B00C4I7LJE EBOK (27 page)

Because I am a Christian and wanted to make sure I would be seeing Phyllis in heaven, I talked to her about faith in Jesus Christ and salvation. I quoted the Bible’s most famous verse, John 3:16 (“For God so loved the world that He gave his one and only son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.”). She listened politely, but truly her bible was the book
The Magic of Believing
by Claude Bristol. Phyllis’s faith lay in herself. She believed that through the subconscious, and powers of suggestion and self-belief, she could overcome everyday obstacles and achieve personal happiness and professional success. Phyllis assured me that she was acquainted with God. I sent her a book,
The Case for Christ
by Lee Strobel. She thanked me with a sweet note, saying, “Robin, darling—Don’t worry about me. I have lived in heaven all my life. I know God. Love, Phyllis.”

With that, I would have to be content.

At one of the reunions, I asked if I could perform a
“cat rap.”
I explained that I wrote little poems for and about the cats that had lived with me over the years. Phyllis loved the poems, and every year after that asked me right away if I had a new cat rap for her. In 2010, she decided I would be her poet laureate and write her
Christmas card
. She had started it with “ ’Twas the week after Christmas and all through the house, nothing would fit me, not even a blouse . . .”

She liked the verse I wrote and painted a picture to illustrate it. She sent me a handful of the Christmas cards to send to my friends. She also sent me a hundred-dollar bill. The following April, she sent me a cartoon that had tickled her funny bone and said she wanted to use it on her Christmas card, and would I please write the verse to go with it. I did, and again she loved it and sent me a check for $100 and a handful of the cards for me to send out as well.

   When Phyllis had come to the Suncoast Hotel in Las Vegas for her last week as a stand-up comedienne, I called to see if there were tickets. There weren’t. I called Mercer the magician, and he promised to see what he could do.

The evening before her closing night, he called. “I got you tickets. Can you be here in two hours?”

“You betcha,” I said. I took a couple of friends, and we saw Phyllis at her best.

Even though I’d heard the jokes many times and could’ve recited them with her, she still made me laugh. Vintage Phyllis. Afterward, she invited us up to her suite, and there was Gregg Barson still filming the documentary. He did a snippet with Phyllis and me that later appeared in the film.

The last time I saw Phyllis was in 2011 in Chicago. Ingrid e-mailed me one Friday evening in October saying, “You might get a call from the
Rosie O’Donnell Show
. They’re doing a tribute to Phyllis and want some of the Dustbiters on the program.” Someone from the show called me on Monday to say the show would be taping on Thursday. Would I like to be there?

Would I ever!

I’d hoped to be able to fly out with Ingrid, Corrine, and Carole Beams, one of Phyllis’s last secretaries. The show had chosen four of us and arranged for our flights. The three of them flew out of L.A. I took a direct flight from Las Vegas. Because our appearance was to be a surprise, the Dustbiters stayed at a different hotel than Phyllis. She first saw us when we trotted onstage during the live show. Rosie had asked her why she had named us “Dustbiters.”

“They stood it for as long as they could, then they bit the dust!” she said while making a hand motion of someone falling down.

After the show, we were invited to a dinner hosted by Richard Duchossois. Phyllis did a little intro and kept referring to Richard’s “pretty horsies.”

I nudged Ingrid. “What horsies?”

“He owns racehorses. Arlington Park,” she said.

“Oh.”

“Churchill Downs.”

“OH!”

There were thirteen of us at dinner, including Mr. Duchossois and his wife. Phyllis introduced each of the Dustbiters seated at the long table. She told about Corrine being her first secretary, Carole Beams’ film production company, and Ingrid’s public relations firm. She told about my background in the Foreign Service, and that I had served in American Embassies in South Africa and London. Over forty years later and she remembered. Phyllis may have been ninety-four years old, but she never missed a beat.

On the show, Rosie asked Phyllis how many secretaries she’d gone through. “Oh, about forty,” Phyllis said.

Forty secretaries, I thought, as I looked around the dinner table. Out of forty, I was one of the favored ones, a “Diller Dustbiter.”

That was the last time I saw Phyllis, and that’s the way I remember her—vibrant and happy, surrounded by people who adored her.

Memories

Phyllis Diller and Robin Skone-Palmer, 1981.

Phyllis Diller promotional postcard, circa 1970.

A sampling of the grueling schedule of the much-in-demand comedienne, 1971-1972.

Insiders were quite familiar with Diller’s propensity for jotting notes on whatever was handy—in this case, a napkin, while aboard an airplane, sent from first class to Robin Skone-Palmer in coach.

Diller's response after the author sent her the
The Case for Christ
by Lee Strobel.

Phyllis Diller and Robin Skone-Palmer in Las Vegas at Diller’s second-to-last performance.

A note of condolence after the author’s brother died in 2008.

The Dustbiters pose with Phyllis Diller in front of her painting, titled “The Spotlight,” at their 2009 reunion in Phyllis’s Brentwood home. L-R: Ingrid Chapman, Robin Skone-Palmer, Alexandra (a.k.a Sandy) Beach, Carole Beams, Karen China, Mercer Helms, and Corrine Hanley.

The Blackjack Cat Rap

I’m a little black cat, but I should’ve been blond. Of tuna and catnip I’m exceedingly fond.

They call me a klutz ’cause I fell off the bed. Well, I just rolled over and landed on my head.