Chris Connors died, at age 67, after trying to box his bikini-clad hospice nurse just moments earlier. Ladies man, game slayer, and outlaw Connors told his last inappropriate joke on Friday, December 9, 2016, that which cannot be printed here. Anyone else fighting ALS and stage 4 pancreatic cancer would have gone quietly into the night, but Connors was stark naked drinking Veuve in a house full of friends and family as Al Green played from the speakers. The way he died is just like he lived: he wrote his own rules, he fought authority and he paved his own way. And if you said he couldn't do it, he would make sure he could.
(H/T Lisa Sayers)
Wayne Neal has exited his rickety old body, having lived twice as long as he expected and way longer than he deserved. He passed on September 11, 2016, at 74 years old. He often wished in his later years that he had not treated his body like a Tavern.
(H/T Peter Elikann)
Bruce Weber — not that Bruce Weber — has spent more than eight years writing obituaries for The New York Times. Last week, he wrote his own farewell, penning a story on his resignation from the paper. The journalist, who joined The Times as a staff editor for the Sunday magazine section in 1986, caught up with WWD to talk about his most memorable stories, how he approaches writing about the dead, and whether his departure is indicative of a larger obit for print media.
(H/T Stuart Elliot)
No sense in burying the lede. This week, after more than eight years of lively habitation in one of journalism’s more obscure corners, I’m making a final egress, passing on. Starting after Friday’s deadline (ha!) I am an ex-obit writer.
William Ziegler escaped this mortal realm on Friday, July 29, 2016 at the age of 69. We think he did it on purpose to avoid having to make a decision in the pending presidential election.
(H/T to Lisa Sayers)
My father regularly enjoyed reading the obituaries in The Economist, sharing the best ones with my Mother and friends. Actor Bill Paxton captures the sentiment well: “My father always read obituaries to me out loud, not because he was maudlin or morbid but because they were mini biographies.”
Stephanie was born on June 26, 1971, in New London, to Carole (Lee) Baier and the late Peter M. Baier. She was the younger sister to Lance, who once hung her out the window by her ankles, so that she could touch some ducks. Needless to say, they were partners in crime. Stephanie chose the right side of the law and eventually became an attorney.
Faced with the prospect of voting for either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton, Mary Anne Noland of Richmond chose, instead, to pass into the eternal love of God on Sunday, May 15, 2016, at the age of 68.
(H/T to Claudia Hearn, Peter Elikann and Carole White-Connor)
Mary Leigh Schaaf (Borcherding) joined the angel choir at age 60, on April 24th, 2016, in Columbus, OH. Beloved mother to her two adult children, Jennifer Scholl and Joseph Kington. Beloved grandmother to her 3-year-old granddaughter, Lily, the light of her life. She also leaves behind her older sisters, Phyllis (Steven) McElhaney of Richmond, Virginia; Nancy (Jim) Lowry of Jacksonville, Florida; and Arielle (Jacque) Honstettre of Monts, France, as well as many nieces, nephews, cousins, friends, former in-laws, a mentally deranged chihuahua, Calvin "The Destroyer of Rugs," and a house full of stuff we have no idea what to do with.
(H/T to Faith Fowler Brill)
Act now! Be the first on your block to read this obituary of the marketing guru who — as seen on TV — sliced, diced and polkaed his way to fortune!
Reared in penury, he bewitched and beguiled the public to become an international tycoon, only to lose everything and then, undaunted, make it back again!
Just two dollars and five thin dimes at any New York City newsstand gets you the print edition of this obituary — along with dozens more articles at no extra charge — commemorated with the date and suitable for framing! Quantities are limited, so don’t delay!
So, the world doesn't have Angus MacDonald to kick around anymore. I'm gone! The devil finally called my name. The grim reaper came for me on Friday March 25,2016. I bought the farm. I bit the dust. So I guess I'm off to the promised land eh? The promised land! Imagine!
Dougie, guardian and protector of this fair city, loved his job whether it was haunting his driveway in full Halloween regalia in July, running the roads on his souped-up bike (aka the Ghost Rider), singing the oldies at the car show, collecting bottles, playing ball with the neighborhood kids, discussing the latest (and by latest I mean rerun) of Leave It to Beaver or Green Acres, or visiting with his beloved "constituents" and partaking in their food.
(H/T Peter Elikann)