Snake-handling is a test of faith in some Pentecostal churches, a test Mack Wolford, 44, failed on Sunday when he was bitten by a rattlesnake he owned for years. Ironically, his father died the same way at age 39.
He was profiled in a November 2011 story in The Washington PostMagazine about snake-handling and faith. Here are some highlights from the obituary written by Julia Duin.
Mark Randall “Mack” Wolford was known all over Appalachia as a daring man of conviction. He believed that the Bible mandates that Christians handle serpents to test their faith in God — and that, if they are bitten, they trust in God alone to heal them.
He and other adherents cited Mark 16:17-18 as the reason for their practice: “And these signs will follow those who believe: in My name they will cast out demons; they will speak with new tongues; they will take up serpents; and if they drink anything deadly, it will by no means hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick, and they will recover.”
The son of a serpent handler who himself died in 1983 after being bitten, Wolford was trying to keep the practice alive, both in West Virginia, where it is legal, and in neighboring states where it is not. He was the kind of man reporters love: articulate, friendly and appreciative of media attention. Many serpent-handling Pentecostals retreat from journalists, but Wolford didn’t. He’d take them on snake-hunting expeditions….
In an interview with The Post for last year’s story, Jim Murphy, curator of the Reptile Discovery Center at the National Zoo, described what happens when a rattlesnake bites.
The pain is “excruciating,” he said. “The venom attacks the nervous system. It’s vicious and gruesome when it hits.”
But Wolford refused to fear the creatures. He slung poisonous snakes around his neck, danced with them, even laid down on or near them. He displayed spots on his right hand where copperheads had sunk their fangs. His home in Bluefield had a spare bedroom filled with at least eight venomous snakes: usually rattlers, water moccasins and copperheads that he fed rats and mice. He was passionate about wanting to help churches in nearby states — including North Carolina and Tennessee, where the practice is illegal — start up their own serpent-handling services.
“I promised the Lord I’d do everything in my power to keep the faith going,” he said in October. “I spend a lot of time going a lot of places that handle serpents to keep them motivated. I’m trying to get anybody I can get involved.”
His funeral will be held Saturday at his church, House of the Lord Jesus, in Matoaka, just north of Bluefield.
In today’s New York Times, The Public Editor column, Arthur S. Brisbane wrote about how they pick the people who get news obituaries in the paper. Titled “Someone Dies. But That Is Only the Beginning.” the story provides an interesting glimpse behind the scenes at the most coveted news obituary placement on the planet.
Here’s a small snippet:
Human worth is not truly the coin of the obituary realm. What is, then? That is what Stuart Friedland, a reader in Rancho Palos Verdes, Calif., wanted to know when The Times took a pass on his father, Jacob Friedland. The elder Mr. Friedland had led one of those quintessentially worthy lives: a leader in business, community and temple on Staten Island; a philanthropist, a veteran, a collector of art, a centenarian.
Indeed, Times obituaries go not to the conventionally virtuous but to the famous, the influential, the offbeat and to others whose lives, through writerly intervention, can be alchemized into newsprint literature.
The piece goes on to feature two Times obituary writers and their thoughts on some of the life stories they have contributed during their time on the Dead Beat. Read the full story.
I love the attitude exuded in this obituary. Makes me want to have known this guy. Many thanks to Stephanie West Allen for alerting me to this wonderful obituary that appeared in yesterday’s Denver Post. If you like this obit, leave a nice message for his family through the Visit Guest Book link.
A Celebration of the life of Michael “Flathead” Blanchard will be held on April 14th, 3 pm 8160 Rosemary St, Commerce City. Weary of reading obituaries noting someone’s courageous battle with death, Mike wanted it known that he died as a result of being stubborn, refusing to follow doctors’ orders and raising hell for more than six decades. He enjoyed booze, guns, cars and younger women until the day he died.
Mike was born July 1944 in Colorado to Clyde and Ethel Blanchard. A community activist, he is noted for saving the Dr. Justina Ford house from demolition and defending those who could not defend themselves. He was a Republican delegate, life member of the NRA, founder and President of the Dead Cats MC. He loved music.
