William Claude Dukenfield was born on this day in 1880. He is, of course, better known as W. C. Fields. He started out as a juggler and traveled internationally with a comic mime act. Returning to the states Fields’ quick wit became the basis for a monologue that accompanied his juggling. In 1915 he made his first short film. From there Fields began his famous career as a charming rogue and almost, but never quite buffoon. He was featured in some thirty-four films and numerous shorts. The one that never happened, but should have, was as the title character in “The Wizard of Oz,” which does appear to have been written for him.
It also appears that on his death bed Fields looked into the eyes of his nurse, winked, put his finger to his lips, and expired. For that alone, you’d think he coulda been a Zen master. And it is this that has sparked this little reflection.
That and one other thing. It is famously alleged he requested his tombstone read “On the whole, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.” Which of course also reminds me of the Woody Allen quip that went something along the lines of “I’m not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”
Recently finding myself facing a battery of medical tests (and it turns out I’m in the pink, thank you for asking) has given me the luxury of contemplating such things, if only for a moment.
Forrest Church, UU theologian and minister once observed how religion is rooted in our knowing we’re alive and knowing we’re going to die.
So true.
And so easy to let go of.
I suspect there is something deeply natural about our wanting to avoid the subject, Woody Allen-wise, to be just about anywhere else but, W. C. Fields-wise.
But, of course, denial, while it absolutely has value, only carries us so far.
At some point the unblinking eye needs to be cast upon our own, yours, my mortality.
It really seems we must, as the Sufis say, come to die before we die. And this alchemical moment occurs in our gazing forthrightly on our stark limitations as well as the glorious parts of life. Something happens in such a moment of full engagement and we discover a gate swung open leading us to wisdom.
At least that’s what the wise keep telling us…
In this context, I find it interesting that the line about the tombstone is likely to be apocryphal; but that wink and finger, that was the truth. Reading that anecdote I feel my spine tingle: Sufi wisdom perhaps, Zen wisdom perhaps, human wisdom without a doubt: presenting. Life and death joined like a box and its lid.
So, a tip of a top-hat to old W. C. & to mortality in all its messy wonder, and yes, to that quip, and much, much more, to that wink and finger to the lips.
One graceful exit.
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