Two years ago today, I lost my best friend to a heart attack.  Woody was a year younger than me, so it really hit home.  Woody and I had grown up together on the south side of Indianapolis.  We first met in 1965, so in reality, it was a friendship that lasted nearly 43 years.

Today, I still have fond thoughts of Woody and it can still bring me to tears to know I’ll never see him in this lifetime again.

I first wrote about Woody the day after his funeral.  So, if you will indulge me, I want to re-post that piece in honor of my friend.

The following was originally posted on February 8, 2008 over at Left of Centrist:

I haven’t blogged in a couple of days. Wednesday was my birthday and yesterday I had to travel to Indianapolis to attend the funeral of my best friend, Marion Ray “Woody” Watkins.

The drive down was fairly surreal. Vignettes of childhood pranks, teenage scheming and adult machinations flooded my memories. Each mile brought a new smile to my face. That’s what my life with Woody was about – fun.

The place where the service was held was called the Community Life Center – a strange choice for a place whose main business is death. As I walked into the room where Woody was I was immediately struck by two things. 1 – the room was beautiful and more spacious than any funeral room I had ever been in. 2 – I didn’t recognize anyone in the room. At first I thought I had entered the wrong room, but then I saw Woody’s wife, Patty.

I walked up to the casket – a temporary vessel since Woody was to be cremated. They had done their best to make sure Woody looked like Woody, not necessarily by the work of the mortician, but by the accouterments that surrounded Woody in the casket. He was wearing a T-shirt, a pair of sunglasses were perched on his forehead and in his hand was a pack of Kool Filter King cigarettes. That was Woody. There was also an empty shot glass next to his hand, a Styrofoam cup of coffee, his harmonica, a Colts Super Bowl champs cap, one of his wood carvings, his favorite winter Elmer Fudd hat, and a folded American flag symbolizing his service as a U.S. Marine.

As I stood there, his ex-wife Bari leaned in and whispered, “there’s a joint inside that cigarette pack“. I smiled and thought to myself, when they cremate his body, Woody will get to smoke one last joint. I know Woody was smiling about that too.

I also learned who all these people Woody’s best friend failed to recognize. Woody ran a successful karaoke business in Indianapolis and all of these people were folk who followed Woody around from bar to bar to sing with Woody. I got a kick out of seeing Woody’s daughter, Kendra, and his mother Mary. Patty came over and I gave her a big hug. She asked me if I would mind giving the eulogy. Wow, talk about prior notice! Woody was my best friend, I had to acquiesce to her request.

As I was talking, my cell phone rang and everyone gave me that look that says, “hey idiot, don’t you know you’re supposed to disable your ringer when you walk into a funeral chapel?” It was another old friend, John Stone, who was finally returning a call I had made days before. I explained to John why I had called and he was beside himself because he wasn’t going to be able to attend. His car was being used by his mother and he had no way of coming. I told him I would drive down to Greenwood and give him a lift.

Throughout the day, many more people would drop by to pay their respects. Some of my old friends came and went while I was picking up John. I used to drive to Greenwood to gather my thoughts about what I would say later that evening during the service. I had never before been asked to speak a funeral, this was uncharted territory. If only I had been given time to prepare.

I picked up John and headed back to the funeral home, this time I couldn’t focus on the eulogy, I had some catching up to do with an old friend. By the time I returned to the chapel, another old friend, this one, an old regular from the Bob and Tom Show, Marc Much was there. More catching up, less time to think about the eulogy.

7:00 was quickly approaching and I had no idea what I was going to say. Just a few thoughts here and there. I grabbed a pen from the quest book table and a couple of memorial donation envelopes and started trying to put my thoughts together in a presentable order. No complete statements or sentences, just random thoughts on a white background.

Seven PM, the doors to the chapel closed and we were asked to take our seats. Woody, who grew up a General Baptist was having his service performed by a Catholic priest. While some might find that odd, it might help to know that the parish the priest was from is just around the corner from the coffee shop Woody used to frequent. Woody and the priest had become acquainted over coffee and now the priest was acting out of the kindness of friendship. After the priest spoke, they played one of Woody’s favorite songs – one he used to excel at in karaoke, CCR’s “Long As I Can See the Light“. Once the song was over, it was my turn.

Since I hit my mid-forties, I have attended at least one funeral a year, since I hit fifty, they seem even more frequent, Woody’s marked my fifth in two years. There are usually two different kinds of eulogies. The ones that bring tears to your eyes, even as the speaker reminds you to keep good thoughts about the departed. Then there are the ones that are more religious in nature and still call forth the waterworks. What I was about to do was a eulogy of the third kind.

Woody had always told me that he didn’t want his funeral to be about crying a gnashing of teeth. He wanted people to have a good time. He wanted smiles and – if possible – laughter. I walked up to the podium and pulled out my two envelopes. I picked up the blank envelope and looked out at the people who had gathered to pay their last respects to my best friend. Close friends and strangers alike were looking to me to speak kind things about Woody. I began by crumpling up the blank envelope.

