Lewis Grizzard took Southern humor around the world, and the world laughed.

The Georgia-based syndicated columnist, author and humorist died in 1994, but his jokes and stories are still circulating.

Actor Bill Oberst Jr. has given about 600 performances of “Lewis Grizzard: In His Own Words” since 1999.

“Being Lewis is nice and fun because it’s so close to my heart,” Oberst said. “There’s been no one like him. What I try to do is get out of the way and let people visit with their friend.”

When he walks onto the Lyric Theatre stage on Thursday, Oberst will wear Grizzard’s actual glasses and shirt. He’ll also have the late writer’s Gucci shoes, which will be worn without socks in keeping with Grizzard’s style.

“They’re big shoes to fill,” Oberst said.

“Lewis Grizzard: In His Own Words” was created by Grizzard’s widow, Dedra Grizzard, and his manager, Steve Enoch.

Dedra Grizzard said she didn’t immediately embrace the idea of letting someone portray her late husband, even for 90 minutes a night. She changed her mind after watching a last-minute audition/performance that Oberst put together at a theater.

“People actually left the show with big smiles on their faces,” she recalled. “I couldn’t get out of my seat because he looked so much like Lewis and sounded so much like him.

“I couldn’t get out of my seat. I was still grieving, but everyone else had smiles on their faces.”

‘Uplifting’

The show pulls from Grizzard’s concerts, columns and books that won fans around the world.

“Southerners, which I’m one, were very proud of Lewis because he represented us so well,” Oberst said. “He wasn’t a stereotype. He wasn’t a cliché. He was just funny.”

Expect the first half of the show to focus on comedy. The second half incorporates stories and memories from the last years of Grizzard’s life, when he dealt with serious health problems and began to appreciate the power of prayer.

“But don’t think it’s heavy. It’s really uplifting,” said Dedra Grizzard, who will be in Tupelo for the show.

Fun with words

Grizzard made a life out of playing with the English language, and he saw nothing wrong with adding Southern flavor:

- “God talks like we do.” (In reference to Southern accents.)

- “A dog don’t care where you’ve been, who you’ve been with or what you’ve been doing. A dog is just glad you’re home. You can’t say that about a lot of people.”

- “It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.”

If you want a taste of what you’ve been missing since 1994, drop by the Lyric Theatre.

“I would say that if you love Lewis and you love the South,” Oberst said, “you will love the show.”

Contact M. Scott Morris at (662) 678-1589 or scott.morris@djournal.com.

Humor on stage
TUPELO – Lewis Grizzard: In His Own Words, featuring Bill Oberst Jr., will begin at 7:30 p.m. Thursday, Oct. 8 at the Lyric Theatre. Premium seating is $50 each for first five rows and includes meet-and-greet party after performance. All other seats are $25. (662) 844-1935.

He up and died and broke my heart

Editor’s note: The following column by the late columnist/humorist Lewis Grizzard was originally published in November 1993.

My dog Catfish, the black Lab, died Thanksgiving night. The vet said his heart gave out.

Down in the country, they would have said, “Lewis’ dog up and died.” He would have been 12 had he lived till January.

Catfish had a good life. He slept indoors. Mostly he ate what I ate. We shared our last meal Tuesday evening in our living room in front of the television. We had a Wendy’s double cheeseburger and some chili.

Catfish was a gift from my friends Barbara and Vince Dooley. Vince, of course, is the athletic director at the University of Georgia. Barbara is a noted speaker and author. I named him driving back to Atlanta from Athens where I had picked him up at the Dooleys’ home. I don’t know why I named him what I named him. He was all curled up in a blanket on my back seat. And I looked at him and it just came out. I called him, “Catfish.” I swear he raised up from the blanket and acknowledged. Then he severely fouled the blanket and my back seat.

He was a most destructive animal the first three years of his life. He chewed things. He chewed books. He chewed shoes. “I said to Catfish, ‘Heel,’” I used to offer from behind the dias, “and he went to my closet and chewed up my best pair of Guccis.” Catfish chewed TV remote-control devices. Batteries and all. He chewed my glasses. Five pairs of them.

One day, when he was still a puppy, he got out of the house without my knowledge. The doorbell rang. It was a young man who said, “I hit your dog, but I think he’s OK.” He was. He had a small cut on his head and he was frightened, but he was otherwise unhurt. “I came around the corner,” the young man explained, “and he was in the road chewing on something. I hit my brakes the second I saw him.” “Could you tell what he was chewing on?” I asked. “I know this sounds crazy,” the young man answered, “but I think it was a beer bottle.”

Catfish stopped chewing while I still had a house. Barely.

He was a celebrity, Catfish. I spoke recently in Michigan. Afterwards a lady came up to me and said, “I was real disappointed with your speech. You didn’t mention Catfish.”

He got his own mail. Just the other day the manufacturer of a new brand of dog food called “Country Gold,” with none other than George Jones’ picture on the package, sent Catfish a sample of its new product. For the record, he still preferred cheeseburgers and chili.

Catfish was once grand marshall of the Scottsboro, Alabama, “Annual Catfish Festival.” He was on television and got to ride in the front seat of a police car with its siren on.

He was a patient, good-natured dog, too. Jordan, who is 5, has been pulling his ears since she was 2. She even tried to ride him at times. He abided with nary a growl.

Oh, that face and those eyes. What he could do to me with that face and those eyes. He would perch himself next to me on the sofa in the living room and look at me. And love and loyalty would pour out with that look, and as long as I had that, there was very little the human race could do to harm my self-esteem.

Good dogs don’t love bad people.

He was smart. He was fun. And he loved to ride in cars. There were times he was all that I had. And now he has up and died. My own heart, or what is left of it, is breaking.

For Lewis Grizzard products, books and comedy CDs, visit www.lewisgrizzard.com.