My main regret about the fact that I must die some day is that I won't be present to hear the posthumous praise others will have for me. I truly will be missed in my small community in Missouri, where I have been a fixture for the past sixty years.
What is so special about me? Many things. I'm tall, athletic, an avid lover of art and literature, and possess a wicked wit. Truth be told, I often prefer my own company to that of friends and neighbors. My daughter says that's because I live in the Midwest ("broad lawns and narrow minds"), but I think Gary Boone at the post office put it best when he told me, "You're always thinking about something."
Am I more interesting than other people? Probably so. Of course, with the flood of computers, hand-held contraptions, and what-not, the populace has become increasingly dull, but, nonetheless, even when compared with members of my own generation, I do hold a certain fascination.
I think of myself as a baby who enjoys having sex with grown women. This image is jarring, but bear with me. Despite considerable success as a businessman due to undeniable savvy, I have retained a sweet innocence (what the Italians call dolcezza) and naivete which makes me all the more appealing to the opposite sex.
My son once brought me up short when we were walking down Main Street, our arms loaded with packages. "Dad, look at all this stuff you've bought me," Robert said. "Do you even know what today is?" I shook my head no. "It's your birthday, Dad. And you've spent it buying me gifts." True story.
I suppose kindness is simply second nature to me. While I can't claim to have invented the $10 SMS for aid to Haiti, I can tell you I was the first one to reach for my cell phone when this method of donation first flashed across the screen during an NFL broadcast. "You exert so much energy thinking of others that you have none left over for yourself," is a comment that could well be uttered with reference to me.
I don't know how many of you are familiar with the riad. Some may confuse this word with foreign currencies (South Africa's rand or Iran's rial), but it is actually a sort of Moroccan townhouse built around an interior garden.
In Marrakech several years ago, I was with my family at Les Jardins de la Koutoubia (The Gardens of the Koutoubia), an upscale hotel with two swimming pools. My brother Henry (a mid-level employee for the State of Arizona) had joined us with his brood. Unfortunately, they were staying not at Les Jardins de la Koutoubia, but at a riad in the medina (a confusing and somewhat frightening warren of lanes thronged with Arabs selling almonds, dates, and pounded brass).
I could see that Henry's children were terrified to be in the midst of the medina and also knew that a bothersome problem with the plumbing meant that their riad stank of fetid sewage. I therefore took it upon myself to arrange for my brother and his children to spend the day with us around the smaller of the two pools at Les Jardins and to partake in a traditional Moroccan luncheon buffet (delicious!) entirely at my expense.
Bountiful, beneficent, open-hearted, magnanimous: these adjectives will see heavy use at my funeral. V.S. Naipaul was once told something of immense importance by a cab driver: "Always pleasure the woman first." Before I die, let me say, "Thank you, V.S. And please extend my gratitude to the cab driver if you are still in touch." Thank you from me and the numerous women in this area who have found fulfillment in the bedroom of this humble widower.
There are two ways to do things in life: in a brusque, brutal manner (the firing of Jimmy the Greek from network television many seasons ago), or with charm and dignity (the gracious tour of the White House George and Laura Bush provided to the incoming Obamas after the 2008 election).
Once my wife and I decided to rent a small outbuilding on our property with unusually low ceilings (5'4") to a young, unusually short family from El Salvador. We preferred, however, that they not trespass on our lawn on their way to and from work, school, etc. Margaret wanted to post a "Keep Off The Grass" sign on their fridge. I counseled restraint and penned the following: "While you are free to view our lovely garden, we ask that you and your offspring kindly restrict your movements to the driveway. In this way, you will have the best of both worlds: you may enjoy the splendor of the lawn while not troubling yourselves with its maintenance."
That family was with us 14 months and I like to think I still have a place in their hearts. For others who've known me longer, my absence will be a grave blow. Something in my character is so extraordinary that many have felt compelled to share their feelings about me in poerson. But as for those more tight-lipped, I just can't help wishing I could hear what they say when I'm gone.
