Epitaphs

The last words we ever get to utter are the ones carved into our tombstones. Dorothy Parker once suggested that hers should read: “Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgement.” A great epitaph. How many of us know very well what we should do, what we are supposed to do, and then purposely ignore it? We may not even know why we ignore it. A guy sees that the sidewalk leading to a bar that he plans to enter is blocked by a group of shady looking characters, the kind of people he would ordinarily cross the street to avoid. He walks into the group anyway and gets mugged. He couldn’t say why. Rebellion? Refusing to be intimidated? A death wish? Whatever it was, it wasn’t reasonable. Don’t get me wrong - reason is great: The Age of Reason, The Enlightenment and all that, but let’s face it, it has its limitations. If it really provided all the answers, religion and astrology would be out of business by now. No, reason may be intellectually satisfying to those who retain their sanity, but it is cold comfort in the end. It just doesn’t have much emotional appeal. If we really were completely rational beings, the art of Picasso, the writing of Kafka, the films of Bergman and Bunuel would hold no attraction. Reason definitely has its limitations.

Yes, last words often contain cogent messages. Consider this one: “All things considered, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.” --- W.C. Fields. Definitely! Philly is a great place. Been there twice and loved it. Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, a really nice Chinatown, excellent restaurants, the Phillies and the Eagles (we’ll omit the 76ers for now). I even attended Friday night services one time at a synagogue that had been established in the 18th century and had a letter from George Washington posted on the wall. Now that’s history. Of course, you might say that I’ve gone off on a tangent. W.C. Fields didn’t mean his inscription as an endorsement of the City of Brotherly Love, just as a statement that, compared to the grave, any place looked good. Ah, but I say you are wrong. Philly is the just the kind of place Fields would love. Cosmopolitan, diverse, boasting fine food and drink (emphasis on the latter), and sophisticated enough to be cynical. Also, I didn’t notice too many kids or dogs. No doubt about it, Fields was a Philadelphian at heart.

Some epitaphs avoid cogency altogether and opt for a sad lamentation on the obvious: “I knew if I waited around long enough, something like this would happen.” --- George Bernard Shaw. Don’t we all know it? Yes, we prefer to look the other way, preoccupy ourselves with worldly amusement. But we know what’s coming. We’ve gotten more than a few hints along the way. What happened to so-and-so who used to work here twenty years ago? And her mother she used to take care of? Is that actor still around? Did you see who died yesterday? We get the picture. Of course there are exceptions. Professor Irwin Corey, “The World’s Greatest Authority,” turned 100 recently and his act is better than ever. Stands to reason – his entire shtick centered around fumbling, absent-mindedness and verbal confusion. For all we know, he may live forever and take home a Nobel one day. More likely, though, he will join Shaw and the rest of us who are destined to pay the ultimate price for waiting around too long.

There are folks who use their epitaphs to scold the living – the hypochondriac whose inscription reads “I told you I was sick.” And we didn’t believe her. Not when she sat down next to the man dying of ALS so that she could explain to him how sick she really was only the doctors wouldn’t confirm it. Of course, the doctors were right most of the time, just not in the end. You can’t expect perfection. Maybe the best way leave an exit message is to express consideration for the living who must carry on. Dorothy Parker again: “Excuse my dust.” Short and sweet. That’s the ticket.