved of my words. But for this one time I will do what Erma admonished all who challenged her words, and that was to “go out and get your own column.”
I have searched for a way to show my family’s gratitude to the thousands of fans and friends who have shown so much love and compassion toward her. I’d like to share with you a personal recollection I read at the family services that were held before the funeral.
Bill Bombeck
In 1947, three or four couples were outside the Lakeside Ballroom in Dayton, Ohio. We were too early to be admitted for the big-band dance, so we all wandered over to the adjoining amusement park.
Not far from the ballroom was the roller coaster. All of the boys began cajoling their dates to ride with them. The girls giggled and said no. It was too frightening, and it would mess up their hair and dresses.
I looked at my date and asked her if she wanted to go. She didn’t hesitate. She said, “Sure, I’ll go.” I was surprised and looked at her again. She was slight, narrow-shouldered, with tiny hands and feet. But she had the greatest smile and laugh. Her smile had a charming space between her two front teeth. I thought, this is some kind of girl!
The Lakeside roller coaster was a rickety old leftover from the Depression. The frame was mostly made of unpainted 2-by-4s. No modern inspection by OSHA would have ever approved this for man’s use.
The cars were linked together with what looked like modified train couplers. They were mostly red-painted wood with metal wheels and a coglike device that clicked loudly. The seats had worn black leather padding. There were no belts, but there were worn steel bars that had to be raised and lowered by the attendant.
The attendant was an old man in oil-stained bib overalls. He said little, but raised the bar and she entered the seat first, and I followed by her side. The bar clicked in place just above our waistlines.
There were two tapered 2-by-4s on the platform, each angled away from the other. He moved the one closer to the car to an upright position. The car moved forward, slowly picking up speed. The metal wheels on the metal track made so much noise you had to yell to your partner to be heard.
The car left the level starting track and began a slow ascent. In about 20 or 30 seconds, when the track became steeper, the cog device engaged the car. You could feel it grab. Then there was a distinct rhythmic clacking sound as the cog device labored to overcome the near-perpendicular angle of the track. You felt like it wouldn’t make it, but just when it reached a point that forced the passengers to stare, not at the car ahead or the track, but only at the night sky, it plunged downward, a wild, almost free, fall. Maybe whatever controlled the speed was now broken.
She made her first sound since she had said, “Sure, I’ll go.” She screamed and clenched my arm. I said, “Hang on to the bar.” She kept hanging on to my arm. Suddenly we were at the bottom, and we both were so relieved that we laughed, and I saw that smile again.
The ride continued, with bone-jarring twists and turns, dizzy heights and abrupt plunges. Sometimes we would enter a dark tunnel, so dark the sparks from the wheels and tracks made it look like it was on fire.
She kept hanging on to my arm. I was gripping the metal bar so tightly I thought I would bend it. This was some ride. We were thrilled and exhilarated, scared and breathless.
We had been in and out of many tunnels. Each time they ended with almost blinding light in our eyes, and then on to another straight-up climb.
We started into a tunnel that seemed to plunge deeper than all the others. It kept dropping. We both sensed this one was really different. Finally, instead of the bright lights, we were back at the platform.
We looked at each other. We didn’t speak, but we sensed the ride had changed. The man in the bib overalls was standing by the tapered 2-by-4s. He started to push one from its angle to a straight-up position. The car stopped. I told him the ride was great, but it was too short; we wanted to go on. He raised the bar. She smiled again. I looked at the attendant again. He said, “This is April 22, 1996—your ride is over.” I looked over at her seat. She was gone.
A Biography of Erma Bombeck
Erma Bombeck (1927–1996) was one of the best-loved humorists of her day, known for her witty bestselling books and syndicated columns.
Born in Dayton, Ohio, Bombeck showed an interest in writing from a young age. She began her career as a journalist with an auspicious assignment: interviewing a teenage Shirley Temple for the Dayton Herald.
Bombeck went on to attend Ohio University and graduated from the University of Dayton in 1949. She worked various part-time jobs and wrote for the University of Dayton’s literary magazine, the Exponent. Upon graduation, Bombeck secured a job as a reporter for the women’s pages at the Dayton Journal-Herald. She married Bill Bombeck, a fellow student at the University of Dayton, in 1949.
In 1952, Bombeck began writing “Operation Dustrag,” a humorous column for the Dayton Journal-Herald based on the frustrations and joys of life as a housewife. After taking time off to raise her first two children, she returned to the world of newspapers in 1964, writing a column called “Zone 59” for the Kettering-Oakwood Times for the meager sum of three dollars per week. In 1965 she returned to the Dayton Journal-Herald with a twice-a-week column, “At Wit’s End,” which quickly found an audience and was syndicated nationally within weeks.
