Ya Gotta Love It

Already discussed. There can be great finds on the obituary page. Sometimes there are two great things in one obituary.

Since obituaries for notables are sketched out and nearly completely written before the subject has left us, we can be rewarded with an obit by a favorite reporter who themselves may have now stopped working, or who may have even left us themselves. In a professional parlance, these can be called "double down obits." The older the deceased, the better chance we'll get a eminence grise veteran, perhaps retired/expired reporter.

We do not have a double-down today, but by virtue of the deceased having left us at 92, we get to read an obit by Robert D. McFadden, a Pulitzer prize-winning reporter who can write the best ledes you will ever read.

The subject of today's obit is Harold Camping, 92, a persistent end-of-the-world forecaster, who, by virtue of life-ending complications caused by a fall, finally got one of his predictions partially right: He got to Judgment Day, but blew the date. I always love to read about end-of-world forecasters who get the date wrong, but leave us to read about them when their date rolls around before ours.

Harold Camping was hardly alone in being a doomsayer. The world is full of active ones, and the ether full of deceased ones. In some families, it's a tradition.

One of my wife's departed uncles was forever predicting another depression in this country. 1929 was coming back. Ever since I first met him in the 70s, he always got around to telling the assembled where we were headed. He predicted depression so often that now his offspring have kept the thought going. Whenever we meet one of my wife's cousins, we know where we're expected to be found.

Mr. McFadden details how Mr. Camping somewhat vigorously predicted the end--often. As Mr. McFadden neatly explains, Camping was held up to "merry mockery" and clownish commentary" when these predictions fell through.

After the last apocalyptic forecasted date of October 2, 2011 came and went without the end, Mr. Camping came to concede that "there's going to be no display of any kind. The end is going to come very, very quietly."

Yikes. "Not with a bang, but a whimper?" Perhaps someone will be around to report on it.

http://www.onofframp.blogspot.com