Hamming It Up in the Borscht Belt

When I was a child, my grandmother took me to the Borscht Belt. To Jewish resorts—Kutscher’s and Grossinger’s. Unfortunately, the only thing I really remember well from these trips is a painful bout with a bladder infection where my grandmother made me sit on the toilet until I torturously peed.

I’m happy now that I had the chance to visit these places, and an article in the NYT today has me wondering if I possibly remember the tummler—the man described as a Jewish country club’s kind of court jester.

Apparently, the last tummler’s is known as Krazy Tyrone:

“For the last two decades, Krazy Tyrone's life has been an unending cascade of ribald one-liners, sexually loaded Yiddishisms and of course, a daily Simon Sez tournament where the come-on is $1,000 in moist prize money that's kept wadded up in his sock.”

KT himself sums it up this way:

“I'm not normal,” he said, deadpan.

The story is a good read.

Back to my morning migraine now.