Through the tumult of the 1960s and ’70s, Bombeck’s quick-witted take on domestic matters was a welcome relief. She became famous for quips such as: “Insanity is hereditary. You can catch it from your kids” and “If a man watches three televised football games in a row, he should be declared legally dead.”
In 1967, Doubleday published At Wit’s End, a collection of Bombeck’s favorite entries from her column. She would go on to write eleven more books, including The Grass Is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank (1976), If Life Is a Bowl of Cherries, What Am I Doing in the Pits? (1978), and Aunt Erma’s Cope Book (1979). Her works were perennial bestsellers and helped bolster her reputation as one of the nation’s sharpest observers of domestic life.
In addition to writing, Bombeck was a regular contributor on ABC’s Good Morning America for eleven years. She made guest appearances on television talk shows and entertainment specials, and gave speeches around the country. She also served on President Carter’s National Advisory Committee for Women, where she joined forces with the nation’s feminists in the fight for the Equal Rights Amendment.
Bombeck continued to write her column until her death in 1996. She was buried in Dayton.
Erma Bombeck at eight years old.
(Photo courtesy of the Bombeck Family.)
Bombeck in her American flag tap-dancing costume, around age nine.
(Photo courtesy of the Bombeck Family.)
Bombeck’s wedding portrait. She was married to Bill Bombeck in 1949.
(Photo courtesy of the Bombeck Family.)
A letter from Random House founder Bennett Cerf to Bombeck, dated 1952. Bombeck’s husband, Bill, later added the superimposed photograph of his wife and her typewriter on the Random House letterhead.
(Photo courtesy of the Bombeck Family.)
Bombeck with her husband, Bill; their son Andy; and their daughter, Betsy, in front of their home in Centerville, Ohio, circa Easter 1957.
(Photo courtesy of the Bombeck Family.)
Bombeck with President Carter and the National Advisory Committee for Women, which Carter established in 1978. Bombeck was among the first committee members.
(Photo courtesy of the Bombeck Family.)
Bombeck receiving her sixth—of an eventual sixteen—honorary doctorate. This degree was presented by the University of Dayton on April 26, 1981.
(Photo courtesy of the Bombeck Family.)
Bombeck reading about her selection as Grand Marshal of the 1986 Tournament of Roses Parade.
(Photo courtesy of the Bombeck Family.)
The Bombeck family in the Grand Marshal’s car for the 1986 Tournament of Roses
Parade: Son Andy is in the front seat with their driver; son Matt and daughter Betsy are in the middle; and Bill and Erma are in the back seat.
(Photo courtesy of the Bombeck Family.)
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Forever, Erma copyright © 1996, 1997 by the Estate of Erma Bombeck.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The publisher gratefully acknowledges the generous permission of the following individuals to reprint their words from personal letters or memorials: Sister Agnes Immaculata S.N.D.N., The Most Reverend Thomas J. O’Brien, Marla Adelman, Robert A. Kelly, Better Cohen, Lynn Colwell, Phil Donahue, Helen Gurley Brown, Pat McMahon, Tom Ceil, Marilyn Potts, Aaron Priest, Father Tom Walsh, and Bill Keane.
All columns dated from January 1965 through March 1970 © Newsday, Inc. Reprinted with permission from Newsday. All rights reserved.
p. 248 BENSON © 1996. United Feature Syndicate. Reprinted by Permission.
p. 249 Art Buchwald column, The Washington Post, April 23, 1996 © 1996 Art Buchwald. Reprinted with permission.
p. 252 Liz Carpenter column, Austin American-Statesman, April 23, 1996 © 1996 Liz Carpenter. Reprinted with permission.
p. 254 From “You Could Save a Life,” The Catholic Sun, editorial, May 2, 1996 © 1996. Reprinted with permission.
p. 255 Kevin Cuneo column, The Erie (Pa). Times, April 25, 1996 © 1996 The Erie Pa. Times. Reprinted with permission.
p. 258 Pat Murphy column, Tribune (AZ) Newspapers, April 24, 1996 © 1996 Tribune Newspapers. Reprinted with permission.
p. 259 Ellen Goodman column, The Boston Globe, April 25, 1996 © 1996 Washington Post Writers Group. Reprinted with permission.
p. 264 D.L. Stewart column, Dayton Daily News, April 25, 1996 © 1996 Dayton Daily News. Reprinted with permission.
p. 265 Mary McCarty column, Dayton Daily News, April 25, 1996 © 1996 Dayton Daily News. Reprinted with permission.
p. 267 John Sherffius cartoon, Ventura County Star, April 24, 1996 © 1996 by Sherffius. Reprinted with permission.
p. 270 Mike Ritter cartoon, Ventura County Star, April 23, 1996 © 1996 Mike Ritter. Reprinted with permission.
cover design by Andrea Uva
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