Dead Give Away

July 1999
Dead Give Away
By Bob Coskrey

Recently, I read that British actor Oliver Reed had died, which I was quite sorry to hear, because I always thought he was an excellent performer, who often played oddball roles, one of the more daring—for the late 60’s anyway—being that which involved a memorable nude scene between him and Alan Bates in “Women in Love.” (Don’t make any unmanly assumptions about this recollection.)

But what really caught my attention in the article were the circumstances under which Mr. Reed made his final exit: he collapsed in a bar in the city of Valletta, Malta, where he was on a movie location. So, I got this mental picture of him alternating singing and carousing with a mixture of colorful local citizens and artsy types, swilling down vast quantities of absinthe and occasionally making witty comments on esoteric subjects such as Marxian (Brothers) philosophy and the impending removal of “Penthouse” from the Wal-Mart on the Isle of Gozo.

If one is going to die, this was certainly an interesting way to do it, especially compared to the mundane avenues most of us take to make our mortal departure, e.g., dying in a soiled hospital bed in a room full of gawking, will-contemplating family members, keeping over from a heat stroke during a whiffle-ball tournament, or maybe worst of all, strangling to death on a pretzel in your lazy boy on the first day of your retirement.

If I could choose, I would expire blissfully in one of my two favorite cities: 1) New York, succumbing painlessly to a stroke, as I and my running pals, Neil Simon and Howard Stern, were sprinting through Central Park, to a lunch date at the Plaza Hotel; or 2) Paris, on the steps of St. Julien Le Pauvre, a small church on the Left Bank that has a night club in the basement, where I had just given a reading from my new historical novel The Post-Rodman Years: A Time for Deep Reflection, or following my being awarded the Legion of Honor and being nicknamed “The Jerry Lewis of Literature” at the Hotel de Ville.

But of course, neither of these things will come to pass—not even close. In fact, I predict that my death will be neither spectacular nor commonplace, but instead an illuminating moment of extreme mortification for myself, family, and friends. While we’re all here together, why don’t we have some fun with what is normally labeled a morbid subject? I’ll list some probably scenarios of my death, and you, the readers, will select one. If you are correct, you will win $5,000 (I will set up a fund) and my egregious egress will result in a substantial reward for a faithful reader. We’ll call it the “Dead Give Away.”

I should add that all Goose Creek and North Charleston residents will be ineligible to participate for two reasons: 1) They may try to influence the outcome, and 2) There’s no need in giving them the money since my demise, in itself, will be reward enough.

The List. I will die…

1. In the parking lot of the Chateau Theatre, with the disturbing contents of a large shopping bag strewn about me, including one which will self-inflate.
2. After being literally torn asunder and eviscerated on Red Bank Road in Goose Creek by a hostile mob of the town’s citizens in a “Night of the Living Dead”-type scenario.
3. After collapsing in a Dollar Tree store while doing Christmas shopping for my wife.
4. In the toilet-paper-bereft bathroom stall of a Texaco station, after having experienced the serendipity of a practical use for the “City Paper.”
5. Along in my bedroom, dressed in my old Nehru suit, with a “Best of Ravi Shankar” CD playing.
6. In my wrecked car on the way to work, having once again forgotten to put my pants on.
7. In my 1958 MG at the topless car wash in North Charleston, where I had innocently misinterpreted the word “topless” to mean a special service for convertibles.
8. At a Slim Whitman concert from burns caused when my upheld cigarette lighter accidentally touched some of the omnipresent polyester.
9. In drag in a gay bar, where I had been doing diligent research for my scholarly tome about male homosexuality, “Queen for a Day.”
10. During a combined FBI/ATF raid of a secret, anti-government Depends Wearers’ meeting, while giving an emotional speech (there wasn’t a dry seat in the house).
11. In a sleazy Rivers Avenue motel in a bed littered with erotic 1940s Walt Disney comic books, and two videos, “The Discovery Channel’s Mating Habits of Ruminants,” and “Mae West—Raw and Raunchy Octogenarian.”
12. Shot by an unknown assailant, shortly after suggesting that some of the Spoleto performers donate some of the excess vowels in their names to the vowel-starved Kosovars.

To increase your chances of winning, you will also be allowed to send in “death scenarios” of your own. Idle threats cannot be substituted. Mail your entries to Bob’s Dead Give Away, P.O. Box 22617, Charleston, S.C., 29413.