Mike was preceded in death by Clyde and Ethel Blanchard, survived by his beloved sons Mike and Chopper, former wife Jane Transue, brother Stephen Blanchard (Susan), Uncle Don and Aunt Cynthia Blanchard(his favorite); Uncle Dill and Aunt Dot, cousins and nephews, Baba Yaga can kiss his butt.
So many of his childhood friends that weren’t killed in Vietnam went on to become criminals, prostitutes and/or Democrats. He asks that you stop by and re-tell the stories he can no longer tell. As the Celebration will contain Adult material we respectfully ask that no children under 18 attend.
It turns out there’s quite a story behind this obituary, which has gone viral in cyberspace! Read this Denver Post story, by John Ingold, which appeared today:
How many of you were fans of Firesign Theatre? When I was a teenager in the 1970s, my older brother and I would laugh uproariously at the absurdity of their records: “Waiting for the Electrician, or Someone Like Him,” (1968) “How Can You Be Two Places at Once When You’re Not Anywhere at All?” (1969) “Don’t Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers,” (1970) and “I Think We’re All Bozos on This Bus” (1971).
Peter Bergman, a founding member of the Firesign Theatre comedy troupe, whose zany pun-loaded skits and absurdist political satire entertained millions of college kids during the 1960s and ’70s, died Friday at a hospital in Santa Monica, Calif. He was 72.He had complications from leukemia said David Ossman, who, along with Phil Austin, Phil Proctor and Mr. Bergman made up the foursome that was Firesign Theatre.Mr. Bergman was best known for his recurring role as the grizzly police Lieutenant Bradshaw of the chronicles of private investigator Nick Danger, Third Eye. (“When two aren’t enough.”)
The name Firesign Theatre came from Mr. Bergman’s fascination with astrology and that the four members were all born in “fire signs.” The name was also a play on the NBC television show from the 1950s, “Fireside Theatre.”
The story notes that fans would quote lines from the comedy albums word-for-word by heart. I’m in that category. Anyone recognize these lines?
“You can sit here in the waiting room or you can wait here in the sitting room.”
“Cyrano, what has happened to your nose?”
And let’s not forget Rocky Roccoco listing off the names Melanie Haber, Audrey Fraber, Susan Underhill, and Betty Jo Bialowski! (Everyone knew her as Nancy.)
What were your favorite lines from Firesign Theatre?
It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since Your Funeral Guy, R. Brian Burkhardt, died of a heart attack on January 19, 2011. The last post on his very popular Your Funeral Guy blog was January 17, 2011.
I didn’t find out about his death until a few months after the fact. He was such an active blogger, to see that he hadn’t posted in two months was a sign of concern. I left a message on his cell phone, but didn’t get a return call until months later when his wife Mary was able to access his account.
I wrote this obituary about him after talking to his wife, and many fellow funeral bloggers commented on the loss. On this first anniversary of his death, here it is again.
Your Funeral Guy R. Brian Burkhardt
Robert Brian Burkhardt, the funeral director who wrote the Your Funeral Guy blog, died after a heart attack on January 19, 2011. He was 58 years old.
In a sad irony, while he was a crusader for funeral consumers, he left his family totally unprepared – no life insurance, no wishes to follow, no computer passwords on file.
Under the nom de plume R. Brian Burkhardt, to distinguish himself from others with the same name, his Your Funeral Guy blog challenged the practices of the funeral industry, from suppliers to funeral homes to cemeteries.
He wrote about wide cost variations for funeral products and services, news, scams and trends in the funeral industry, and he reviewed funeral related books. He started the blog in November 2007 and his last posting was January 17, 2011.
He was quoted in stories by The New York Times, Newsweek, Dow Jones Newswires, Fox News, MSN.com Money Central, and other news outlets.
His crusade against the excesses of the funeral industry came out of his personal experiences as a funeral director in Washington, D.C., Wisconsin and Illinois. He witnessed some consumers getting exquisite traditional funerals for thousands of dollars less than normal cost. He vowed to help the ordinary consumer reduce their funeral expenses.
Burkhardt worked for nine years as a newspaper distribution manager for the Naperville Sun. After being laid off when the company was sold in 2000, he decided to become a funeral director and minister to families in their time of need.
