Today Bobbi’s writing group got together in memory of one of their group who—to paraphrase Monty Python ——had died, passed on, was no more, ceased to be, expired and gone to meet her maker, was a stiff, bereft of life, resting in peace, pushing up the daisies, kicked the bucket, shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.
Bobbi asked me to read the group the obituary my brother and I had written for my Dad.
“Do you have it?” She asked.
“Hey, I’ll Google it,” I said. I remembered I’d found an archive of the obit in an online archive of the local newpaper: the Panama City Bugle or Star or Beach Buggy.
So I queried Google, and Google found this memorial website—which I’d forgotten that I’d created.
Thanks to Bobbi for reminding me to look. And holy shit, thank you, Google, for finding it!
The link goes to a page containing series of articles themed on my Dad’s passing. It features the entire obit, pretty much as Mark and I wrote it, duplicated below for people who can’t be bothered clicking links.
168 Year Old Bastard Dies
Not part of the obit, here are the family in-jokes behind the headline.
First, Dad was a preemie. In those days, preemies died. Early, I mean. So they didn’t register his birth. Apparently, you could, in those days.
About six months after he was born, they figured that he wasn’t going to die anytime soon. So they registered his birth.
So Dad had two birthdays a year: the day he was born, and the day his birth was registered. We celebrated both. 84 years (per the birth registration date) times two birthdays a year means he died after his 168th birthday.
Get it?
Second, Dad’s mother was forced into a marriage in Hungary, left on her wedding night, and emigrated to the US. She married Dad’s father but had not divorced her Hungarian husband.
Hence the marriage was illegal.
Hence Dad was a bastard.
But a nice one.
First, Dad was a preemie. In those days, preemies died. Early, I mean. So they didn’t register his birth. Apparently, you could, in those days.
About six months after he was born, they figured that he wasn’t going to die anytime soon. So they registered his birth.
So Dad had two birthdays a year: the day he was born, and the day his birth was registered. We celebrated both. 84 years (per the birth registration date) times two birthdays a year means he died after his 168th birthday.
Get it?
Second, Dad’s mother was forced into a marriage in Hungary, left on her wedding night, and emigrated to the US. She married Dad’s father but had not divorced her Hungarian husband.
Hence the marriage was illegal.
Hence Dad was a bastard.
But a nice one.
Milton Arthur Wolf passed away at his new home in Panama City, Florida, on Friday, February 4th, when the muse really left him for good. Milton and his wife Judith had moved to Panama City from Baldwin, New York, where they had spent the past forty-seven years. The move and his passing appear unrelated. Milton had celebrated his 168th birthday when he died.
Milton Wolf was a graduate of the Pratt Institute. He founded three companies and recently received an honorary degree as Doctor of Scatology. He was also a founding member of the American Cacological Society and its first President.
Milton Wolf was a graduate of the Pratt Institute. He founded three companies and recently received an honorary degree as Doctor of Scatology. He was also a founding member of the American Cacological Society and its first President.
He is survived by his wife, Judith, and by his three children: Michael Wolf (his favorite son) of Hopkinton, MA, Dr. Mark Wolf, MD (his best son) of Panama City, FL, and Zorina Worthman-Wolf (his flower child) of Palo Alto, CA (where else?) He is also survived by six grandchildren, a rumored great-grandchild, numerous friends and relatives, and everyone else who isn’t currently dead.
His ashes will be interred at Econfina, the Wolf family farm on February 12th, following a memorial boat ride and barbecue. The family requests that in lieu of flowers that contributions be sent in small unmarked bills to the surviving members of the family.
Milton Wolf was a wonderful man with a great sense of humor. He would have written something like this obituary himself if he had thought of it in time or hadn’t been dead when his kids thought of it. Instead, it was written by his two sons Michael Wolf, Founder, Publisher and Editor-In-Chief of The Wolf Report, and Mark Wolf, who is not Founder, Publisher, and Editor-In-Chief of The Wolf Report, but does hysterectomy much better than Michael does. Editorial assistance was provided by Judith Wolf. (Judith, don’t encourage them!!!)
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