Letters to the Editor
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I attended a memorial service of a black man.
Percy was 82-years old when he croaked. He played the sax, the wash board with thimbles, the spoons upon the knee, and a juice harp.
He knew he was gonna die so he taped a tape recorded message.
The voice of Percy filled the room with smiles, laughter, and many tears.
It echoed Joy.
It was a beautiful. He said his cheerful "Thanks" to everyone who came to pay him respects. He begged we all would gather later at a meal, and that we'd continue to be Alive, caring, and we'd promise to work and live in peace. He requested that we;d continue on and remain happy and true...He requested we toast a shot of Scotch he rarely could afford. We did. Cheers.
A young girl played a violin eulogy and then placed gently a whole bottle of expensive Scotch in his grave on the burial day. I've often wondered if Percy drank it later. I hope no grave robber GOPS dug the Scotch bottle up.