By Suzette Martinez Standring
Published: March 04, 2006 12:25 PM ET
MILTON, Mass. Renowned
columnist Art Buchwald has refused dialysis, and it's only a matter of
time, maybe a short time, before he dies. For a man awaiting The
Reaper, he's in unusually fine fettle.
I spent two days by his side to find Buchwald doesn't see himself as
courageous, nor does he feel shored up by supernatural spiritual
strength. To fade away naturally is the decision he made when faced
with the alternative of being hooked up to a dialysis machine three
times a week, for five hours at a stretch for the rest of his life.
He said, "I had two decisions. Continue dialysis, and that's boring to
do three times a week, and I don't know where that's going, or I can
just enjoy life and see where it takes me."
I had come to his Washington, D.C., hospice to present to him the 2006
Ernie Pyle Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Society of
Newspaper Columnists. He was due to be honored at our Boston conference
in June, but now his appearance isn't likely. I offered to bring it to
Washington to lift his spirits and to let him know in person how highly
his NSNC colleagues regarded him.
Cathy Crary, his assistant, suggested I “come sooner than later.” She
picked me up at Dulles Airport and during our drive to hospice, she
talked about her friendship and career with him since 1984, his great
heart, and his accessibility through the years.
“He’s listed in the phone directory and always has been. People see his
name and can’t believe it’s the real Art Buchwald, but that’s how he
is,” she said.
His daughter, Jennifer Buchwald, lives in Massachusetts not far from
me. She and I are new friends and now she stays close by her father in
hospice. Her dad had been “holding court” with a steady stream of
visitors over the past two weeks. Jennifer invited me to stay an extra
day with her, since it offered more chance for an audience with the
king of political satire, now the newly crowned king of The Washington
Home hospice.
February 28, the day I arrived, would have marked the fourth week since
he stopped dialysis. That can’t be good. Would I arrive in time? What
condition would he be in?
“Raucous” came to mind when Crary and I stepped through the glass doors
around 9:30 a.m. and found him in the middle of a lively gab with
Eunice and Maria Shriver, laughing it up over old memories and private
jokes that bubbled up like champagne. Jennifer was there, as was
Buchwald’s son Joel, his wife Tamara and their two small children.
I felt a bit the interloper when things quieted down for brief
introductions, but Buchwald brought the energy back up with, “Let me
tell you just one more story…” It’s obvious a “good dish” with his
friends has him twinkling with happiness.
Art, in a blue and white striped golf shirt and blue sweat pants, wore
a black tennis shoe on his left foot. His other pant leg hung loosely
where his right leg has been amputated below his knee, but he gave no
hint of pain or discomfort.
At a certain point, Jennifer announced, “Suzette’s going to give him an
award.” It was akin to cake time at a birthday party. Everyone clapped
their hands and said, “Ooh! An award!”
I didn’t know what was more nerve wracking, trying to remember my
little speech or having Eunice and Maria Shriver staring at me not two
feet away. Pulling the plaque out, I stood up and said, "Art, I bring
you national greetings from your friends, fans and colleagues at the
National Society of Newspaper Columnists. We want to present you with
our 2006 Ernie Pyle Lifetime Achievement Award.
“As you can see, Ernie Pyle’s likeness graces the plaque because we
consider him to be our patron saint, a legendary columnist who brought
a human face to World War II with his stories about our soldiers,
simply and profoundly told. And in the tradition of extraordinary
columnists, you’ve shined a light on the politics of humanity. In that
sense, you’ve been patron saint of political satire for almost six
decades and we revere you.
“I bring congratulations and best wishes from the National Society of
Newspaper Columnists.” Everybody clapped and Art nodded his thanks.
Maria Shriver said, “Patron saint of political satire. I like that. See Art? You can be a saint.”
After they left, I found myself hanging out in hospice with Art and his
family. He looks great and still enjoys his food, which is a good sign.
It was pure pleasure not having anything to do, but to eat whatever he
wanted to eat, according to Buchwald. "His favorite breakfast is fruit
parfait, mini-cinnamon buns and chocolate milk from McDonald’s,” said
Tamara, his daughter-in-law.
NPR show host Diane Rehm had conducted a poignant interview with
Buchwald regarding his decision to forego further medical intervention,
which aired four days earlier on February 24. Buchwald’s candor was
stunning. It’s said that when facing death, a man’s life passes before
him, and this man passed along his feelings to Rehm, including his
fears (none), regrets (none) and any spiritual expectations (he’s not
sure, but probably none). Buchwald’s number is coming up, and he wants
to meet his fate squarely, sans any extraordinary means of delay, thank
you very much.
He read through a fat folder of fan mail, which later, Jennifer shared
with me. The emails, cards and letters saluted and supported him. Many
were tapped out with tears, according to their senders. Strangers wrote
with relief, as if Buchwald’s decision to captain his own destiny gave
them permission someday to do so, too.
