Home 


Erma Bombeck Her Life 

Gale Encyclopedia of Popular Culture        
Author:  Tina Gianoulis 

Erma Bombeck, writer, humorist, and television personality, was primarily identified as a

housewife and mother.  Because she knew it so well, she was able to offer the housewife’s-

eye-view of the world in her writing.  And it is because she took those roles so seriously that

she was able to show the humorous side of the life of homemaker and mother so effectively.

 She was born Erma Louise Fiste in Dayton, Ohio.  Bombeck’s mother, who worked in a

factory, was only sixteen when Bombeck was born, and her father was a crane operator who

died when she was nine years old.  When little Erma showed talent for dancing and singing,

her mother hoped to made her into a child star—the next Shirley Temple.  But her daughter

had other ideas.  Drawn to writing very early, Bombeck wrote her first humor column for her

school newspaper at age 13.  By high school, she had started another paper at school, and begun

to work at the Dayton Herald as a copy girl and reporter.

 It was while working for the Herald that she met Bill Bombeck and set her cap for him.  They

married in 1949.  Bombeck continued to write for the newspaper until 1953, when she and Bill

adopted a child.  She stopped working to stay home with the baby and gave birth to two more

children over the next five years.  Until 1965, Bombeck lived the life of the suburban housewife,

using humor to get her through the everyday stress.

 When her youngest child entered school, Bombeck wrote a column and offered it to the Dayton

newspaper, which bought it for three dollars.  Within a year “At Wit’s End” had been syndicated

across the country, and it would eventually be published by 600 papers.  Bombeck also published collections of her columns, in books with names like The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic

Tank (1976) and Family:  The Ties that Bind … and Gag (1987).  Out of twelve collections, eleven

were bestsellers, and from 1975 to 1981, she gained popularity on television with a regular spot on

Good Morning America.

 Beginning in the 1960s when most media tried hard to glorify the role of the homemaker with the

likes of June Cleaver, Bombeck approached the daily dilemmas of real life at home with the kids

with irreverence and affection.  Because she was one of them, housewives loved her gentle

skewering of housework, kids, and husbands.  Even in the 1970s, with the rise of women’s

liberation, Bombeck’s columns retained their popularity.  Because she treated her subject with respect—she  never made fun of housewives themselves, but of the many obstacles they face—

feminists could appreciate her humor.  Both mothers with careers and stay-at-home moms could

find themselves in Bombeck’s columns—and laugh at the little absurdities of life she was so skilled at pointing out. 

Though Bombeck never called herself a feminist, she supported women’s rights and actively

worked in the 1970s, for passage of the Equal Rights Amendment.  She also worked for various

humanitarian causes, such as cancer research.  One of her books, I Want to Grow Hair, I Want to

Grow Up, I Want to Go to Boise, describes her interactions with children with cancer, something

Bombeck herself faced in 1992 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a mastectomy.

She managed to find humor to share in writing about even that experience.  Shortly after her

mastectomy, her kidneys failed, due to an heredity disease.  Refusing to use her celebrity to

facilitate a transplant, she underwent daily dialysis for four years before a kidney was available. 

She died at age 69 from complications from the transplant.

 In spite of her fame and success, Bombeck remained unpretentious.  She was able to write about

American life from the point of view of one of its most invisible participants, the housewife.  From

that perspective, she discussed many social issues and united diverse women by pointing out

commonalities and finding humor in the problems in their lives.  Her tone was never

condescending, but was always lighthearted and conspiratorial.  Fellow columnist Art Buchwald

said of Bombeck’s writing, “That stuff wouldn’t work if it was jokes.  What it was, was the truth.”

 


Anyone wanting to receive
CONFESSIONS OF A GRANNY
by snail mail
needs to send their name, address and a donation to:
 Pat Heidenreich
PO Box 7696
Greenwood, IN 46142

   May God Bless You Always and All Ways!

Email: saintpat6200@sbcglobal.net



 

 

Local columnist meets heroine…. again 
Published in the
ZIONSVILLE MAIN STREET
on Wed., April 18, 1973

by Pat Heidenreich 
Erma and Pat

Erma and Pat

The phone rang.

     “Did you know that Erma Bombeck will be in town?” my sister asked.

