A friend of mine called me from Westwood Memorial Park in L.A. the the day -- that's the small cemetery that holds the remains of some big stars. Some of the celebs include Marilyn Monroe ... Truman Capote ... Mel Tormé ... Jack Lemmon ... Walter Matthau ... and one of my faves, screenwriter Nunnally Johnson, who dedicated his collected letters to his wife, thanking her for "never complaining that he made a living by staring out the window."
"Oscar Levant says hello," Sharon Anderson reported to me on her cellphone.
"What does he have to say?"
"That he'd like to come over and borrow cup of phenobarbital."
That would be a curious epitaph, sarcastic and funny, suitable for Oscar Levant, the wisecracking pianist who used to go on the Jack Paar show when I was a kid. He'd amuse everyone with phrases I could not understand. He also seemed to make people uncomfortable. I spotted him right away as a role model. Oh, yes, he was also a spectacular prescription drug addict.
When I write this monthly piece call The Final Word, I cannot help but think of those real final words that people leave behind. Franklin D. Roosevelt's last words were, "I have a terrific headache." Yes, he had had a cerebral hemorrhage. But that's not an epitaph. Sharon said that Dean Martin, residing near Oscar Levant, has an epitaph, "Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime." Nice. Around the corner lies the crypt of songwriter Jay Livingston, who reminds us, "Que Sera Sera." Sinatra leaves, "The best is yet to come."
O.J. Simpson, a favorite son of San Francisco, has already composed his: "If I Did It."
Here in the Northern part of San Francisco, Ambrose Bierce, the sharp-clawed wit, lived at Ft. Mason. He wrote for a publication called The Argonaut, which was published Frank Pixley. You may know Pixley Alley in the Marina, near the Balboa Cafe. It was named for Frank. When Frank died, Bierce volunteered his own suggested epitaph for him: "Here Lies Frank Pixley: As Usual."
Cruel but funny.
How about Ed Jew: "This, I swear, is my permanent address."
Herb Caen's got to be "Gawd, I love this town." But I think it was, "I never missed a deadline."
Johnny Carson leaves: "We'll be right back after this." Or so he joked. He really did not want to come back at all. The problem is that many are written for us as we leave this mortal coil, that is, your epitaph & mine might be the result of a quick scribble by a press agent, a PR intern or another bitter blogger. Make sure they get your name spelled right. Bill Clinton's had better not be: "I did not have sex with THAT woman -- no, not that woman, THAT woman!"
They may come up with an epitaph for George W Bush: "Mission Accomplished."
I can imagine what my epitaph would be: "Say, is it too late to change it?"
Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay. His next book is called "The Angina Dialogues." E-mail him at bruce@northsidesf.com
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