The willingness to jump overboard and wave off any lifeboat seems quite
courageous, but Buchwald was unimpressed with the idea of bravery.
“I hated dialysis because it had to do with sitting there for five
hours. It had to do with time. Once I made up my mind, that was it,” he
told me.
“The end” is not taboo talk. In fact, Buchwald finds funny fodder in knock-knock-knocking on heaven’s door.
A nurse comes up, “Mr. Buchwald, Tom Brokaw is on the line.”
Buchwald takes the call, laughing, “Hey, I’m still here and I don’t know why…”
No doubt about it. Buchwald is a celebrity patient at hospice. Not
everyone gets letters from Neil Simon or daily visits from members of
the Kennedy clan. But hospice hasn’t been the non-stop party it was two
weeks ago, according to his daughter, at least not today, which was
fairly quiet. Time can stretch out in the warm living room where he
sits most of the time, napping.
Joel and his family visit three times a day. Jennifer quit school in
Massachusetts to be with her father. Whenever he slept nearby, she and
I read or wrote on our laptops. We took the occasional walk whenever
her dad wanted something special, like a fruit parfait from McDonalds.
“You better go now, and you might be lucky to get the last one,” Buchwald said.
The cold dessert perked him up and with no celebrities to compete with,
I pulled up a chair and asked him questions, like, “Art, why aren’t you
afraid of death?”
“Because I don’t know what it is and I don’t have control over it,” he said.
“If you met God, what would he say to you?”
“There may or may not be a God, but I’m not going to be the one who is
going to give the answers. Every religion is telling us there’s one
God, but I’m not sure, so I’m not giving it a lot of thought,” he said.
His daughter asked, “Dad, did you ever have a near death experience?”
Buchwald said, “Maybe during the war. It felt like near death in a
foxhole when it was being mobbed. It wasn’t a very pleasant thing.”
“Here, at hospice, what thoughts bring you joy?” I asked.
“My children, the fact that it all came out pretty damn good. Making people laugh, getting joy out of that,” he said.
Buchwald easily wrote about 8,000 columns during his career, according
to Crary. He wrote three columns a week until about 1995, and penned
two weekly until this past January. I asked, “Art, do you miss writing?
I know you’re not doing your columns anymore, but are there moments
when you’re here and you wish you could just tap out one more column?”
“No, not really. I wrote a column, a sad one to run the day after I go to heaven,” he said.
“What would you tell any humor columnists who want to be the next Art Buchwald?”
“You are what you are. At the time all these things happened to me,
newspapers were a great thing. If I tried to do it now, I might not
even succeed today. Newspapers don’t look at columns the way they used
to.”
Through the wooden slats just outside the windows, afternoon slices of
sun gave the room a warm, lazy feel. This hospice was his last stop.
Was it an uncomfortable thought?
Buchwald remained upbeat, “You gotta be somewhere and this is a pretty good place.” Then he added, “Now I’m going to sleep.”
He snoozed amid gifts and mementos. A box arrived, a gourmet frozen
dessert from a friend. Buchwald resembled a sleeping Buddha before a
table of orchids, spring bouquets and baskets of potted flowers.
Nearby, a white teddy bear wore a purple chapeau with a polka dotted
ribbon and white feather, a gift from one of the Kennedy clan.
I pressed a button, and the little bear’s head moved side to side and a
baby voice sang, “You fill up my thenses like a night in a foresth.”
"Hey, it’s singing Annie’s Song by John Denver and the bear has a lisp,” I said to his daughter and we giggled.
Jennifer said, “When he dies, it’s going with him.” Her father will be
cremated along with gifts and pictures of his family and closest
friends.
Later Buchwald took a call from his business agent. Afterwards, I asked him, “Did you have a nice conversation?”
He said, “Yeah, I told him I’m amazed. There’s no change.”
“Why are you amazed?”
“Because they said I’d be dead without dialysis. I’m not supposed to be doing this good,” Buchwald said.
“Maybe it’s the power of positive thinking. Maybe you’re being carried along on love.”
Later, it was time to fly back to Boston. My departure coincided with
the afternoon arrival of two Kennedy family members. We all said hello,
but now it was time for a goodbye kiss on the top of Art Buchwald’s
head.
He took my hand, “Thanks, honey, thanks for bringing the award.”
“Art, any pearls of wisdom for all the columnists who love you?”
“Keep writing. Tell them to just keep writing,” he said.
***
Ed. Note: Letters in response to this story are already pouring in. We are posting some of them in a separate story. You can send your comments to: [email protected]
Suzette Martinez Standring ([email protected]) is president of the National Society of Newspaper Columnists.
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