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FUNEREAL HUMOR by Kenneth W. Davis  Folk humor like most other traditional forms of humor depends heavily on incongruity. The unexpected at the wrong place and time often provides cause for laughter. Certainly, this principle is true regarding happenings at such solemn events as funerals and graveside services, or, to use the more uptown phrases: memorials, remembrance worships, or celebrations of life. An example of humor in the midst of sorrow is a story told often in my misspent youth in Old Bell County. During the mid1930s the Depression forced many small farmers into bankruptcy. Some went on relief while others moved to small towns to try to find jobs that would pay at least enough for the feeding of their families. One such farmer, a man of considerable accomplishments in farming and in begetting children—some with his wife and others in chance encounters—lost the farm where he and his wife and seven children (all under the age of twelve) had enjoyed a good enough life. The family moved into town where the man of the house soon had a prosperous barbeque stand going and was making more money than ever before in his life. He and his wife were blessed with two more children, and with another woman or two he fathered perhaps three other children. All seemed to be going well for this man and his family—legitimate or otherwise. But one afternoon he fell over dead while basting a couple of goats he was custom-barbecuing for a rancher’s daughter’s wedding feast. The grieving widow called a neighbor to help with finishing the barbeque and with making arrangements for her husband’s funeral. The friend was a devout deep-water Baptist who knew well all the preachers in a twenty-five-mile radius. He asked a middle-aged graduate of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary to conduct the service which, to accommodate the expected large crowd, was held in an open air tabernacle often used in summer night revival services because there were no air-conditioning systems in the 107 church buildings. Although the deceased was not a church attendee and did have a reputation for heroic womanizing as well as for drinking bootlegged liquor, his splendid barbeque gave him a stout measure of social acceptability. Barbeque is important. The funeral began with a spirited rendition by a red-robed choir of “There Is a Balm in Gilead,” followed by “Just Over in the Glory Land.” Then the minister began. He exhorted the audience to grieve for the loss of a civic leader whose business benefited the economy as well as the stomachs of the town, whose devotion to his family was noble, whose compassion for the poor was venerable , and whose love for Jesus was admirable. At this point, the grieving widow punched the oldest child, a twelve-year-old boy, in the side and said in a whisper that was heard all over the tabernacle, “Go up there and see if that is your paw in that box!” Many grown men and almost all of the women at the service fought valiantly to keep from laughing loudly. Few loud guffaws occurred, but there was an abundance of snickering. This event—a true one; my parents were in the audience of mourners—has the key element of incongruity. The disparity between the minister’s statements and the truth about the man’s character is humorous enough, but given the added element often identified as situational humor this difference between appearance and reality provoked mirth. And, as all who will remember from their youth, in long church services anything even mildly unusual became uproariously funny. Another funeral story is one the late Dr. Dudley Strain, longtime pastor of the Lubbock, Texas, First Christian Church delighted in telling from his days as a ministerial student when he was pastor of a small rural church in Indiana. A 102-year-old veteran of the Grand Army of the Republic (the Yankee army!) died and the then just Brother Strain was asked to do the graveside service, which was to include full military honors. The deceased had many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. After Brother Strain made a few suitable remarks and read appropriate scriptures, the family was asked to stand for the firing of a salute by a haggard little cluster of Civil War veterans, all of whom were a bit unsteady on their feet. The captain of this group, in a frail, squeaky 108 Getting...

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