Here in the Russellville Green Room where I await my call to appear in that biggest of all shows, the subject of death is never discussed among my assembled neighbors. But it has crossed everyone's mind. Just as it did for Woody Allen: "It's not that I'm afraid to die. I just don't want to be there when it happens." Sorry, Woody, get in line.
The earliest human beings caught on to Nature's cruelest trick and came up with a counter-dodge by positing an afterlife where everybody could keep the good times rolling. That proved to be a comforting concept. If that actually is part of the Master Plan, one of the people (spirits?) I will track down is Herb Lewis, a teacher I had my senior year in high school. Herb's class was called Social Studies but what he taught was a profound respect for the life of the mind and the responsibility of every citizen to contribute to a humane society. I never thanked him for being a great teacher. Maybe it's not too late.
One day Herb took a hack paddle and walked down to the desk of a student who had just given a smart-ass reply to the teacher's question. Then Herb brought the paddle down on the top of the wise guy's head. Not hard. Just a tap. I think I know what Herb was thinking: "This little nose-picker is going to graduate next June and immediately start breeding. Time for a modest brain adjustment." Herb's teaching toolbox held many wonderful aids.
So we might consider death one more blessing from a benevolent master clockmaker but I think Woody Allen had the right insight. I'll wait and see.
