by Art Buchwald
Our house filled up nicely with two grandchildren, Corbin and Tate. Their grandfather was there for them, and he loved them, the way we always loved him.
By Jennifer Buchwald
I know Dad wants us to celebrate and laugh, so here goes, Daddio.
Dad called me up on July 10.
“Hi, Jenny,” he woke me up with. “I want you to send me your eulogy a.s.a.p. so it can get put in my book.”
“My what?” I replied, not knowing if this was a dream or not.
“I talked to you about this.”
“When, Dad? This is the first I’ve heard of this. What’s the plan?”
“Shit, didn’t you get the e-mail from Cathy explaining it all?”
“No, Dad. Is this when you told me? In her e-mail?”
“Shit, I will have her send it again.”
“Dad, can you explain what you are doing? You are not dead yet.”
“Well, I am putting my funeral in my book, so the publisher needs your paper now. Everyone else has theirs in, like Mike Wallace, Tom Brokaw, and Ben Bradlee.”
“Well, Dad, obviously my life is much busier than theirs, and my secretary is on vacation. But don’t you think this is weird, Dad? This should be an elegy.”
“A what?”
“An elegy is how you honor someone when they are alive, and then there is the eulogy that is written to celebrate someone after they die.”
“No, you just don’t get it. Just write it by tomorrow and send it in. My publisher is waiting.”
“So, Dad, what tense do I use?”
“Hell if I know. Love you. Bye.”
Then I called Mike Wallace to see what he thought. His response was the same as so many responses all my life about Dad. “Well, if Artie asks for something, I do it for him, because he is Artie.”
That was enough for me to get to my computer and write this eulogy for my dad.
My Fellow Americans.
I think he deserves those three words to be a Buchwaldism in the Big Book of Isms. Those three words have made millions laugh. I loved to hear everyone laugh and watch his response. He was so excited and totally joyful laughing along with them at his jokes. Going to his speeches warmed my insides and made me so proud of having a dad who had such a healing and healthy and honest job. Oh, yes, also having a father with a very unique sense of humor. When Dad got put in hospice, we all believed that it was a one-way trip. Magically, he got a round-trip ticket with frequent flyer miles! No one expected this. He is now collecting on all his miles to see how far he can go.
This has been such a unique situation for Dad. He was able to decide between living and dying. Not many have that choice. He chose death when he thought that was the way he was headed, back in January. As you probably know, my dad almost went into the light, but only the good die young, and Darwin was right—Dad’s a living example of survival of the fittest…and funniest! Obviously, a higher power has an alternate plan for him. Dad has more laughs to share with everyone before he leaves.
We are all so excited with how happy and full of life he is. It’s such a joy to see Dad so content. He came to terms with his own death, which most never get a chance to do. He is very happy and at peace with his decision to die and with death whenever that happens, and in the meantime he’s extremely happy with his extended lifetime. Dad’s four big passions are food, being center stage, spending time with friends, and writing. Remember the magical tunnel from the hospice directly to McDonald’s? When they heard of this, they offered to deliver his food, with no delivery charge.
I have always known Dad to be center stage. What an incredible presence and talent and love of making people laugh. Being with him off and on for four months when he was in hospice, I saw how loved he is all over the world. Some people came in to meet him who didn’t even know him. He is so interested in everyone’s stories, rich or not. Back in March, Mike Wallace—and only Mike would or could do this—called Dad up one day and said, “Okay, Artie, cut the crap, we know you aren’t sick. You’ve had enough attention to last you two more lifetimes. And all the awards you have received while in hospice have proven you will die with the most awards. Not to mention all the interviews you have done on national TV and talk shows. You even made it into People magazine!! What else do you want? It’s time to get your butt out of that bed and come back to your computer. Enough talk—start typing.”
Dad called his administrative and life assistant Cathy Crary and dictated his first article.
Welcome back, Dad.
Next came Thursday’s column, just in time to document our president’s drop below 30 percent approval rating—a joy for any political humorist.