He obtained his mortuary associates degree from Worsham College of Mortuary Science. He also held a degree in political science from Illinois State University.
“He loved to serve families and didn’t want to take them for as much money as possible at the time of the funeral,” said his wife Mary. “He worked for some really unethical people. He admired the profession but not those people who take advantage of the bereaved.”
A news junkie who loved history, Burkhardt enjoyed taking the family to visit sites such as Mount Vernon and Williamsburg, Virginia when the family lived in the Washington, D.C. area. He and his wife Mary have two daughters, Alexandra and Sarah.
Burkhardt was born September 19, 1952 in Berwyn, Illinois and grew up in Elmhurst, IL. He was diagnosed with diabetes in 1995 and developed lung embolisms in 2008. He spent a year recovering at home, during which time he wrote his book and worked on the Your Funeral Guy blog.
“I can’t believe Bob didn’t tell me a thing,” observed Mary Burkhardt. “It would have helped me have better closure to have information. I had no wishes to follow.”
The family was left financially destitute, with no money for funeral services or an obituary in the newspaper. They used cheapest cremation service they could find nearby.
Ironically, on Your Funeral Guy blog, Burkhardt had responded to a comment on a page about free online memorials, Dead Facebook Society, on January 14, 2011, just five days before he died.
His body was cremated after organs were harvested for donation. May Bob Burkhardt’s memory be a blessing.
For you fans of ‘Prairie Home Companion’ and sound effects, this excellent news obituary appeared in the Washington Poston November 1.
Tom Keith, sound-effects man on ‘Prairie Home Companion,’ dies
(Courtesy of A Prairie Home Companion/COURTESY OF A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION) – Tom Keith was a virtuoso sound-effects man on Garrison Keillor’s radio program \”A Prairie Home Companion.”
Tom Keith, 64, the virtuoso sound-effects man who for more than 30 years was a one-man band, zoo and noisemaker on Garrison Keillor’s popular radio program, “A Prairie Home Companion,” died Oct. 30 on the way to a hospital in his home town of St. Paul, Minn.The cause of death was cardiac arrest, said his twin sister, Terry Green.
Mr. Keith was a constant creative presence on the Saturday variety show, which first aired in 1974 and is now distributed by American Public Media on 600 radio stations.
For the 4 million weekly listeners who tune in to hear about the news from Lake Wobegon, the travels of the philosophizing cowboys Dusty and Lefty and the misadventures of the hapless detective Guy Noir, Mr. Keith was not a technician but a comedian in his own right.
A former sound engineer, he received little training in acting but had an innate talent for mimicry. He was able to produce almost any sound requested by Keillor, who writes the scripts almost entirely on his own, usually the day before the live recording, cast member Sue Scott said.
For the past decade, Mr. Keith participated mainly in recordings made at the show’s home venue, the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul.
Fred Newman, the sound-effects man who performs with the traveling cast, said in an interview Tuesday that Mr. Keith was an old-school radio talent who played his table of sound-effects props “like a piano.”
Mr. Keith made many of his tools himself. He discovered that bending a box of cornmeal mimicked the sound of footsteps in fresh snow. The galloping hooves of Dusty’s and Lefty’s horses were actually coconut half-shells that Mr. Keith clopped in a container of gravel. By rubbing a balloon, he recreated the sound of a ship’s ropes groaning in the wind.
He was “a connoisseur of Styrofoam,” he once said, having discovered that crushing egg cartons made the sound of breaking wood.
“I can’t do elephants,” he told a North Carolina newspaper in 1994. “I just don’t have the right lips.”
Keillor almost stumped him with another request: the sound of tires spinning on ice.
“One evening a car was stuck on the ice outside my apartment,” Mr. Keith told the San Diego Union-Tribune in 1987. “I just kept whistling and humming to try to simulate the sound. And fortunately the guy was stuck for a long time, and I was able to keep working on it until I got it. . . . Then I went down and helped him.”
Mr. Keith owed his career in part to the harsh Minnesota winters. In the early 1970s, he was a sound engineer on Minnesota Public Radio’s “Morning Show,” which Keillor hosted. When bad weather delayed Keillor’s arrival at the studio, Mr. Keith filled the air with music.
