Wed., June 9, 1999"If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen!"
- Early slogan for the GE Hotpoint electric range. Its failure to increase profits led GE to rush development of the microwave oven.
Another day of near-100º temperatures, prompting me to read the obituaries even more closely than I usually do just to see if there's been any increase in the number of people spontaneously combusting. Apparently not, though it's possible that the unfortunate victims' next of kin have pressured the editors to change the cause of death to something more socially acceptable, like AIDS, years of drinking to excess, or humming the theme to "The Bullwinkle and Rocky Show" until someone in the theater snapped.
You can learn a lot from reading the obituaries, even the obviously untruthful ones. For one thing, there are the birth and death dates, which I always note and save in case the day comes when I can't remember my own. For another, there are the small soap operas to be gleaned from the lists of survivors that mention multiple ex-spouses, former lovers, special "friends", and "Cousin Andy, who eased Mom's passage through puberty as only a guy with a fast car and a fake ID ever could." More often than not, the death notice of "a woman who never met a stranger or had an enemy" is followed in quick succession by many others over the course of the next week as her former associates meet again and again in a series of funeral homes-cum-O.K.-corrals. Indeed, it is now thought that the idea for chain-reaction nuclear fission came to Enrico Fermi one day as he read the latest casualty figures from the legendary four-year attempt to bury Maude Atkins in a plot of land she hadn't done it on with the brother of a jealous pallbearer.One bad thing about reading the obits as closely as I do, however, is finding the same one in the paper two or more days in a row. I suppose the deceased was loved very much and his or her relatives are having a terrible time facing a future without him or her. I always end up sympathizing with the grief-stricken more than I can say.
But, sad to say, my mind's first few reactions are always far less noble.
First it reflexively looks around for Bill Murray and the other cast members of "Groundhog Day."
Then it wonders if some horrible mistake has occurred - something out of Poe, like "The Premature Obit." You know how it goes: They just thought X was dead the first day when they notified the papers, but X came to on the embalming or autopsy table after the last edition had gone to press, then had to be offed with the ax kept under the table for just such occasions because all the arrangements had already been made, all the invitations sent out. And the whole thing unraveled when some mentally deficit laboratory assistant on loan from Paraguay sent the papers a second death notice. Doh!
Then - and only then - does my mind come part way to its senses and think, no, the obit's in again because X is still dead, and it's going to be in every day now so long as X remains dead just to make sure there's no confusion on this point. I myself have often thought that newspapers could better reflect the most important fact of the day by running a headline like "JFK Still Gone!" instead of "Israelis-Palestinians Arguing Again" but maybe that's just me....
After that, my mind really is full of sympathy and grief, though a small, unforgivable part of it is still busily wondering "If this is a case of spontaneous combustion, why don't they just come right out and say so?!"Another reason to read the obits page: You learn a lot about famous people that you never suspected before.
For example, today there was an account of Mel Torme's funeral. I'm sorry to say that I had to wait until reading this to learn that he attributed his distinctive voice to a botched tonsillectomy. Imagine that. Had a doctor done his job right, we would all have been the poorer for it. Reminds me that some experts now think that the wonderful impressionist works of Claude Monet resulted from an eye disease which made the world really appear to him as one big blur of color. And of course the madness of Van Gogh makes his paintings come alive in a way mere sanity probably never could have.
So: Should we be teaching doctors how to botch tonsillectomies, spread eye diseases, and instill psychosis?
Only if school vouchers fail to result in a new Renaissance.Another thing I learned about Mel: He wrote cheap western novels under a pseudonym in the 1940s. Alas, my newspaper did not publish any extracts from these works, but I bet they were something. I mean, the guy wrote "The Christmas Song" when he was just 21. How bad could his novels have been?
I'm hoping to find one of these soon.
And I hope that the sheriff captures the bad guys on page 214 not with fancy gun play or better street smarts but by singing an incredible scat that allows him to slip the cuffs on when they give him a standing ovation and drop their weapons in order to applaud.One last thing I learned: Mel used to go the the Playboy Mansion a lot - but just to watch old movies and TV reruns.
You know what that means?
I've actually been living a Playboy lifestyle for years without even knowing it!
Is it possible that my life is somehow just like my ideal, Miss America's, too?!Finally, the obits teach me the names of people who should have been famous long ago, but weren't.
People like Ed Peterson.
Ed died late last month, but 35 years before he did, he invented the back-up beep. I'd always thought that these beeps went back to at least the woolly mammoths of the cave people, but no, they only go back to the mid-60s. And they only exist at all because of Ed Peterson (who incredibly also invented collapsible luggage carriers).
Ed, my hat's off to you.
And if you have the time in your next life, bud, how about inventing something like air conditioning?Air conditioning?!
I have air conditioning now!!!
DOH!
Excuse me while I go try to figure out how to turn it on.
(This rapidly putrefying material ©1999 by The Abominable Dan Birtcher)
(Special Note To The Publisher Of The Toledo Blade: When I die, please don't honor me with a death notice I'll never enjoy - just extend my subscription by an extra 3-months for free. Thanks!)
