"George Fegan died last December. From his obituary, “He made his pasta from scratch. He gave Johnny Mathis his first gig. His basketball nickname was the Butcher. Or the Hammer—one of those. He once relieved himself upstream of George H.W. Bush. As an altar boy he nearly burned down the church; this was possibly an accident. His mustache was better than yours. He was the only white person to work at Henry’s Hunan Restaurant. He was a terrible rabbit hunter. He had gout, the disease of kings. He was George Lucas’ favorite high school teacher. He hated Reagan. He had eight toes. He once flew halfway around the world to show up on his future wife’s doorstep unannounced. His family will miss his mushroom risotto and questionable sense of humor. They will not miss his singing voice."
I never met George, but I wish I had.
In reading an obituary from one of my former teaching colleagues, a brilliant man of the cloth, writer, and pastor, I was led to believe that the entire world, including Somali pirates, are the worse off for his passing, and that Jesus himself had to vacate his preferred seat at God’s right hand to make room for this brilliant God-loving prelate. Maybe George and the unnamed man of God wrote their own obituaries. I don’t know.
What is an obituary, anyhow? From Wikipedia, “An obituary (obit for short) is a news article that reports the recent death of a person, typically along with an account of the person's life and information about the upcoming funeral.” Typically listing the birth and death dates, the names of the grieving survivors, an anecdote or two, the number of fraternal organizations that will mourn the deceased, the typical obituary fails to impart the complicated, unknowable, and contradictory parts of a life.
With that in mind, and fearing how others, none of whom, I suspect, will have lived my life might write about the one that I lived, I’m offering to write my own obituary.
"David was brilliant. He was an idiot. He had a wonderful sense of humor and could make those around him laugh. He didn’t find anything funny, and he made those who did miserable. He loved everyone but couldn’t stand people. His wife and family found him compassionate, disinterested, warm, selfish, optimistic, moody, affectionate, indifferent, loving and uncaring. David loved dogs and cats, but he hated animals. He could be very patient but took healthy doses of Lisinopril to lower his blood pressure. He was a great athlete except when he played sports. He was self-assured, lacking only confidence in himself. He was very simple in a complicated way. He was surrounded by legions of friends none of whom cared that much for him. He loved playing the guitar but wasn’t very good, really. He loved being in nature, except the cold, damp, and muddy part. He was a great listener but managed to avoid having to do that by talking all the time."
It’s all true.
Per his request no services will be held except the one at the Thai Noodle Company on Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley, where #26, Duck Noodle Soup (with rice noodles), will be served. Bring an appetite, $8.95 + tax and tip. Let the waitress know not to expect him any more. He thanks you.