Remember who will be writing your epitaph
In the history of dying, which dates back hundreds of years, a fellow Georgian may have the greatest epitaph ever. “I told you I was sick,” it says on B.P. Roberts’ tombstone.
Being that Roberts was only 50 years old, those words may have been his last, and not a wry joke specified by him prior to his death.
Either way, I dig it, and many other epitaphs I have collected for the amusement of you and I; mostly I. Here goes: “Here lies Johnny Yeast, Pardon me for not rising.”
— in a New Mexico cemetery. “Sir John Strange Here lies an honest lawyer, And that is Strange.”
— A lawyer’s epitaph in England. “She always said her feet were killing her, but nobody believed her.”
— From Margaret Daniels’ grave in
Virginia. “I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.”
— Winston Churchill. “Here lies Ezekial Aikle Age 102 The Good Die Young.”
— from a grave in Nova Scotia. “Here lies Ann Mann, who lived an old maid, but died an old Mann.”
— England cemetery, 1767. “That’s all, folks!”
— Mel Blanc’s epitaph. “Born 1903 — Died 1942. Looked up the elevator shaft to see if the car was on the way down.
It was.”
— On the gravestone of Harry Edsel
Smith of Albany, N.Y. “I told you, you damned fools.”
— H.G. Wells’ epitaph/ epithet.
“Jedediah Goodwin. Auctioneer. Born 1828.
Going! Going! Gone! 1876.”
— On an auctioneer’s tombstone. “John E. Goembel. 1867-1946. The defense rests.”
— An attorney’s epitaph. “She lived with her husband fifty years
And died in the confident hope of a better life.”
— From a Burlington, Vermont, headstone. “One I wasn’t. Then I was. Now I ain’t again.”
— Arthur C. Homan’s epitaph. “Captain Thomas Coffin. Died 1842. Age 50 years. He’s done a-catching cod. And gone to meet his God.” — Epitaph of a Rhode Island fisherman. “Here lies an atheist.
All dressed up and no place to go.”
— From a Maryland cemetery. “If anyone at my funeral has a long face, I’ll never speak to him again.”
— Stan Laurel. “Sacred to the memory of my husband, John Barnes, who died January 3, 1803. His comely young widow, aged 23, has many qualifications of a good wife, and yearns to be comforted.”
— from a Vermont cemetery. “Gone, but not forgiven.”
— Epitaph of an adulterous husband
in Atlanta. “Here lies Pa. Pa liked wimin. Ma caught Pa in with two swimmin. Here lies Pa.”
If you remember anything from this column, and you won’t, remember this: Your surviving spouse gets to choose your epitaph.
Behave accordingly. Email Len Robbins at lrobbins@ theclinchcountynews.com.