The two men bonded over the crack-of-dawn recording sessions, Mr. Keith’s sister recalled, and Keillor invited Mr. Keith to join the show as an on-air personality. He became the voice of the poultry-raising Poole brothers, Ed Jim and Jim Ed (one specialized in roosters, the other in attack chickens, according to the magazine Minnesota Monthly).
Mr. Keith followed Keillor to “A Prairie Home Companion,” first as an engineer and then, beginning in 1976, as sound-effects man. He also took over from Keillor as a co-host of the “Morning Show,” a position he held for about 25 years before stepping down in 2008.
Mr. Keith continued to perform with “A Prairie Home Companion” until his death. Live audiences at the Fitzgerald Theater knew him by his trademark attire: sweater vest, bow tie and, sometimes, a pair of shoes hanging around his neck by their laces. They could be used for a quiet stroll or a quick getaway — whatever the skit required.
Thomas Alan Keith was born Dec. 21, 1946, in St. Paul, one of four children. Their father, a manager at the 3M manufacturing company, had a “Johnny Carson-quick sense of humor,” Mr. Keith’s sister said, and regularly performed on local radio.
Though Mr. Keith grew up in a home full of play-acting and joke-telling, he was shy and was never the class clown, his sister said.
Mr. Keith’s service in the Marines, from 1965 to 1969, would later help him “do a fine drill instructor” voice, Keillor noted in a statement on the Prairie Home Companion Web site after Mr. Keith’s death.
After his military service, Mr. Keith graduated from the University of Minnesota, where he majored in speech and broadcasting and minored in theater, according to a profile by the Kansas City Star.
Survivors include his wife of 11 years, Ri Wei Liu-Keith of Woodbury, Minn.; his sister; and two brothers.
Mr. Keith once told a reporter that he would never walk around listening to music with headphones, as so many people do.
“I hear so much wonderful stuff everywhere I go,” he said.
We lost an innovative giant who is being memorialized all across the world: Steve Jobs. His graduation address at Stanford University on living and dying, and doing what you love – words to live by.
Today we salute Helen “Happy” Reichert, who died at the age of 109 in her New York City apartment. Throughout her life, Reichert vigorously promoted a rigid recipe for success: chocolate truffles, hamburgers, Budweiser beer, cigarettes and New York nightlife. Strictly forbidden were vegetables, exercising, getting up early and complaining.
We should all live as long and as well as this woman. It’s a good way to start the Jewish New Year with her story. I wish all of you a happy, healthy year. Live long and prosper!
Helen “Happy” Reichert was the oldest living alumna of Cornell University, and this was the wonderful news obituary about her in the Cornell Daily Sun:
Helen “Happy” Reichert ’25, who was Cornell’s oldest living alumna, is still making contributions to her alma mater — even in death. Before she died Sunday, Reichert had specifically requested that her obituary ask friends and family to donate to Cornell Medical College in lieu of flowers.
Reichert died Sunday in her New York City apartment. She was 109 years old. Throughout her life, Reichert vigorously promoted a rigid recipe for success: chocolate truffles, hamburgers, Budweiser beer, cigarettes and New York nightlife. Strictly forbidden were vegetables, exercising, getting up early and complaining.
A lifelong New Yorker, Helen Faith Keane Reichert had been called “Happy” since she was born to Jewish Polish immigrants on Manhattan’s Lower East Side in 1901. Happy was famous for her longevity and positive attitude.
“She was the life of the party, the center of attention, and a master entertainer and story-teller who could captivate a space at nine or 109,” said Vicky Kahn ’09, her great niece and former Business Manager of The Sun.
For years, researchers studied Happy and her three siblings, all of whom are centenarians. At one time, the Kahn quartet was the oldest group of four siblings in the U.S. They made appearances on Good Morning America and CBS Evening News, as well as in The Wall Street Journal, NPR, Time Magazine and CNN.
Reichert graduated Phi Beta Kappa from the College of Home Economics.
While on East Hill, she lived in Risley Hall, worked in the cafeteria to pay tuition, started a clothing business and rowed for the women’s crew team when women wore bloomers and sweaters to practice. IvyLeagueSports.com called her “arguably the program’s most well-known alumna.”
