Old Men Talk about Dying
A conversation I overheard maybe a dozen or so years ago...
The three old men sat at the same table at the coffee shop nearly every weekday morning beginning at about 7:00 a.m., having breakfast and discussing things old men discuss. One had worked in construction, the second had been a shopkeeper, and the third had been a mechanic. They spent most of their time looking out the window at passing traffic and saying nothing. That meant they were happy.
Cutting another bite of cinnamon roll, the shopkeeper said, “Did you hear that old Jim Peasy passed away last night?”
“That’s too bad,” said the mechanic, forking a bit of bacon. “What happened?”
“Well, he was at his granddaughters’ softball game, and she got a hit to right-center field, and they say he smiled, toppled over into the bleachers, and he was gone just like that. Boom.
“Oh, that’s nice, what a good way to go,” said the construction guy.
“For sure,” added the mechanic. “Can’t top that.”
“How about Jim Lawson?” said the construction guy. “How he died…”
“What about him? What happened to him?” asked the shopkeeper.
“His son found him in his cabin down at Lake Rathbun last spring. Dead as a doornail, sitting in his Lay-Z-Boy with a grin on his face, holding a half-full can of Bud Light. His favorite afghan blanket was tucked across his lap, his feet were up on his footstool, and his set was tuned to Fishing TV. He was gone, boom, just like that.”
“Oh, that’s nice, what a good way to go,” said the shopkeeper.
“In my dreams,” said the mechanic.
They sat for a few more minutes, with no one saying anything, just looking out the window watching traffic pass by, sipping coffee. The waitress came and topped them off.
Finally, the mechanic said, “Here’s another one from about a week ago south of town.”
“Let’s hear it,” said the construction guy.
“Remember Junior Momsen, the plumber? asked the mechanic.
“Didn’t know him well,” said the shopkeeper.
“Me neither,” said the construction worker. “Ain’t he from down Lovilia way? What happened to him?”
“Well, not to put too much detail to it, but he “died in the saddle, if you know what I mean…just like that, he was gone, boom.”
“He died on horseback?” asked the shopkeeper. The construction worker’s eyes widened, and then he added, “Well, I guess there’s worse ways to go than being thrown from a horse. It might hurt bad for a few seconds but would likely be over quick anyway…”
“Not that kind of saddle,” said the mechanic.
The construction worker and the shopkeeper both looked puzzled.
“Well, he had a heart attack making love to his wife Myrtle.”
“Oh, no!”
“Poor woman…”
“How do you know he died making love to Myrtle?” asked the construction worker.
“Well, he died, boom, just like that, on top of her, and since he was a big man, she was trapped. For hours. Finally, she was able reach the nightstand with the phone on it and dialed 9-1-1, and the entire volunteer fire department came to save her. Maybe 20 people in town heard the call on the scanner, so now everyone knows.”
“Oh, no!”
“Poor woman…”
“And Myrtle’s telling everyone about it. There’s not a shy bone in her body. Brags about everything. ‘Liberated,’ they say. It doesn’t even bother her that all those young firefighters saw her in that “delicate” position.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Myrtle is actually proud of it--that she still possessed feminine charms powerful enough to kill a man, and that there were worse ways for Junior to go. She says she always knew her beauty and skills at lovemaking were remarkable, and that she had always worried that one day they might overcome a man. She says she was just glad that Junior had lived a good long life before she killed him, and she felt lucky that she hadn’t killed a dozen or so younger men years ago before she settled down with Junior.”
The men went back to drinking coffee and watching traffic.
“The women are joking about it and calling her the ‘widowmaker.’
“I bet.”
“For sure.”
The men continued to sip coffee and look out the window. The waitress topped their cups off.
“You two guys are single,” said the mechanic. “Myrtle will probably not start seeing men for a couple of weeks, out of respect for Junior, but one of you guys should ask her out on a date in a month or so.
“No way,” said the construction worker. “I’m not ready to die yet.”
“Me neither!” said the storekeeper. ”She’s such a pretty woman, I’m having heart palpitations right now just thinking about her…”
The other two men nodded and went back to sipping coffee and watching traffic pass by.
I hope you enjoyed this story—it’s been stuck in my head for years. Two of these men died of COVID, and I miss them. I know they would have much preferred to have succumbed to Myrtle’s charms over COVID. The third is still at the coffee shop nearly every morning. I’ve changed some details to protect their identities. Not that they would care.
Fellow Iowa Writers’ Collaborative member Chris Jones got some great news this week.
His book The Swine Republic has been chosen by the Library of Congress’s Center of the Book to be one of 56 books included in the “Great Reads from Great Places” list for the 2024 National Book Festival.
Congratulations Chris! Well deserved. If only our legislators would read it…
Let’s not forget his book was published by another Iowa Writers’ Collaborative member, Steve Semken. Check out Steve’s list at Ice Cube Press. Steve has done more to publish and promote Iowa authors than any other press, and I’m grateful years ago he published my book of short stories and poetry, called Deep Midwest: Midwestern Explorations.
Read local.
There are so many great columns written by the members of the Iowa Writers Collaborative, but here I want to highlight the work of our friend Suzanna De Baca in Dispatches from the Heartland. Suzanna often says more in one of her poems than other great writers do in a book.
There are so many more excellent members of the Iowa Writers Collaborative I will highlight when I can, but here once more I will focus on our brilliant leader, Julie Gammack. She is one of the most amazing people I have ever met, and please consider subscribing to Julie Gammack’s Iowa Potluck here. Julie is an Iowa treasure.
We have a new member of the collaborative this week, Avery Gregurich: The Five and Dime, Marengo. I’ve read Avery for a few years now, and I think you will enjoy his work very much. I do.
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One of your best, Bob.
Thanks for the laughs and the perspective, Bob!