“Well, I had a nice little statement prepared, but the good father here took all my best bits. It looks like I’ll have to start from scratch.”   The priest laughed.

“Woody once told me he wanted smiles instead of tears at his funeral, it is my pleasure to try to accomplish his goal.”

“I first met Marion Ray Watkins in the mid-sixties. We attended the same small church, Trinity General Baptist Church, on the south side of Indy. We became fast friends and over the years we had many good times. I remember the times I spent at the home of his parents Ray and Mary, how we would explore the woods behind their home playing war and shooting BB guns. I recall walking through those same woods and making our way over to the Roncolli High School football stadium. From behind the fence behind the bleachers, we would take aim with our BB guns and shoot people in the butt. Then we would laugh and run back through the woods to avoid being caught. We did this several times during football season because this was something that made Woody laugh. And Woody loved to laugh.”

“Woody and I were inseparable. If I was there, you would find Woody. If Woody was there, so was I.”

“In the late ’70s, Woody and I both worked for Intercontinental Security Corporation as security guards for the Greyhound Bus terminal. We worked from 10:00 at night until 6:00 in the morning. It was our job to keep the undesirables out of the terminal so the travelers would not be bothered by hustlers and panhandlers. One of the things we used to do was stand on top the parking garage above the terminal and throw pennies to the ground and watch the panhandlers scramble. We did this several times because this was something that made Woody laugh. And Woody loved to laugh.”

“Woody’s ex-wife Bari was telling me that Woody probably spent more time with me during their marriage than he did with her. This is probably a good reason why she is his ex-wife. A point of fact, Woody and I used to spend many evenings drinking coffee together at the local Denny’s restaurant. We would spend entire nights discussing plans and schemes for the future. What we wanted in life. Most of those plans and dreams came to naught, but we did get to live out part of our dream and that was to make people laugh. Because Woody not only loved to laugh, he also loved to make other people laugh.”

“We were lucky enough to become part of the Bob and Tom Show family. In the late ’80s Bob and Tom hosted a local Indianapolis late night movie show and we were part of the comedy troupe that provided the comedy sketches during the movie breaks. One sketch in particular comes to mind. We were taping at the Indianapolis Zoo and Woody got behind a fence and pretended to be an ape. In front of the fence was a sign admonishing people not to feed the ‘animal’. He would scratch himself and pretend to pick bugs out of his hair and eat them. Woody’s facial expressions were a scream and as I walked in here tonight I noticed the sign back there that says memorial contributions can be made to the Jane Goodall Institute. Looks like Woody is still playing that ape to this day. This would make Woody laugh. And Woody loved to laugh.”

“Woody loved to go fishing and camping. Anytime we would be out in the wild, he would look for driftwood, which he collected to use for his wood carvings. I’m sure many of you have seen the great work he did with his carvings.”

“Something else just occurred to me. Woody’s dad, Ray used to get a kick out of asking me when I was going to get a haircut. As you can see, that was one that never took hold. Even Woody would let his hair grow out later on and I’m sure he did it for a laugh, because Woody loved to laugh.”

“Throughout the years, Woody was in several of my old bands. Although he wasn’t that talented musically, we could always count on Woody to provide great comic relief. And later on when Woody started his own Karaoke business, he developed into one heck of a good vocalist.”

“Woody made me promise that if he went first that I would tell a joke at his funeral. If I can get all of you to help me out, I’ll try to fulfill that promise.”

.

“Knock knock” The audience responded ‘who’s there?’

“Woody.”  ‘Woody who?’

“Would he want us crying at this service?”   ‘NO!’

“Would he want us laughing at this service?”  ‘YES!”

“That’s what Woody would want. He would to put the fun back in funeral. Because this would make Woody laugh. And Woody loved to laugh.”

“Woody was the brother I never had. And yet he really was my brother. Yes, we had different parents, but we were closer than two brothers could ever be. I hope he doesn’t mind a few tears mixed in with the smiles, because to be honest, I’m going to miss him terribly. I love you, Woody. I love you, my brother.”

“Now, I want everyone to take a moment and think back on something Woody did to make you laugh or make you smile. Now feel those emotions again and smile. Smile for Woody. Laugh for Woody. This is the way Woody would want to be remembered. And Woody loved to laugh.”

“Thank you for coming.”

After I spoke, Woody’s daughter, Kendra, read a letter she wrote to her day on Thanksgiving and his wife Patty, read her “mad note” that she sat down and typed up after Woody died. She expressed her initial anger at him leaving her.

When the service was over many of us headed down to a small pub where Woody used to run a karaoke night. The small little bar was packed with more people than the fire marshal would have liked. It was literally standing room only. I looked over at the kitchen serving counter and saw a sshot glass perched on top of a piece of paper with the following message – “In memory of Woody. here is your shot!”

Memorial Contributions can be made to the Jane Goodall Institute.