Some of us are getting to that certain age, the one where most of the gang have been slowed by very serious maladies including cancer, open-heart surgery, polio, replaced knees, diabetes, even “eye peels,” whatever they are. Some of the gang have left the playing field.
It is time.
You can’t shuffle off this mortal coil with any lame farewell speech. Let’s face it, this is what people are going to remember you by.
We should strive for something unique, like the farewell from Irish genius (most of us are) Oscar Wilde who said “Either that wallpaper goes or I do.” Then he went. Now, that’s class. I hate wallpaper, too.
I like the one attributed to Lady Nancy Astor. She awoke to find her entire family assembled by her bed. That was apparently a rare occurrence. She said “Am I dying, or is this my birthday?” No one came armed with a birthday cake, candles or silly hats.
We all remember the lovely Marie Antoinette, who was put to death in the French Revolution. Supposedly, she stepped on the foot of the man who was about to cut her head off with his guillotine. “Pardon me, sir. I did not do that on purpose.” She spoke in French, of course. Talk about class.
Humphrey Bogart was an all-time favorite, despite that annoying lisp. I think Lauren Bacall helped him over the hump, so to speak. As he lay dying, he placed blame on brown liquor. “I should have switched from scotch to martinis,” Bogie said.
Joan Crawford was another tough broad. As she lay dying, her faithful housekeeper started praying to assist in the final voyage. Crawford would have none of it. “Dammit. Don’t you dare ask God to help me,” she said. I wonder what God (if he exists) thought of that conversation.
You have to wonder what Satan (If he exists) thought about the exchange between philosopher Voltaire and his beloved priest, who asked him to renounce Satan as his final gesture. “Not now, my good man. This is no time for making enemies,” Voltaire said, carefully hedging his bet. A most excellent philosophy.
Perhaps I should be familiar with General William Erskine, who made the decision to dramatically abbreviate his existence by leaping out of a window in Lisbon, Portugal. I am not. But I do know that as townspeople rushed to his battered body, he uttered, “Now, why did I do that?’ An excellent question.
Likewise, I am unfamiliar with the work (or the victims) of convicted murderer James French, who finished his time on this Earth strapped down to an electric chair. Just because he was a murderer that didn’t mean he wasn’t a clever devil. He said to the guards and the assembled press corps “Hey fellas! How about this for a headline for tomorrow’s paper? French fries!”
Some convicted murderers lack the style of the Frenchman. By contrast, serial killer Carl Panzram yelled at his Indiana hangman. “Hurry up, you Hoosier bastard. I could kill 10 men while you’re fooling around.” Now, that’s no class at all.
Our boy Nostradamus could always see the future, according to his rabid believers. As he lay dying, he predicted “Tomorrow, I shall no longer be here.” Right again, Nostradamus.
At this point, I do not anticipate taking my last breath before a firing squad. But you can’t ever rule it out totally. My hero, Robert Erskine Childers, was an Englishman by birth but had the good grace to become an ardent gunrunner for the IRA. He got caught on the wrong side of that revolution and was sentenced to death before a firing squad. As the moment approached he beseeched the shooters to “Take a few steps forward, lads. Then it will be easier.” Maybe the boys were lousy shots.
Inspired by famous last speeches, I shall take pen and paper to assemble a closing verse, one that will be remembered along with Bogie and Nostradamus.
But then, of course I will likely forget it when “that” moment comes.
Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.