Dad gave me so many gifts in life. Of course there were the material ones that we got in abundance. But it is the ones that I don’t need to carry but I have them with me always that are the priceless ones. The good memories I remember in Paris. Riding the carousels, and being so short I had to walk on my tippy-toes to hold Dad’s hand on our many walks for ice cream. Then in America I loved to be with him when he was silly wearing those funny costumes. I loved him putting me to sleep making up stories for me every night. Dad is deaf in his right ear, and me in my left. When we would walk on each other’s deaf sides, it took about five minutes to realize we had two completely separate conversations going on. What else could we do but laugh?
He was there during the tumultuous times too, and there were many. Once he even flew back from France because he heard I needed him. I learned early that when I’d ask Mom for something and she would usually say no, that I could always count on Dad to say yes. It was also the little things that meant the most. Like letting us have our talent show at our house when I was about nine, despite my going out and selling tickets to all the neighbors. When they arrived, there wasn’t enough sitting room. But the show was horribly successful. Adults are so kind sometimes.
This is another incident that could only have happened between Dad and me. I was turning onto Main Street in Vineyard Haven with about fifteen other women motorcycle friends. I saw a group of people walking along the sidewalk at the corner. They all stopped to look at us; a few looked scared. I screamed, “Hi, Dad!” He smiled and all his friends clapped and waved us on.
When I chose Dad to be the first one to talk to about being a lesbian, I never feared that he would judge or reject me. He responded in a matter-of-fact voice, as if I had said “Pass the butter, please.” “This is just a phase,” he said, with all his love.
Whenever Dad was in Boston, he invited me and a few biker friends to have dinner at fancy restaurants with him. Twelve of us would walk into the restaurant with our helmets and all our gear, and the maître d’ would be beside himself. Dad would just laugh each time. We were given a whole round table. We weren’t allowed to put anything on it, so we loaded our gear on the chairs and under the table. The maître d’ then put RESERVED on the table.
I remember Dad and Mom and I tried to stop smoking together. Dad and I were successful. That wrecked his image. Eventually he had to update his photo for his column and it was a big controversy—cigar or no cigar. He chose the new him, yet still today people say to me, “Oh, yeah, he’s the one with the cigar.” Dad has always had humor in every cell of his body. One day he met a woman I was dating and he said to me, “It won’t last. She doesn’t laugh.” He was right.
When Dad was in China twenty-five years ago, he sent me a postcard saying, “All the women are barefooted and collect rice for 15 hours a day seven days a week. I think you’d love it here. Love, Daddio.”
Just the other day I was speaking to Dad about a new surgery for my deaf ear. He said, “Good, get it fixed so you can hear what a pain in the butt you’ve been for the past forty-nine years.”
I asked Dad these questions when he announced around Christmastime that he was choosing to die instead of doing dialysis:
ME: Our family is still very dysfunctional. Have you thought about sticking around to fix us?
DAD (looking over
at me with a smile and without hesitation): No.
ME: What will you miss the most when you die?
DAD: My grandchildren.
When I was ten, Dad got a phone call early one Sunday morning from the police department. I had gotten arrested for hitchhiking. Okay, I might have been a handful, but my point is, I always knew he loved me, or I wouldn’t have told the officer my name to begin with.
When I was very young, Dad and I would go on Thanks-giving and Christmas to a soup kitchen to help serve the guests. Those two days a year have turned into many months a year of giving for me. Dad taught me that jokes that hurt people aren’t funny (unless it’s about a politician). A parent’s duty is to make sure all the kids are doing well, especially for a Jewish dad. To most that means marriage. Well, he sure did an excellent job on that duty, setting me up on a blind date. We met and immediately fell in love, and Dad had a beautiful wedding for us on the Vineyard and another amazing daughter-in-law joined our family.
I want to thank all his friends who kept coming to visit Dad at the hospice and wouldn’t let go. All the love you brought in thousands of ways fed his spirit and helped heal his body and gave him more mileage. Special thanks to all the different lipsticks that kissed Dad’s head until it got so shiny we thought he was going to turn into a Buddha. Ethel Kennedy, your daily anticipated visits gave Dad a reason to wake up each morning. And thank you so much to Eunice Shriver, who stayed in the present with her faith and wouldn’t listen to a word of his death talk. Eunice is one of the few people I have ever met (besides Mike Wallace) who can get my dad to shut up and listen to her.
