Partner and I were down on Cape Cod a few weeks ago, and we
ate at our favorite restaurant, Captain
Parker’s in West Yarmouth. The bar is always crowded with locals (always a
good sign), and the dining room is always crowded with tourists like us (also a
good sign), and the seafood is excellent.
I recognized our waiter on sight, as he’s waited on us
before. He was a big cheerful guy, who worked the room like an expert; he
chatted us up, wanted to know if we were golfers (which flattered us both, as
we’re not golfers by a long shot); he got involved in a long conversation at a
neighboring table about a recent Red Sox game; he jollied up the nearby
birthday-party table by wanting to know where everyone was from, and pretended
to know terrible stories about people from those towns.
He was, in short, a tummler.
From Dictionary.com:
tummler [toom-ler]: noun
1. A
male entertainer as formerly employed by resorts in the Catskill Mountains, who
combined the duties of a comedian, activities director, and master of
ceremonies, and whose responsibility was to keep the guests amused throughout
their stay.
2. Any
lively, prankish, or mischievous man.
Origin: 1930-35 Yiddish tumler,
one who makes a racket.
Many of the comedians of my childhood – Milton Berle, Jerry
Lewis, Danny Kaye, Phil Silvers – worked as tummlers early in their careers.
Most of the big Catskills resorts have closed down since those days, of course.
But the personality type (see definition #2 above) will go on forever.
Our friend at Captain Parker’s is a good tummler: friendly,
amiable, and with a excellent sense of when to stop.
Some tummlers, however, do not have this nice awareness of
their role. They think of themselves as the lives of the party, and end up
being – well – obnoxious.
I think we all know a few of these. They’re noisy, and they
never let up.
We like an occasional dose of Jerry Lewis or Milton Berle.
We don’t want to live with them.
