Myron Cohen was always my favorite. He worked most of his life in the garment industry; when he retired he, at the insistence of friends, visited a comedy club, and became an instant success. Unlike Belle Barth, his humor was soft and kind; his mind stayed far from the gutter.
As a new Cleveland-based airline pilot in the late ‘70s, I recognized him getting on our airplane early one morning. He had performed downtown the night before. I told the flight attendants who he was. The flight didn’t have many passengers on board; by the time we landed they had been huddled around and fussing over him for nearly two hours. After our arrival, he was the last to leave, and exited the airplane arm-in-arm with two of them - off for coffee and a Danish.
I remember a Myron Cohen joke that went something like this:
Two Jewish tailors who are old acquaintances run into each other.
JT1: "Hey, I just got back from Rome. I met the Pope."
JT2: "Oh really. What kind of man was he?"
JT1: 46 long.