I am so lucky to have been adopted sight unseen and sex unknown by this wonderful man whom I love so much. Dad as a father and a gift giver showed me the importance and power of laughter, and the value of talking to strangers, for we all have stories to tell. I love him for his open acceptance of diversity and of the different ways families can be defined and for his amazing thoughtfulness and willingness to give to others. He taught me the importance of friendship, of using the bathroom every chance you get when traveling, of silliness, of enjoying creamy foods like ice cream every day, of being adventuresome in life, and of kindness.
I am sure right now Dad is holding court with all his angel friends. But today is different. It is his turn to listen. He will laugh and cry along with us as we celebrate his rich and wonderful life.
Dad, you know I will miss you on this earth, but I will carry your laughter and love and gifts forever in my heart. I love you, Dad. Make them laugh in heaven.
When everyone thought I was bound for heaven, Carly Simon said she would sing a song at my memorial service. Then, when it turned out I didn’t die, she wrote a song to celebrate my still being here.
Too Soon to Say Goodbye
by Carly Simon
FOR ART BUCHWALD
LOVE FROM CARLY
AUGUST 10, 2006
Too soon to say goodbye, my dear
Too soon to let you go
Too soon to say “Auf Wiedersehen”
“Au revoir,” no no
Too soon to say goodbye, my dear
Too soon to rest my case
Too soon to start another journey
When we’ve just won the race
Not while the lanterns and chandeliers
Sway in the pale moonlight
Not while the shimmer of far and near
Holds us both so tight
Too soon to say goodbye, my dear
Too soon the tide will rise
But not ’til it reaches another shore
Will I ever say goodbye
Not while the music and fireworks
Sing down the hill to the sound
Not while girls in their summer gowns
Are dancing round and round
Too soon to see the world beyond
I’m willing to be late
Let’s stay right here beneath the stars
Let the voyage wait
For it’s too soon,
Too soon, to say goodbye
Too soon
To say…goodbye.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ART BUCHWALD was born in Mount Vernon, New York, and raised in Hollis, Queens. After serving as a Marine in the Pacific during World War II and attending the University of Southern California, Buchwald left the United States for Paris. There he landed a job with Variety magazine and began writing his now-legendary columns, syndicated for decades in more than five hundred newspapers. He received the Pulitzer Prize for Outstanding Commentary in 1982 and was elected to the American Academy of Arts and Letters in 1986. He is the author of thirty-five books, including the New York Times bestseller Leaving Home and the recent collection of political commentary Beating Around the Bush. Buchwald has three grown children and lives on Martha’s Vineyard.
ALSO BY ART BUCHWALD
Beating Around the Bush
We’ll Laugh Again
Stella in Heaven
I’ll Always Have Paris!
Leaving Home
Lighten Up, George
Whose Rose Garden Is It Anyway?
I Think I Don’t Remember
“You Can Fool All of the People All of the Time”
While Reagan Slept
Laid Back in Washington
The Buchwald Stops Here
Down the Seine and Up the Potomac
Washington Is Leaking
Irving’s Delight
“I Am Not a Crook”
The Bollo Caper
I Never Danced at the White House
Getting High in Government Circles
Counting Sheep
The Establishment Is Alive and Well in Washington
Have I Ever Lied to You?
Son of the Great Society
And Then I Told the President
I Chose Capitol Punishment
Is It Safe to Drink the Water?
How Much Is That in Dollars?
Don’t Forget to Write
More Caviar
Brave Coward
Art Buchwald’s Paris
A Gift from the Boys
Paris After Dark
Art Buchwald’s Secret List to Paris
Copyright © 2006 by Art Buchwald
Photograph © Diana Walker
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Random House, an imprint of
The Random House Publishing Group, a division of
Random House, Inc., New York.
RANDOM HOUSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Buchwald, Art.
Too soon to say goodbye / Art Buchwald.
p. cm.
Reflections on life and death, written from a Washington, D.C., area hospice.
1. Buchwald, Art. 2. Humorists, American—20th century—Biography. I Title.
ps3503.u1828z46 2006
814'.54—dc22 2006049266
[B]
www.atrandom.com
eISBN: 978-1-58836-574-3
v3.0