Reichert never let gender or religious discrimination impede her goals, according to her great nieces. When Collegetown realtors refused to lease to a Jewish woman, she changed her name from Kahn to Keane.
Although she was a certified psychologist, after graduation Reichert worked as a copywriter. She later became a professor of fashion marketing at New York University. Holding the post for more than 30 years, Reichert gathered a loyal following of students who each brought news articles and clippings about Reichert’s life to her 109th birthday party last year.
“Students were very important to her and she possessed a lifelong love for learning,” Kahn said.
During Cornell reunions, Reichert often stayed an extra day to finish reading all the books she had checked out from the library, according to Vice President for Student and Academic Services Susan Murphy ’73.
A cosmopolitan fashionista, Reichert started a radio program called FYI: The Helen Faith Keane Show by convincing the network’s executives to highlight women’s style. But Happy quickly decided to tackle tougher feminine issues like breast cancer and sexual taboos. The show won McCall Magazine’s Golden Microphone, the equivalent of an Emmy for radio.
“In a day when women didn’t have careers, she was an independent, innovative pioneer who wasn’t afraid to push boundaries and make a name for herself,” Kahn said.
Later, Reichert founded the Round Table of Fashion Executives and in her 80s traveled the world, visiting countries in Europe, Asia and Africa. When she attempted to sign up for a hiking expedition through the Middle East at 90, the travel agency declined to admit such an elderly woman. Reichert promptly received a special note of permission from her physician and went anyway.
Dr. Mark Lachs, co-chief of the division of geriatrics and gerontology at Weill Cornell Medical College, said he attributes her longevity to genetics and “adaptive competence,” or the skill of moving past life’s hardships.
Reichert took her husband’s death, a mild stroke and myriad unexpected curveballs in stride, according to Kahn.
“No obstacle was too hard for her to overcome,” Elizabeth Kahn, her great niece, said. “She had this frivolous sort of attitude, like when in the late 80s she shaved her head and wore a wig because it was fun.”
When Reichert married Philip Reichert ’23, a cardiologist and a founding member of the American College of Cardiology, she began a line of 14 Cornellians, which includes Kai Keane ’14 and Prof. Emeritus of Art, Architecture and Planning Mark Keane ’79. Reichert donated her husband’s medical equipment, a suite for visiting scholars and a Steinway baby grand piano in the Becker House. Additionaly, she left her body for future scientific studies.
Last fall, she served as honorary chair of the Cornell Sy Katz ’31 Parade that begins after the Cornell-Columbia football game. Decorated in red and white, she wheeled down Fifth Avenue with Governor David Paterson and the Big Red Marching Band.
Reichert maintained a close relationship with President David Skorton, who wished her family his condolences Sunday, according to Simeon Moss ’73, deputy University spokesperson. Moss described Reichert as “a great lady and a true Cornellian.”
“Cornell was really important in shaping her as a young women and one of the things that really bonded us,” Vicky Kahn said.
Reichert’s sharp wit and affability left perhaps the most memorable mark on those who called her a friend.
“She had an incredible vitality, read constantly, and had a wonderful sense of humor,” Murphy said. “Last holiday season, I received a card from her that said ‘Doing Fine at 109!’ and that really says it all.”
Ashes to ashes, crunch to crunch. Arch West, a Frito-Lay executive who created the Dorito after sampling greasy fried tortilla chips while on a 1964 family vacation in Southern California, died on September 20, 2011. He was 97. At least in his case, junk food did not kill him, vascular surgery complications did. (Or perhaps the fact that he was OLD).
Mr. West’s cremated remains will be placed in an urn and buried in a vault, his daughter Jana Hacker said. At a memorial service, family members will dust his grave with a layer of Doritos. Love that element of personalization!
In today’s Washington Post, there’s a great obituary and an ode to Doritos. Some samples are below (betcha can’t read just one).
Arch West, a Frito-Lay executive who invented the crunchy, triangular tortilla chips known as “Doritos,” a fingertip-licking snack of choice for legions of couch-lounging football fans, highway-cruising truck drivers and munchie-craving college kids, died Sept. 20 at a hospital in Dallas. He was 97.He had complications from vascular surgery, said his daughter, Jana Hacker.
