Long car drives are good for sweeping out the sticky cobwebs. Lottsa time to think. On my way back from the writing conference I recently attended in Dayton, I had 375 highway miles to review the stimulating weekend, to relive many new stories.

The conference’s real name is the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. It is named for Erma, the housewife humorist and distinguished alumna of the University of Dayton, the conference venue. She began writing for her school newspaper in junior high school. And never quit.

Dayton is a Catholic University. It was Brother Tom Price, Erma’s English professor, who told her, “You can write.” It became her mantra. Eventually, she became a thrice-weekly syndicated columnist for over 900 newspapers. And despite raising three children and enduring kidney dialysis, she kept that pace for 31 years. That statistic staggers me. I’m challenged cranking out just one column a week. Erma was fall-down-laughing funny. But she was also deeply thoughtful on subjects that grabbed us and kept us reading. When I grow up, I want to be just like Erma.

I identify with her bookworm childhood, spending hours in the library. I too began to write for our school newspaper, when the ’50s rock and roll craze arrived. Writing humor wasn’t in my wheelhouse – not with something as serious as Bill Haley and the Comets in my world. I didn’t know much about the brand-new music, but I loved it – we all did.

My high school English teacher, Miss Hurley, gave me encouragement similar to what Erma received from Brother Price. She was kind and I did well in her class. But I wasn’t savvy enough to get the real meaning of her message. I had no idea what to do with my writing ability. Write for a newspaper? Fifteen-year-old me knew that only men were reporters. Opportunity didn’t knock often in the small mill town where I grew up. As I watched people around me struggle, especially women, career planning didn’t come naturally.

If I had to do it all over again, I would have been an English major. My mother said, “English? All an English major can do is teach school.” Being a teacher was the one thing I was sure I didn’t want any part of. Teaching English? Nyet. Nein.

The craziest part? I wound up teaching in industry and at the college level. And loved it. Who knew?

But back to Erma. She knew exactly what she wanted. Her writing propelled her into a television career, then eventually her popularity and influence led her to prominence in the women’s movement.

Her irreverent voice despairing of dirty dishes, dieting, and diarrhea diapers echoed inside me as I wrangled with early marriage and parenthood.

For me, when Erma was silenced by liver cancer in 1999, it was the day the laughter died. The country mourned as the light went out on our necessary fix of humor, sass, and life’s messy struggles. Her family honored her with a biannual writing competition and a grand educational conference. This year was the 25th anniversary of both.

My mental meanderings on the highway were about the conference itself. Meeting up again with some old acquaintances was fun. A few even slid into friendship. Secondly, I truly was the oldest person there. The majority of the attendees appeared to be in their middle 40s to late 60s. I was the only white-haired student who walked to every class at the speed of a wounded aardvark. People were kind. The new Erma tote bags were long-handled and large – easily filled. It wouldn’t stay on my sloped shoulder, so I dragged it behind me. Between every class someone would ask if they could carry it for me. I told them, “No thanks, it’s my rudder.”

Every omelet, every sandwich, every cookie break between classes was an occasion to know another interesting author. I met fellow students from Oregon, Alabama, and Ireland. I met novelists, children’s authors, playwrights, poets, magazine feature writers, cartoonists, and even a few columnists. We varied from newbies hoping to learn their way in, to heavily published success stories.

I met a double handful of writers like me who ply their trade in both humor and human interest … much as Erma Bombeck did. Some days the humor bug is there, or the subject just turns out to be naturally funny. Other days, the subject that leaps to mind is curious, maybe informational, or sometimes serious. I always hope that if I am fascinated with this pepperoni pizza or that loud robin, maybe my readers will be too.

Conferences like this inspire me to keep learning, keep writing, and keep those cobwebs at bay. Thank you, Erma.

Contact Marcy O’Brien at moby.32@hotmail.com