The Death of William Shakespeare

On April 23rd, 1616, 400 years ago, a shining light went out at Stratford-upon-Avon in Warwickshire West Midlands, England. "He was a man, take him for all in all. I shall not look upon his like again."

Special Edition The Funnies - Old Friends Meet (1914)

Life Magazine, July 2, 1914

Apparently the lady finger was the early 20th century equivalent of the atom bomb. At least you'd think so by the number of cartoons Life Magazine ran depicting the Grim Reaper selling pyrotechnics.

Indy 500 - Wilfred Bourque (1909)

Image from Indianapolis 500, A History - Volume I by Brian G. Boettcher

Wilfred (Billy) Bourque, a Canadian driver who primarily drove for the Massachusetts-based automaker, Knox, throughout his short career. He racked up wins and claimed the third race held at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway (actually ran on August 19, 1909. Later that same day he died in an accident during the Prest-O-Lite Trophy Race.

Some say Bourque glanced back to check on an approaching car at the prompting of his mechanic, Harry Holcomb, and others say Bourque's car lost a wheel, either way the vehicle ran into a ditch containing a drainage tile. Holcomb was ejected from the car, dying when his head struck a fence post, and sensationalist newspaper reports would say that Bourque drowned in his own blood, pinned under his car.

The end result, the AAA demanded the racing surface at Indianapolis be remade to do away with the numerous, dangerous ruts and that it be oiled and tarred for better traction. The specter of danger and death only increased the track's fame.

Indy 500 - Life's Campaign Against the Indy 500

In June of 1959, Life Magazine ran another sensationalist article decrying the Indianapolis 500 as a virtual carnival of death and destruction. It gravely waned patrons of the ever-growing death toll, pronouncing a "growing case against the race" and calling it a "Roman holiday", an apparent indictment of the 20 thousand-strong crowd that flocked to the track to witness racing's spectacle.

Life feigned quoting a 1919 issue of Motor Age, saying that magazine had stated "the cars are getting too fast", but failing to mention that the gist of that article was a call for smaller cars at the track, not the abolition of the 500 as a ghoulish blood-fest.

In 1959, when the article ran, there had been 41 race-related deaths at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. That amounted to less than one death a year, a regrettable total, but hardly a bloodbath. Tilting at one of its favorite windmills, though, Life chose to make the Indy 500 out as a horrific festival of death in the American heartland, one worthy of denunciation in a national magazine.  At the same time, the magazine continued to take in revenue from ads featuring the race not to mention selling cigarettes which had been identified as a likely cause of cancer. But, we can stick to sports if we want. I don't have the statistics, but I'm sure more players had been killed playing baseball and football in the nation's gladiatorial arenas by 1959, but nothing appears on the subject in Life's pages. Then again, New York had its own football and baseball teams, it's always easier to tilt at someone else's windmill.

The Day of the Dead and Remembrance

The Day of the Dead has come and nearly gone, a time of remembrance for loved ones lost, a time of memories as autumn fades into winter. This weekend I've attended two memorial services, one for my uncle and another for a close friend both of whom passed this October. It's a reminder of how little time we have, a memento mori at the end of the season of life. Welcome to winter and the season of sequestered recovery. In spring life will return, until then we must retreat into our burrows and huddle together for warmth.

So here's remembering you, Lee. Remembering my childhood when you lived just around the block and how my dad bought my first 'real' bike from you and your son. Here's remembering how you were one of the only bosses that could have made my first summer job bearable. I'll always see you as that guy who always was laughing, who always was a hit with the ladies, who had a gentle soul. I think that gentleness is what this world will miss most, it's turned into a hard place that needs all the kindness, humor, and patience it can get. Today there's a little less of that to go around, and the world's a sadder place for the loss. I'll always strive to remember how you made me feel when I was a dumb kid, just out of school and without an idea how to maneuver in the world, and I'll try to offer the same, gentle guidance to the bumbling lost souls I run into out there in the world.

Here's remembering you, Dan. A rapier wit wielded by a velvet-gloved hand. My first "career" job was to take a job at a local bio-med manufacturer and it wasn't long after my first day when I first saw you on the manufacturing floor. You were one of the most striking men I ever met, handsome and charismatic, a magnet that drew everyone into your orbit. Over the years we drifted apart and then back together again, and I consider myself lucky to have gotten the chance to really get to know you in the past two years. You reminded me of the value of having an open heart and your encouragement to pursue dreams with the full force of my being wasn't lost (even if I didn't always listen). The golden light of autumn is colder for not having you here, but the warmth you gave will linger and I promise to keep it alive.

Indy 500 - Bob Sweikert

An eerie photograph from a Champion spark plug ad that aired in the March 12 issue of Life Magazine. The driver in the car at the top of the ad is Bob Sweikert. He was born in Los Angeles, California on May 20, 1926. He grew up with automobiles, working at a local Ford dealership in Hayward, CA. He would have been an airman in World War II, but a knee injury suffered during training at Lowry Field, Colorado kept him sidelined until after the end of combat. In 1945 he was honorably discharged from the Air Force.

Sweikert competed in four Indy 500 races, winning the 1955 contest and placing 6th in 1956, the year of the ad. June 17, 1956 of that same year he would be killed in a sprint car race in Salem, Indiana, a wreck that was caught on film.

Risen from the Grave?

In 1661 the morbid tale of a Northgate Market, London butcher named Lawrence Cawthorn was the subject of a pamphlet with the catchy title The Most Lamentable and Deplorable Accident. Mr. Cawthron had become ill and, when the medical authorities (such as they were back in the 1600's) no longer could detect a heartbeat, was hastily declared dead and buried. The mourners at the chapel heard the sound of muffled cries and clawing coming from the entombed coffin and an excavation quickly began. Unfortunately, the diggers reached the pine box too late and what they found was a lifeless body, wrapped in a torn shroud, its eyes swollen and head bloodied from battering against the coffin lid. The story ended with the observation, "Amid all the torments that mankind is capable of, the most dreadful of them is to be buried alive."