(Family Photo/FAMILY PHOTO) – Arch West, inventor of the Doritos chips.
Mr. West had worked as a traveling cheese salesman and Madison Avenue advertising manager handling the Jell-O account before he had a chip epiphany.
He was on a family vacation in Southern California in 1964 when he first bought a grease-smeared bag of toasted tortillas at a roadside shack.
As marketing vice president at Frito-Lay, Mr. West immediately sensed he had stumbled upon a snacking phenomenon.
When he returned to work, Mr. West pitched his idea: a crispy, triangle-shaped corn chip that would complement the company’s lighter Lay’s potato chip and the thicker, curly Frito.
The original toasted corn chips were released nationally in 1966 and marketed under the Spanish-sounding name “Doritos.” An early television commercial for Doritos called them “a swinging, Latin sort of snack.”
Doritos emerged as a nationwide hit and have become one of Frito-Lay’s best-selling snack foods, enjoyed by young and old.
According to the 2006 Encyclopedia of Junk Food and Fast Food, Doritos are sold in 20 countries. (The “Doritos” entry is below “Domino’s Pizza” and above “Doughnuts.”)
In the 52-week period ending last February, more than 924 million bags of Doritos were sold in America, said Chris Clark, a spokesman for the Snack Food Association.
A Doritos spokeswoman, Aurora Gonzalez, wrote in an e-mail that global sales of Doritos tortilla chips in 2010 were nearly $5 billion.
Bags of Doritos now come in flavors such as 3rd Degree Burn Scorchin’ Habanero, Pizza Supreme, and Blazin’ Buffalo and Ranch.
Mr. West ate Doritos his entire life and was sometimes sent batches to taste-test. About three months ago, he tried a new flavor, Late Night All Nighter Cheeseburger.
Robert C.W. Ettinger, who conceived and created cryonics (preserving a body in a deep freeze for eventual reanimation), died on July 23 at his home in Clinton Township, Mich. He was 92. We have Mr. Ettinger to thank for the eventual creation of the Frozen Dead Guy Days festival.
Ettinger was a physics instructor and science fiction writer whose idea of freezing the dead for future reanimation repelled most scientists. Ettinger’s work inspired Woody Allen and Mike Myers to do some of their best work, specifically the films “Sleeper” and the Austin Powers series of films.
And Ettinger persuaded at least 105 people to pay $28,000 each to have their bodies preserved in liquid nitrogen at his Cryonics Institute in suburban Detroit. His mother, Rhea, who died in 1977 at 78, was his first patient.
After he died of respiratory failure (at 92, not old age?) Mr. Ettinger’s body was placed in a cryonic capsule and frozen at minus 371 degrees Fahrenheit, after several days of cooling preparation. Mr. Ettinger was the institute’s 106th client, according to his son, David Ettinger.
Mr. Ettinger’s ideas, which he popularized in a 1963 book, “The Prospect of Immortality,” spawned what some refer to as the cryonics movement, though by most accounts it is a small endeavor: a scattering of enterprises around the country with dues-paying customers totaling a few thousand, a few hundred of whom have actually been deep-frozen.
The baseball legend Ted Williams, whose freezing at an unrelated Arizona facility in 2002 set off a well-publicized family feud, is probably the most notable cryonics adherent. But Mr. Ettinger’s earnest vision of future scientists cracking the secret of immortality and bringing back to life the deep-frozen dead — curing them and making them young again — struck that sweet spot between kooky and quasi-scientific that television talk-show hosts loved in the early 1960s.
Because of Mr. Ettinger’s work, Frozen Dead Guy Days came to be.
Frozen Dead Guy Days is based on the true story of Grandpa Bredo Morstoel from Norway. After his death due to a heart condition in 1989, his grandson Trygve Bauge packed him in dry ice and shipped him to a U.S. cryonics facility in California for eventual reanimation. In 1993, Trygve, hoping to start his own cryonic facility, moved Grandpa to Nederland, Colorado.
The story then takes a number of interesting turns. Long story short – Grandpa Bredo has been kept in a Tuff Shed-sheltered, dry ice-fueled deep freeze in Nederland ever since. The Chamber of Commerce is looking for an events company to take over running the increasingly popular festival that takes place in early March.
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