Uncle Bill got his legs bit off by a shark and died before his body was brought to shore. You might have seen it in the news.<\/p>\n
At the funeral home, my father told the funeral director that, with only half a body to bury, we only needed half a casket and should only pay half price. The funeral director said that\u2019s not how things are done and we\u2019d have to buy a whole casket.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re trying to screw us,\u201d my father said.<\/p>\n
\u201cSir, I understand you\u2019re grieving\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t understand a damn thing,\u201d my father said, and he walked out.<\/p>\n
I told the director that a whole casket would be fine and that we\u2019d be back to pay for it later.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
When my aunt heard that Bill had been killed by a shark while on a fishing trip, she didn\u2019t know what to do. Bill had been the only child of two deceased parents. Even after their marital difficulties, Bill\u2019s infidelities, their divorce, and the familial ostracizing that had followed, my aunt was still the closest thing to a relation Bill had. She\u2019d said she didn\u2019t feel up to overseeing all the arrangements, and asked my father, who had been Bill\u2019s best man, to take care of things.<\/p>\n
My father and I drove the four hours to the hospital where Bill was being held, and, with notarized approval from my aunt, claimed the body as next of kin. The director of the morgue offered to contact a nearby funeral home to have the body embalmed and transported home.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot necessary,\u201d my father said.<\/p>\n
\u201cSir, are you sure it\u2019s wise to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStatute 325, subsection (D),\u201d my father interrupted. \u2018\u201cNo body need be embalmed prior to transportation prior to internment if the body is being transported within state lines.\u2019 Help me get him in the car.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My father and I went to a bar down the street from the funeral home, and he started reminiscing. My father told the story, which I\u2019d heard before, of Bill in the morning.<\/p>\n
Bill and my aunt had gone through a difficult and unsuccessful pregnancy, and my parents were staying with them for a time. My mother spent her days curled up in bed with my aunt, petting her like you would a sick cat. My father sat at the kitchen table in the mornings, drinking coffee and complaining about the newspaper editorials.<\/p>\n
Bill came into the kitchen from the den where he\u2019d been sleeping and walked to the liquor cabinet. His tie dangling around his neck, he took down a glass and poured three fingers of Johnnie Walker Black. He drank half of it and smacked his lips.<\/p>\n
\u201cI love the taste of Scotch after I\u2019ve brushed my teeth,\u201d he said, then stared at the glass in his hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cSometimes,\u201d he continued, \u201cI\u2019m late for work.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy god,\u201d my father said at the bar. \u201cThe bastard could drink.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Bill was the first shark attack\u2013related fatality in the state since 1912. The conditions of his death caught the attention of the local and national media\u2014while fishing with some friends, Bill had dangled his legs off the side of the boat, and a great white came along and chomped them off. It\u2019s the sort of thing that never happens, but that doesn\u2019t mean it can\u2019t. The national papers were content to deal with the coroner and the marine biologist from the state university. The local papers still remembered Bill from his days as a trial lawyer, when he\u2019d sued the county over the water quality in the reservoirs, and they called looking for some comment on the death of a local hero.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re all vultures,\u201d my father said into the phone when we got back from the bar. \u201cThe shark took his legs; you can\u2019t have his scraps.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
At the funeral, we stood at Bill\u2019s grave as the priest who had married him and my aunt said some things. A few people from town who remembered Bill and the drinking water had come to the service.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a hell of a thing,\u201d said one man.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a hell of a way to go,\u201d said a woman.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho gets eaten by a shark?\u201d my father asked no one in particular.<\/p>\n
Once the casket was in the hole, my mother and aunt walked off, but my father and I stayed at the grave to see the dirt shoveled in. After a few minutes, the funeral director told us they wouldn\u2019t fill in the grave till later that evening, and then they would use a backhoe.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t try and screw us,\u201d my father said. \u201cWe\u2019re here to see the man buried.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSir,\u201d the funeral director said. \u201cI understand you\u2019re grieving\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI told you before,\u201d my father said. \u201cWe\u2019ll be back.\u201d<\/p>\n
He walked back to the car, and I apologized again to the funeral director.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My father and I went back to the cemetery that night, walking through the rows of moonlit gravestones to Bill\u2019s plot. The grave was filled in, like the man had said it would be. The dirt was piled in a mound that I assumed would settle out over time. On Bill\u2019s tombstone were written his name, the year of his birth, and the current year. My father and my aunt couldn\u2019t decide what else to include, and the engraver charged by the letter.<\/p>\n
My father stood poking the toe of his shoe into the soft dirt.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou dumb son of a bitch,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cWho gets eaten by a goddamn shark?\u201d<\/p>\n
We walked away, keeping our distance from the plot next to Bill\u2019s, dug up that afternoon for the president of the Rotary Club, to be buried the next morning.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Here\u2019s a story about my uncle the papers wouldn\u2019t want, but which makes up almost my entire memory of the man.<\/p>\n
Once when I was seven, just before Bill and my aunt divorced, we went to visit them at a country club where Bill was a member. Before the adults went off to the bar on the deck overlooking the golf course, Bill set me up at the pool and introduced me to the man who worked the snack stand.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnything he wants,\u201d Bill said, \u201cput it on my tab.\u201d<\/p>\n
I ate six plates of chicken wings. Later, while throwing up in the bushes by the 18th green, it occurred to me that my uncle was a man of some influence and stature. A man worth knowing.<\/p>\n
But that wouldn\u2019t be of interest to a broader audience.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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