     “You’re kidding!  I’ve GOT to see her!  When will she be here?   And where?” I demanded.

     “Oh no! …you’re not going to try to see her again, are you?  I’ll never forget the last time she was here.  You really made a spectacle of yourself, taking all those pictures and hanging around through that whole autograph session.  Remember how that security man kept eyeing you?  And THEN you followed Erma right to her car.  By the time she left, even SHE was leery of you.”

     “Oh, she probably has at least one super-gung-ho fan like me everywhere she goes,” I said in defense.  “Anyway, I can’t help it!  It’s just mind-blowing to actually stand next to her and talk to her and everything.  Now tell me when she’ll be here.”

     “Well, it says in the paper that she’s going to be the speaker at a dinner sponsored by Theta Sigma Phi, Women In Communication…and it says the dinner is by invitation only.  Guess that lets YOU out.”

     “What d’ya mean?  I’m a woman in communication.  Does it say who’s in charge of invitations?  If I can fix it, will you go with me?”

     “Only if you promise to control yourself.”

     “I’ll try,” I said, crossing my fingers.

     I was ecstatic when I called my sister back an hour later.

     “It’s all set,” I bubbled.  “I talked to the invitation chairman and the reservation chairman and I asked for seats REAL close to the speaker’s table!”

     On the big night we signed in and found our table.

     “Brother!” I said dejectedly, as we sat down.  “Table number 54 and there are only 55 tables in the whole room.  We can hardly see the speaker’s table.  We should have brought binoculars instead of cameras.”

     “Well, the reservation chairman probably detected the hysteria and fanaticism in your voice when you called her.  I’m surprised she even let us come.”

     “Now, how will I ever get this stuff to Erma?” I said, fingering a large manila envelope.  “And I did so want to give her some of these pictures that I took the last time she was in town.”

     “What’s in the envelope?”

     “Some of my columns, of course.”

     “Good grief!  That’s like showing a Cub Scout pinewood derby car to the inventor of the Rolls Royce and expecting him to be impressed.”

     I ignored that remark and was still pondering the problem of how to lay the stuff on Erma, when SHE came into the room by a back door that was just behind our table.

     “Erma!” I said jumping up.  “Remember me, your number one fan?  You gave me your autograph when you were in town two years ago.  Here’s some stuff for you,” I babbled as I thrust the pictures and the envelope toward her.

     The woman who was with her stepped a little closer and had a protective look on her face.

     “Of course I remember you,” Erma said.  “How have you been?  I never expected anything like this” she continued as she took the pictures and the envelope.  “Thank you.”

     Just then, she was surrounded by women and the whole group moved to the cocktail room.

     “Did you hear that?” I asked my sister.  “She REMEMBERS me!”

     “How could she forget?”

     “Come on, what are we waiting for?  Let’s go and get some pictures.”

      Driving home, we rehashed the experiences of the evening.

     “I can’t wait to get this film developed,” I said, clutching the cameras.

     I felt weird taking all those pictures.  Between us we just about blinded Erma with our flashbulbs.  She was still blinking when she gave her talk.  And I couldn’t believe it when you asked her to pose with you,” my sister complained.  “Do you realize, out of 600 women there, we were the only two with cameras?”

     “Yeah, I bet the others were wishing they had brought theirs.”

     “Another thing,” she continued, “it was bad enough when you asked that professional photographer what paper he was from, but did you have to say, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me where I’m from?”

     “I wanted to see if he was impressed when I said ZIONSVILLE MAIN STREET.”

     “I still think the whole evening was embarrassing,” she went on.  “I felt out of place to begin with, sitting with those sorority women at our table and then you had to knock over the centerpiece into the French dressing.”

     “I was just trying to get another dinner roll without them noticing.  Anyway, wasn’t Erma’s speech a riot?  I hope she comes back when her new book is out in August.  Will you go with me to see her again?”

    “I think I’ll take a later on that,” she mumbled.

Home 


 Pat Heidenreich
PO Box 7696
Greenwood, IN 46142

Email: saintpat6200@sbcglobal.net

 "Products on this web site are not intended to diagnose, cure, treat,
mitigate, or prevent a disease or illness. Results may vary per person"

This Web site including all coding is Copyright © 2002 by Pat Heidenreich All Rights Reserved