I have never met Lewis Grizzard’s (L.G.) fourth wife who was with L.G. when he died on March 20, 1994.
Our only contact has been a telephone call when I dialed the Lewis Grizzard Museum in Moreland, Georgia to ask the lady in charge a question about a column that I intended to write and somehow got transferred to a voice in Atlanta that identified themselves as Dedra Grizzard.
To my surprise she did not express righteous indignation about my use of her late husband’s gift to the humor of America during his 465 syndicated newspaper accounts and comedy routines that both entertained and antagonized the public during his life between 1947-1994.
In one of the last, and funniest, of L.G.’s 25 books, he described his medical adventures when he checked into Emory Hospital in Atlanta on March 21, 1993 for his third heart surgery in eleven years as the result of being diagnosed with a heart murmur at an early age because of a leaky aortic valve.
In “I Took a Licking and Kept on Ticking and Now I Believe in Miracles” (1993- Villard Books) L.G. relates every detail of his medical ordeal and experiences with the hospital personnel that cared for him, withstood his insults, and laughed with him during every life or death moment.
In the acknowledgements and thanks in the front of the 243 page description of his infirmary journey he wrote: “To everybody at Emory Hospital, God bless you.”
In three short pages, L.G. wrote about meeting Dedra who he described “as the real survivor” and the following passages are repeated in his exact words:
“I met Dedra Kyle Tiramani, former homecoming queen from Cleveland, Tennessee, three-and-a-half years ago in an Atlanta restaurant named Chops. I walked in with my date, who announced she had to go to the restroom before we were seated. I wasn’t particularly fond of my date, but it was a barren period. I walked along the bar, and suddenly, I was standing behind all the hair on earth.
‘I must see’, I said to myself, ‘just what and who is on the other side of that hair.’
So I pulled an old trick.
I leaned to the right of the hair and said to the bartender, ‘double Stoly, tall glass, rocks, with orange juice neat.’
‘Good evening, Mr. Grizzard,’ said the bartender.
The hair turned to her right. She was lovely. Looked very Italian. Late twenties. My date was likely already flushing by now. I had to work fast.
I introduced myself and asked the hair her name.
‘Dedatajazzzi,’ is what it sounded like she said.
‘Deda,’ I said, ‘I’ll be honest with you. My dinner date is in the restroom, and she will be coming out soon, so I don’t have much time. I promise I don’t make a habit of this sort of thing, but I would really like to call you later and take you out. Could I have your telephone number?’
I could get her name down later. This Italian beauty reminded me of a girl I met in Harry’s Bar in Florence once. Harry’s Bar and Grill in Florence, S.C., by the way.
She gave me her phone number. I was very pleasantly surprised. I had halfway expected the ‘Get lost, creep’ routine.
I had the veal chop. My date had the crabs.
I called Hair for a date. It turned out she lived in Auburn, Alabama, one hundred miles south of Atlanta. She lived with her year-old daughter, Jordan. She had recently divorced her husband in Fort Lauderdale and had moved to Auburn where her mother and stepfather lived.
I got the name straight- she was the former Dedra Kyle, and that was Cherokee not Italian in her face—and yes, she would like to have a date with me.
(Later, she said she had once dated a guy who read my column every day and liked what I had to say, and the reason she went out with me was because she was curious.)
Our first date, we went to an outdoor Frank Sinatra concert in Atlanta. We drank wine and ate prosciutto.
I gave her an engagement ring in February 1993.”
(In today’s modern dating world L.G.’s off breed black lab, Catfish, would have been the one to introduce him to his last wife if they had met on the streets of Atlanta/Cleveland in canine company!)
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You can reach Jerry Summers at jsummers@summersfirm.com
Jerry Summers