 In a time when few saw a doctor and those who did were relying on technology and practices that owed as much to superstition as science, a declaration of death was more a matter of opinion than certainty. Many doctors in the late 1700's subscribed to the belief that death could only be declared once the body began to rot. In Germany Leichenhauser, Hospitals for the Dead grew in popularity, remaining in use until the 1950's. These were climate controlled mortuaries that held corpses until obvious signs of rot began to show. So, if you think your job is bad, imagine being the night watchman who had to keep an eye on a few hundred rotting corpses.

In the 1790's the idea of the "security coffin" gained popularity. These were designed to let a person who woke up in the grave signal for help or even escape. Some were fitted with sniffer tubes that let those on the surface check for the smell of decay, others had alarm bells, firecrackers, sirens, and even rockets. Makes me want to write a Victorian zombie apocalypse novel, I can envision the graveyard lighting up with flares as the dead claw their way out of the sod.

"Ah, the dark ages," you might think. "Surely modern medicine has eliminated the possibility of being buried alive, right?" Well, medicine has come a long way since the time of leaches and herbalists, but consider these three incidents taken from the London Mail before climbing up on the horse of modern superiority.

In 1937, in the French village of St. Quentin de Chalais, 19 year old Angelo Hays was thrown from his motorcycle and hit a brick wall head first. Angelo Hays was declared dead and buried three days after the accident.

Suspicion arose when an insurance firm in nearby Bordeaux found Hay's father had recently insured his son's life for 200,000 francs. An inspector was called to investigate and the body was exhumed two days after burial so that the cause of death could be confirmed.

When the doctor in charge of the autopsy removed the shroud he found that Hays body was warm to the touch. He was taken to the hospital  and, after several operations and a long period of rehabilitation, recovered completely.

In 1995, 61-year-old Cambridgeshire farmer's wife Daphne Banks was certified dead by her family doctor after overdosing on drugs on New Year's Eve. Three hours later, the undertaker loading her into a refrigerated drawer saw a vein twitch and heard her snore. Mrs. Banks survived.

In 2010 a Polish bookkeeper  named Josef Guzy was certified dead after a heart attack, and narrowly escaped being buried alive when an undertaker noticed that the dead man had a faint pulse before sealing his coffin. Weeks later, Guzy was well and back at his hobby of beekeeping.

So, it still can happen. Anyone in the market for a coffin equipped with wifi and email, just in case?

The Words of Martin Luther King Jr.

Jet Magazine, April 18, 1968

The man speaks best for himself, nothing I could add would do him justice.

Friday Weekly Writer's Wrap Up - Mr. Leonard's Rules

This week we mystery writer lost Elmore Leonard, so as the writer’s week wrap up here are the great mystery author’s ten rules of writing:

1. Never open a book with weather.
2.  Avoid prologues.
3. Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue.
4. Never use an adverb to modify the verb “said”…he admonished gravely.
5. Keep your exclamation points under control. You are allowed no more than two or three per 100000 words of prose.
6. Never use the words “suddenly” or “all hell broke loose.”
7. Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.
8. Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.
9. Don’t go into great detail describing places and things.
10. Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.

1964 Indy 500 - Eddie Sachs

Just in case my post about the Sport of Death made it seem like driving a race car is no more dangerous than your morning commute, here's a video tribute to Eddie Sachs who lost his life during the 1964 race. As I said, Death hovers and waits.

1939 Indy 500 - The Sport of Death

Auto Racing - the Sport of Death?

Life Magazine took a harsh line when reporting on the 1939 Indy 500, kicking their article off with the headline “145,000 Patrons Watch the Sport of Death at Indianapolis Speedway”. After reading that, one could be forgiven for thinking the Speedway hosted gladiatorial matches culminating with a Ben Hur style chariot race after the morning's bouts and executions had warmed the crowd up. Nobody can deny that racing is a dangerous business. In the history of the Indy 500 fifty five drivers, mechanics, and track personnel who have died during the race or practice. Death never has been satisfied to focus on participants, though. Ten spectators have been killed while watching the race and possibly the most tragic case is that of Wilbur Brink, a 12 year old boy who died instantly when the wheel of Billy Arnold's car bounded over the fence, crossed the street, and struck the youth while he played in the yard of his house.

Newsreel Stills of Floyd Roberts' Wreck

The 1939 race saw the death of veteran racer Floyd Roberts in the 106^th lap, a death captured by newsreel cameras. It might be the humanization of death that spurred Life to make the assertion “With automobile testing moved to the safer proving grounds of the manufacturers, even hard-boiled sports writers now protest racing’s needless risks.” Of course Life's theory has a couple problems. Firstly, after making a statement that implies a broad consensus of the sport-writing community, they cite only one columnist (Hearst’s Bill Corum). Also they make the bogus assumption the purpose of the sport of racing is the testing of automotive product. I wonder if they'd also claim the purpose of baseball is the testing of clubs, football the testing of helmets, and soccer the testing of nets?

Still, it would be ignorant to pretend that racing didn't involve real danger. It’s easy to see the drivers as part of the machines they drive, at least until someone perishes. Every death brings calls for safety improvements, and even the geometry of the track itself has been modified since 1939 to help prevent fatalities. Nothing can make any race absolutely safe, though, and when the engines roar on Memorial Day weekend take a moment to think of the men and women who drive the oval. Remember, the specter of death always hovers over the Speedway among the cheers and gasoline fumes, waiting for the next tragedy.