But to bury yourself is not very bright.
There are more to kill, and the job will be done.
Now there are five, soon there’ll be a lot less.
We may have been the only family to regularly rent “The Private Eyes” along with that boxy VHS player from the video store attached to the plant shop. Oh, maybe there were others. But that one came home with us often.
And now Tim Conway, who wrote most of “The Private Eyes,” and whose improvisational moments on The Carol Burnett Show are forever part of my mind, is gone. He died today at 85.
Mr. Conway’s elephant stories. They are funny. But their impact on his co-stars, particularly Carol Burnett, was atomic in nature. Watching her hold her head, hearing her groan as his story goes on, as the audience ramps up the laughter. Then the scene explodes when Vicki Lawrence delivers her improv line.
These are real people. People we invited into our living rooms. There are a few today like them, like him. And I don’t mean to fall into the cups of nostalgia, but Carol Burnett was right, remarking on his death, that Tim Conway is one in a million.
He found his comedy niche, his writing niche, and stuck with it. Always the co-star behind the star.
You’ll be missed, Mr. Conway.
And I feel sad you never got to go after the Wookalar.
Tonight, I will eat some lettuce and a light bulb in your honor.
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