Wednesday, April 7, 2004

Death and divas

By RONDA RICH

One of my favorite divas called me up to tell me of a death in her in-laws. This was before it hit the obituary column of the newspaper or made the local radio announcements, broadcast daily on the morning and noon news, just before Paul Harvey.

“I’m fixin’ a hamburger casserole with hash browns,” Claudette reported. “And do you know that for the first time since I can remember, I was outta cream of mushroom soup? I’m usually well stocked for emergencies. I went to the grocery store and bought a dozen cans.”

“Who’s dead?” I asked.

“Jack’s first cousin. Shotgun wound.”

“Oh, my goodness.” With another Diva, I might have been shocked but not with Claudette and her in-laws. Judging by Southern criteria, Claudette did not “marry well,” that meaning, among other things, she will never inherit 12-place settings of family silver or be considered for membership in the Junior Service League.

It also means that her kinfolk by marriage are well known by most sheriffs, judges, lawyers and probation officers in a five-county region. Jack, though, has gotten above his raising. Generally, in the South, this is nothing to brag about but with Jack it is. Half of his family is in jail and half of the others aren’t because they haven’t been caught yet.

“What happened?” I asked.

“The coroner has ruled it accidental, saying that the gun went off while he was cleaning it. Getting ready for huntin’ season, you know.”

I was a bit disappointed. Claudette’s stories are usually much more colorful and entertaining. She paused for a moment before adding cryptically, “But, you know, I don’t think this is over because both sides of the family are disputing the coroner.”

“Why?”

“Well, his family claims that his wife killed him and her side claims that it was suicide. There’s a big rouse going on over it.”

That evening I phoned Diva Claudette, with the intent of leaving a message. She answered the phone.

“What are you doin’ home? Aren’t you goin’ to the visitation?” I asked.

“Oh, our time to go to the funeral home isn’t until after eight.”

I was puzzled. “What?”

“Well, it turns out that neither side of the family is willing to accept that it was accidental,” she explained.

“What does that have to do with what time you go to the funeral home?”

“The families have set up two separate viewing times. Those who think it was suicide are supposed to go between seven and eight. Those who think it was murder, which is his side of the family, are supposed to go after eight.” Only in the South, would that be completely logical.

As for me, I don’t know if it was accidental or murder. I just know it wasn’t suicide. The incident occurred during the time that the Andy Griffith Show was on and anyone who knew him knew how much he loved Andy. He would have never killed himself while Andy was on.

[Ronda Rich is the author of the best-selling “What Southern Women Know (That Every Woman Should)” and “My Life In The Pits.” She lives in Gainesville, Ga.]