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Diana Grove Interviews
American Humorist
Calvin Trillin
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DG “Well, Mr. Trillin, it certainly is an honor to speak with you.”
CT “Likewise, I’ve been a fan of American Sideshow ever since your interview with ‘Willie the Popsicle King.’”
DG “Well, that really got me into a lot of hot water at the time, although, his poems are now world famous because of it.”
CT “Yes, it was unfortunate what happened…about the fire and all.”
DG “You mean when Willie got irate and accused me of not knowing the difference between a Fudgemaster 5 and a Lemon Licksicle and he burned down the editor’s office?”
CT “That’s the one! Popsiclists are notoriously passionate people. Particularly the one’s who write sonnets about frozen plum pulp.”
DG “Well yes...anyway, many people know of your humorous political poems from The Nation, and others are only familiar with your writings on American regional cuisine, do you ever plan on combining the two?”
CT “Absolutely, in fact I already have. The New Yorker Anthology of Love Poetry included a poem I wrote back in 1982 about Alexander Haig fondling a potato pastie.”
DG "Wow, I didn't know Haig was into pasties?”
CT “You bet, and Henry Kissinger collected rare sausages. He even dressed them up in little costumes and gave them names. He once had a whole string of Thuringers dressed as the Broadway cast of Oklahoma.”
DG “Remarkable, I’ll have to look into that. On another note, how do you feel about being referred to as America’s funniest curmudgeon?”
CT “Well, actually I really don’t think I am. While I can be pretty sour sometimes Dave Barry is really much more of a crank than me – especially when you take away his lucky sparkle pen.”
DG “Pardon my ignorance, but what’s a sparkle pen?”
CT “All of us humorists write with a funny pen. He writes with purple glitter ink, Jean Shepherd wrote with a Red Zip McGillacuddy No. 3 pencil, and it’s a well known fact P.J. O’Rourke writes with a Spotted Owl quill dipped in virgin’s blood.”
DG “Is it true that P.J. O’Rourke once called you a 'corn-fed fruit-squeezer' while having scotch with Fife Symington at Blackies Steakhouse?”
CT “Well, who knows really? I mean, I did write that nasty limerick about his suspenders in the June issue of The Nation.”
DG “Yes, didn’t the last line rhyme with his hometown ‘Toledo Ohio?’”
CT “No…no, it rhymed with fig pudding.”
DG “Ah yes…many of your critics claim you have an obsession with pudding. In fact, David Sedaris said your poem about banana custard forced him to move out of the country.”
CT “That’s an out and out lie. Any of my fans will tell you I have absolutely no interest in bananas whatsoever. As a matter of fact, I’ve earned my reputation solely on the ovoid fruits.”
DG “Is that a type of apple – ovoid?”
CT “No, they’re fruits of a pear-shaped nature: guavas, paw paws, avocados. I once earned a great sum of money writing a couplet about the Wooly-Leafed Sapote. Ogden Nash would have wept, let me tell you.”
DG “Yes, I see. On another note, was it difficult growing up in one of the only Jewish families in Kansas City?”
CT “Oh God yes, it was brutal. The Methodists would come by every Rosh Hashanah and throw tuna noodle casserole on our cement lawn negro.”
DG “Jeez, what did you do?”
CT “We would then throw gefilte fish in cream sauce on their cement lawn negros and insult their daughters in Yiddish.”
DG “Some acquaintances of yours have mentioned your somewhat stormy relationship with aspic. How do you explain this?”
CT “French aspic is fine if it’s covered in a thick crème de beurre sauce. But Italian aspic scares me – too much cow tongue and goat’s heart.”
DG “In your famous books that comprise The Tummy Trilogy, you talk a lot about the stomach being your favorite organ.”
CT “It is now. However, I spent much of the 1960’s devoted to the kidneys and spleen. But I was crass back then. I have since broadened my horizons.”
DG “Do you think growing up in the Midwest formed your writing style, or has your time spent in New York City shaped you more?”
CT “Well, both really. It’s the Kansas City kid in me that can write with passion and knowledge about barbeque and Bubb’s Daddy. But endless hours in Chinatown made me the writer I am today. For instance, I pitched a tent on Mott Street for a week just to find the right kind of dumpling for a write up in The New Yorker.”
DG “Was that in your infamous ‘noodle’ period?”
CT “No, that was my infamous ‘see how much food you can get in a tent on Mott Street’ period.”
DG “Ok, how much food could you get in a tent on Mott Street?”
CT “1 roast pig, 380 rooster feet and a case of clams.”
DG “Well, I guess that’s better than a ‘case of crabs.’”
CT “Pardon me?”
DG “Nothing. What do you think about The New Yorker’s David Remnick claiming Thurber to be the first, and only, American humorist of note?”
CT “Well, naturally he can say what he wants, and believe me he will, but he can’t deny that I’m the first American humorist to freeze a persimmon.”
DG “Yes, he certainly can’t deny that. Well…”
CT “…Look, I hate to cut it short and all, but if you don’t mind, I’ve got to go see a man about a kumquat. A friend of mine drove all the way from Key West to give it to me and I’ve got a killer deadline coming up. You see, I’m writing a new poem about orange zest and it’s not like I can keep the guy waiting.”
Calvin Trillin is a syndicated columnist nationwide and the author of several bestselling books including “If You Can’t Say Something Nice, Just Eat a Quince” and “Pass the Kiwis, Martha” When he’s not shacked up in a tent outside Jimmy’s Fruit Emporium in Connecticut he lives safely within eyeshot of Mr. Yee’s House of Soup in New York City.
Diana Grove is the creator of American Sideshow and really has no idea what a kumquat is.
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