I don't think I'm a jealous person, not in a professional sense, anyway. But ... when I saw this lead paragraph in an obituary in the U.K. Telegraph the other day, a newspaper which invariably produces the best obituary writing in the world, I got a pang of envy.
"Count Gottfried von Bismarck, who was found dead on Monday aged 44, was a louche German aristocrat with a multi-faceted history as a pleasure-seeking heroin addict, hell-raising alcoholic, flamboyant waster and a reckless and extravagant host of homosexual orgies."
Wow. That's a bloody masterpiece. It sounds like something I should have included on my Selective Service forms. The author was not credited. Too bad. I wanted to thank the writer. The prose includes one of my favorite words -- "louche." It's a French term -- of course -- that means tawdry, lurid and lascivious in a very languorous, hedonistic manner.
Wonderful.
How to Read an Obituary is sometimes an acquired skill. They're usually not as straightforward as this one about the Count von Bismarck, who clearly sank himself with a lot of effort. Sometimes obits are more subtle. For example, when you see the word, "gregarious," I have to tell you that it really means
"D-R-U-N-K." When one encounters the phrases, "life-of-the-party," or "man-about-town" -- you can bet it really means, "D-R-U-N-K." Anything French, of course, "raconteur," "boulevardier" -- invariably indicates "D-R-U-N-K." And, of course there's gregarious AND louche.
My interest in obits is not at all morbid. It's an art form. It's simply not for the faint-hearted.
"It's such a slow news day," a news anchor said many years ago when I was a writer at the radio station. "Maybe somebody famous will die, and Bellingham could write a two-and-a-half minute obit."
That made me very proud.
That reminds me It was tough -- but I had to tell my friend, Jennifer, that Screaming Lord Sutch is still dead. Lord Sutch might have said, "You bloody twit, of course I'm still dead." What a shame Lord Sutch is dead. He would have been delighted by the controversial, though ill-fated cascade of same-sex marriages at San Francisco City Hall. He would revel in the apoplectic indignation from the right-wing. In his day it would have been required to be outrageously outraged -- to be dripping with mascara with River Styx lip gloss, and angry speeches in order to make one's love heard. But today, it's sweet bouquets, impartations of "all the luck in the world," and a teary Rosie O'Donnell.
For those of us who are old enough to remember, Lord Sutch was a British peer who picked some very unlordly cultural peers, such as Keith Moon, Brian Jones and the Bonzo Dog Band. Yes, all Brit rockers -- and crazy, even by 60's crazy standards, if "standard" is the right term. But this was before the punks who screamed and then drew blood --- real blood. ... Sutch died back in 1997. Surely he knew Gottried von Bismarck -- perhaps Gotfreidn was a protegé.
Lord Sutch fronted rock bands during the '60s Carnaby Street days in London. He maintained a political party called the Official Monster Raving Loony Party. One of Lord Sutch's innovative ideas was to breed fish in a lake filled with wine so they could be caught pre-pickled -- just like many of Lord Sutch's colleagues.
If there were such a body of water in Golden Gate Park, I would have auditioned for the lifeguard position.
Dashing about as a dedicated follower of outrageous fashion in furs, silks, velveteen -- and pounds of face powder --- the good Lord espoused a social tract that was distilled into "Vote for Insanity, You Know It Makes Sense." At times, it seems the fringe people are the only ones who seem rational.
It's tough to be a civilized madman in a world that is truly mad -- one that is devoid of humor, irony and compassion. I'm not sure if Sutch ever made it here to sometimes compassionate San Francisco, but I'm sure he not only would he have felt like home, he would have purchased one here. And opened this house up to every sweet-natured miscreant in all of North American and Alta California. A commune for the comatose -- and the compassionate. ....
Dislordly Lord Sutch dressed himself up in a fabulously splashy way ---perhaps like Wilkes Bashford -- Boy George .... or even Bob Pritikin -- or, going back a few years to the 19th century, Emperor Norton. Being on fire with flamboyance seems pretty harmless.
San Francisco has had a long list of lovable loonies like Emperor Norton, who traversed the streets in a grandly-appointed military uniform with two dogs, Bummer and Lazarus. You see, like Lord Sutch, the Emperor was a real character -- not just a crazy man, not a street person in the conventional sense, but a man filled with madness, a purposeful kind of insanity. The purpose, perhaps, was simply fun.
Even the former Prime Minister of England, Tony Blair, paid homage to the late Lord Sutch: "He made a unique contribution to British politics." That's one dry, condescending assessment typical of the sententious Tony Blair. The war in Iraq has also made a unique contribution to British politics. As did Gallipoli. The War Poets of World War I used to pose the question, "Who are the real dangerous people?"
Lord Sutch is gone now. I guess there was no one left to annoy anymore.
It seems to me the job today of attentive citizens is to continue to annoy, and to annoy with great flair and style. .
May the saints preserve the friendly, fringe folk. May they know what sustainable joy they leave us. The despair and the screaming is over for Lord Sutch. The task of remembering is now left to the not-so-exalted obit writer, who's doing the best a simple obit writer can.
Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay, which includes all kinds of stories about all kinds of dead people. His e-mail is bruce@northsidesf.com
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