One Witty Society Column
What do you get when you combine Dick Cavett, George Will, George Plimpton, Dominick Dunne, and Charlie Rose?
That’s precisely what Dick Cavett, George Will, George Plimpton, Dominick Dunne, Charlie Rose, and I discussed at a recent cocktail party in East Hampton.
The question came up when one of the partygoers (the inimitable E.J. Dionne, if you must know) remarked to me how lucky the other guests were to be in the company of seven of America’s preeminent witty raconteurs, counting himself (and me) — and eight if you counted Chris Matthews, which no one did. Until then, I hadn’t thought it remarkable at all, since three weeks earlier we had all been at a cocktail party on Monhegan — this season’s Woonsocket — and no one there had thought it the slightest bit peculiar.
I summoned Dick, George, George, Dom, and Chuck to my corner of the solarium, and informed them of E.J.’s most observant remark to me. Needless to say…
We shared a good laugh at the rapt attention in which the revelers would soon find themselves held by the intelligence and wit of our group’s upcoming conversation. Then our confabulation began in earnest.
Indeed, our discourse was brainy and droll beyond all expectations, not excepting our own. Our repartee left the attendees agog. Dunne remarked at the guests’ collective posture, as they stared in wide-eyed wonderment at the quality of our badinage.
“That must be how President Trump looks when he sees a chalkboard full of long division,” I quipped. We all shared a hearty laugh.
Dick Cavett prefigured that our conversation would (and probably could) only get wittier from that point forward and that we would soon be trading clever asides and bon mots like baseball cards.
“Or I.R.C. Section 506(b) environmental tax credits,” George Will said in a particularly clever political aside.
“If that clever aside were a baseball card, it would be the Billy Ripken 1989 Fleer error card wherein a certain obscenity was drawn onto the end of the bat he held. The metaphorical bat in this case, of course, would be aimed squarely at the current administration,” said Plimpton, reviving the baseball card analogy in a gleeful bon mot, as predicted. Will and Plimpton then went to the study and discussed baseball for a number of hours.
What jocular exchange!
Dunne was next heard to remark that Cavett’s earlier foretelling of the level of wit in our discussion was proving to be most accurate. Charlie Rose agreed, but unerringly noted that none among us had yet traded barbs.
“I reserve mine for worthy opponents,” said Cavett sotto voce.
“In that case, I’ll go get James Corden,” Dunne retorted without a moment’s pause. Cavett raised his glass.
Barbs having been delivered with prowess and received with aplomb, I noted that our conversation was going swimmingly, although — given Dominick’s duties at Vanity Fair — I believed it incumbent upon our group to mention more celebrities, including some who are famous only in intellectual circles, so as to make our audience feel both envious and stupid, while at the same time making us feel important and intellectually superior.
“The virtuosic and politically popular Alec Baldwin perchance?” asked Cavett.
“And recently deceased philosophy professor Sidney Morgenbesser?” proffered Chas. Rose while trying to keep his eyes to himself.
“Well done,” I said. Upon reflection, however, I noted two problems with Rose’s suggestion of Mr. Morgenbesser to be our obscure intelligentsia personage reference du jour. To wit, Sidney Morgenbesser was, in fact, deceased; also, by explaining why he had been well known in intellectual circles, Charlie had undermined the very purpose of the reference, which was to make our audience feel troglodytic and culturally backward. Rose didn’t demur, and offered instead Susan Jacoby. However, by that point the conversation had moved on.
“Charlie’s unforgivable gaffe was the first misstep in our otherwise impeccable persiflage,” Dunne observed after a taste of cognac.
We all concurred, but we did not wish to dwell on the matter.
Cavett then remarked that none of us had yet used an apropos foreign word that is very much in vogue, preferably a German one. He also commented that the trend of using apropos foreign, ideally German, words was itself very much in vogue.
“Doing so would demonstrate ersatz intellect,” said Dunne, looking for approval.
We agreed that ersatz was not sufficiently in vogue to qualify, but if our conversation had taken place in 1998 or 1999, it would have been. We also passed on the perfix über (avec umlaut naturellement), superseded in popular usage as it had been by the company of the same name, sans umlaut. In equally haughty and knowing tones, we dispensed too with schadenfreude and gestalt.
“You said du jour earlier,” Cavett pointed out. He was correct, but du jour also would not do, as it was far too common and un-German. I said as much, pointing out also that I had once seen the phrase used in a Des Moines Register editorial. We all laughed at my snide, pithy remark. Becoming bored with our search for an apropos foreign word that was very much in vogue, and German if at all possible, we settled on gemütlichkeit and moved on.
Thereupon, Will and Plimpton returned, drunk as resort-island-dwelling howler monkeys, from their baseball discussion. They inquired as to how the remainder of our conversation had gone. To a man, we opined that it had gone amazingly well, having been full of barbs, bon mots, clever political asides, references to popular and rarefied celebrities, and an apropos German word or two (although we glossed over the details on this point).
Dunne then noted the lone solecism, labeling Charlie’s long-winded and over-informative reference to the late Sidney Morgenbesser as a ridiculous and ill-advised nod to a member of the literati.
Enraged, Rose smashed a bottle of Hennessy and was about to cut Dunne when Plimpton raised his hand. He was frowning, obviously unsatisfied with this blemish upon our otherwise perfect palaver. With a wry smile, Plimpton noted that I had referenced E.J. Dionne in the initial stages of our banter, and that James Corden’s earlier utterance made even Cavett’s ad hoc tip of the hat to Alec Baldwin unnecessary. Not wishing to debate the moment at which our conversation had begun, and whether my reference to E.J. Dionne had come before or after that point, we all agreed that E.J. would more than suffice for our colloquy’s reference to a rarefied member of the intellectual elite. (We agreed without saying that Chris Matthews would not have sufficed.)
“And as far as your apropos foreign word that is very much in vogue… although not of Teutonic origin, you’ve already said bon mot three times and sotto voce once. I daresay either of those would work splendidly,” Plimpton offered. “Furthermore, I overheard no fewer than four obscure synonyms for the word, ‘conversation,’ including a quite rare use of the words, ‘palaver,’ and ‘persiflage.’”
At that, Charlie dropped the razor sharp crystal bottle from Dunne’s jugular and raised it in a toast. “Gentlemen, to perfect conversation!”
“To peerless persiflage,” Plimpton winked.
And with that most seamless of discussive denouments, we raised our glasses and toasted the ultimate conversation, expertly had by the five wittiest raconteurs the world has ever known, I among them! (Six if you count Rose, which would be highly debatable after the whole Morgenbesser imbroglio, among other things.)
P.S.
I know two of these people are now dead. I wrote this fifteen years ago (with a couple minor edits to bring it up to date). R.I.P. George Plimpton and Dominick Dunne. You are missed.— ed.
