In the sunset of his career, Furman Bisher devoted a bulk of his columns to athletes and coaches long retired -- too often, he suspected, having once asked an editor to alert him if he overdid it.
But he could not resist falling back on the subjects with whom he was familiar and, most often, fond of. As a result, many submissions were fanciful obituaries, written in the style of a memoir.
Inspired by death, man or beast, Bisher could reach deep into his soul and pull out words that collectively represented some of his most brilliant writing.
On racecar drivers, after a track fatality: “Death is always present, but seldom ever given the courtesy of acknowledgement. [Drivers] speak in terms of caution and care and warning, but they never say for what. They never say it’s for the privilege of living another day.”
On his late family dog, Dean: “I can see his little grave from where I’m sitting. A few brown leaves from a maple tree have drifted down and fallen on it. I didn’t cry yesterday. I couldn’t afford to. It upsets little boys to see their daddy cry. It’s my turn now when nobody else can see.”
On the golfer, Bobby Jones: “The final decisive humbling of man is death. It comes to each and all in various manners and sometimes the lowly are redeemed in the end by dying heroically, and sometimes those of highest dignity are brought to their passing by the most excruciating of forms.”
-- Mike Tierney
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