Naturally, we changed wardrobe for each day’s show, and by the second or third episode she noticed that I had a different lapel pin on each jacket I wore. She asked me about it and I explained that I collected them. For the next ten to fifteen years, every month or so I would receive an envelope in the mail with a pin from a city she had visited or an event in which she’d participated. She would always attach a card wishing me love. I still can’t get over this extraordinary gesture of thoughtfulness for someone she barely knew.
If you’ve never seen Gregg Barson’s 2004 documentary, Good Night, We Love You, I recommend it. It’s a love letter to Phyllis built around the filming of her final nightclub gig (in Laughlin, Nevada) before her retirement. It ought to be required viewing for anyone hoping to launch a career in show business, as it chronicles the performer’s professionalism, attention to detail, and upbeat outlook on life.
Here’s the kicker: she was still funny, right to the end. Not too many years ago, I saw her at a benefit where she received an award. She wasn’t supposed to perform, but she came prepared with material just the same—and every line she uttered got a laugh. A big laugh.
Phyllis Diller had a great run and quit when she wanted to. We should all be so lucky.