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Just goes to show, I really don’t have a lick of sense. There I was in Dear
Abby’s kitchen without one single personal problem to discuss. My only concern was
making sure my sandwich crumbs landed on my plate.
Not that Abigail Van Buren needed another problem to fix. She already receives some 3,000
letters a week, only a few of which, of course, she’s able to answer in her
syndicated column.
“If I feel it’s really crucial or urgent, I’ll call,” Dear Abby said.
After her daughter, Jeannie, categorizes the mail, Dear Abby, 81, sorts through the
bundles in the office of her Beverly Hills home. (She and her husband of 59 years, Morton
Phillips, also have a son, Edward.)
Question: You actually call?
Answer: I call. Yes, I do. And they just can’t get over it.
Q: Neither can I. Aren’t they shocked?
A: If they ever heard me, on radio or whatever, they know that this voice is really Abby. They say,
“I can’t believe that you’re calling me,” and I say, “Well, I got your letter, and now, what’s your
problem?”
Q: How early does your day start?
A: Early. 6–6:30 and nobody has to wake me up. I make up my mind. See, if I
were to set an alarm clock, I’d wake up just two minutes before it was to go
off.
Q: Do you do any exercising?
A: After a fashion. When I get up, I do stretching exercises for about 15 minutes—stretching every
direction. Nothing too strenuous. Dancing to music—that’s great.
Q: What do you like to dance to?
A: Jazz, of course.
Q: Do you have a dance partner?
A: (She leaned forward and smiled.) Are you making me an offer?
Q: No, I didn’t have anybody in mind. So, do you dance by yourself? When no one’s looking?
A: Sure. Even if somebody looks, I don’t care. I’m not dancing naked or anything. I’m just dancing.
Q: Any other exercises?
A: Window shopping. Window shopping in high heels is no good. With my Adidas on, I go
window shopping.
Q:Where do you go?
A: Beverly Hills. Rodeo.
Q: Want to talk about food now?
A: I don’t eat a big breakfast. Maybe a couple soft-boiled eggs with a buttered, toasted English
muffin with orange marmalade. That sounds like a diet, doesn’t it? But I’m not big on big breakfasts.
Keep it light.
Q: Do you snack between breakfast and lunch?
A: No. I don’t snack. I get busy. I get back to work. My office is here, and I just go to the next
room. Have you seen it?
Q: Not yet, but I want to. Jeannie’s going to give me a tour. What do you eat for lunch?
A: Usually fruit or maybe raw vegetables in season. Sometimes I have yogurt.
Q: What do you drink?
A: Usually coffee. I’m not a Coke drinker.
Q: No soda pop.
A: No pop. Not for me.
Q: You’re back in your office, and then what?
A: Right. I find a lot of my material when I read the letters personally. I can tell in a minute whether
that’s a good column, whether it’ll help a lot of people, whether it’ll offend anybody—heaven forbid.
We don’t want to do that, but believe me when you write every day, you’re going to offend
somebody. You know, you almost can’t avoid it. I try awfully hard not to. And I would never make
fun of anybody. I simply wouldn’t do it.
Q: OK. What do you do about dinner?
A: My husband and I go out.
Q: You go out a lot?
A: Yes, absolutely. He insists on it. Then we’re waited on. I don’t have to worry about anything.
We have our special places that we just love to go to. We love Italian food. Also, French food.
Q: What do you like to order?
A: A little filet mignon and a vegetable or Caesar salad or scallops. That’s it.
Q: Any dessert?
A: Oh, yes. That’s the best part.
Q: When was the first time you tried your hand at a column?
A: My twin sister and I in Morningside College (in Sioux City, Iowa), we had a column—the
Campus Rats. It was gossip. Never unkind, but it was very well read.
(Dear Abby, born Pauline Esther Friedman, is speaking about her sister, advice columnist Ann
Landers, born Esther Pauline Friedman. They were born on July 4, 1918.)
Q: So how did that work into an interest in an advice column?
A: I worked in a hospital. It was the Gray Ladies. Know what that is?
Q: Volunteers, I imagine.
A: I’d visit people, in my Gray Lady uniform, a little company, you know, come in and talk. Oh, it’s
such good medicine. Just somebody who would listen to them. But it gave me something. It gave
me such a feeling of satisfaction to be able to do that for someone, and it evolved. Now I’m doing it
in print. Everybody has problems, you know, and I’m a pretty good listener.
Q: When was your very first advice column?
A: I can tell you exactly. It was January 9, 1956, in the San Francisco Chronicle.
Q: Do you ever second-guess yourself or wish you had done it differently in any of your
answers?
A: Occasionally, but not often, because I don’t shoot from the hip. I put quite a bit of thought to
what I’m responding to so that I can do it properly, painlessly, because there are a lot of things that
people need to hear, and it can be pretty painful. But I wouldn’t be helping if I wouldn’t tell ’em.
Q: Have you ever had to go to somebody else to get some personal advice?
A: I think I’m so doggone smart that would never happen. Really, no, I’ve never.
Q: You never have to seek anyone’s advice?
A: I never have gone to anybody with a problem. I could go to a lot of places for help if I felt that I
needed it. I’m very self-assured and cocky, as you probably have discovered by this time.
Q: I think you’re self-assured.
A: Well, I just feel privileged to do what I’m doing professionally because I'd do it for nothing. I feel
immensely grateful that I do what I really love to do.
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