… When you read the obituaries. Well, how else is someone with my limited social skills supposed to meet people? Sometimes the obits are paid for but when someone’s deemed important someone at the paper writes a story. These little word-filled tombstones are always at the back of the paper, like, after we’ve told you about everything that’s gonna kill you, here’s today’s death toll.

I cruise the obits every day, sometimes in multiple physical newspapers, and I must say, the experience isn’t sad, it’s typically rather uplifting. Good obituaries don’t dwell on the “death” part, just the “life” part, the “accomplishment” part, and it seems to me that these humble little stories should be on the front page to provide a little dose of inspiration, a reminder of what a life well-lived looks like.

The New York Times is the king of the hill when it comes to writing about the dead. The paper is known for its liberal attitude and its coverage of the arts, but still, lots of readers pick it up just for the obituaries. Some say you haven’t really made until your obit shows up in the Times (but, of course, in this case, once you’ve “made it” it’s too late). The NYT publishes a hard-bound book filled with just obituaries and gives subscribers access to a website with thousands more.

The obituaries are a daily illustration of the simple power of the everyday life.

♦

Most of the people I know I met through a newspaper or a book. I met Frank Buckles that way. He was waiting right there in the paper staring back at me through an old photo, a very young man in a uniform. Frank Buckles, was the last living veteran of World War I. He died in 2011, he was 110. He lied to get into the service when he was sixteen and went to Europe on the Carpathia, the ship famous for rescuing survivors of the Titanic. I met Harry O’Neill and Elmer Gedeon in the paper, one died and the Times mentioned the other. Harry and Elmer were the only two major leaguers to die in World War II. Harry only played in a single game; he never came to bat. Made me sad, he served his country, he deserved to have at least one chance to swing the bat.

Just recently I met Peggy Clark. In the photo, she was a chipper gray-haired old gal with a face that looked familiar. She was in the ordinary folks section of the obit, that is, somebody loved her and paid to tell a very abbreviated story of her life. There were a bunch of other, similarly treated stories on the same page, but I only read Peggy’s, spent maybe three minutes with her.

I don’t believe it was a chance meeting. I’ve always loved the song “The Sunny Side Of The Street.” Sinatra sang it as did so many other performers in the Big Band era. As it turned out, Peggy sang the definitive version of the song, the version that’s always in my mind when I hear the song title. Peggy grew up in North Dakota and started singing with her two sisters at a young age. They were good, good enough to catch the eye of Tommy Dorsey. Peggy and her sisters called themselves The Sentimentalists and with Dorsey, they recorded “The Sunny Side Of The Street” and a bunch of other good tunes.

Peggy pretty much sang the rest of her life away, becoming a topnotch session singer working with Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Judy Garland and scads of other heavy hitters. She was said to be the life of the party until her death at age ninety-five.

♦

A few days later I came upon the life of Henri Richard. He was eighty-four when he died. Henri was born in Montreal and for most of his life he ran a tavern there, but before that, starting at the age of nineteen, he played for the Montreal Canadiens. You see Henri was the younger brother of Maurice “The Rocket” Richard, one of the biggest legends in NHL history. Henri would always say that he was best known as Maurice’s little brother, but what an amazing hockey life Henri had. Obituaries exist to unveil the overlooked.

Henri was quite simply an incomparable winner. He was a ten-time All-Star, a brilliant skater and stick handler and all-around playmaker. He was captain of the Canadiens, played for them throughout his entire twenty-year career and, get this, he won the Stanley Cup ELEVEN times (consecutively from 1956-1960). He scored the Stanley Cup-winning goal twice. He appeared in more games than any other Canadien in franchise history. He gave a Stanley Cup championship ring to each of his ten grandchildren and kept one for himself.

I remain vigilantly on the look-out for amazing people.

Photo credit: charbill on VisualHunt / CC BY