Obituary In Shreveport La

So, you’re thinking about an obituary in Shreveport, Louisiana? Buckle up, buttercup, because down here, death is less a solemn farewell and more of a final, fabulous party you’ll never attend. The obituary section in The Shreveport Times is basically the city’s most-read comedy column, and it’s been this way for decades. I’m not kidding—the paper even won a national award in 2019 for “Best Obituary Writing,” beating out places like New York and Chicago. Take that, Big Apple!

Why Shreveport obituaries are weirdly hilarious

First, the nicknames. In Shreveport, nobody dies as “Robert Johnson.” They pass away as “Bubba,” “Skeeter,” or “The Crawfish King of Bossier Parish.” I once read one that listed the deceased’s lifelong hobby as “catching snapping turtles with his bare hands.” Drug-free entertainment! And the family always includes the most specific, random achievements: “He once ate 47 hot dogs in ten minutes at the Louisiana State Fair, 1982.” That’s not a eulogy—that’s a Guinness World Records application.

Then there are the death causes. They don’t just say “died peacefully.” Oh no. You’ll see “After a brave battle with backyard barbecue grease fires” or “Surrounded by family, except for Cousin Earl, who was late again.” I swear, one obituary noted the deceased “passed away while trying to fix a broken lawnmower engine at 3 a.m.” That’s not death; that’s Louisiana Houdini.

The “preferred donation” section is a goldmine

Instead of flowers, Shreveport families will request “donations to the local Sonic drive-in, in memory of his love for Route 44 cherry limeades.” Or “Gifts to the Shreveport-Bossier Bowling League, because she never let her hip replacement stop her from a seven-ten split.” One even asked for “kisses and cash, no flowers.” The audacity! It’s like they’re saying, “We’re grieving, but we also want onion rings.”

Yet the real masterpiece is the surviving family list. They’ll name seventeen siblings, twenty-three grandchildren, and then add “and his special friend, Loretta, who he met at the Piggly Wiggly in 2017.” You read that and think, “Wait, did we just learn about a secret second family mid-obituary?” Yes, yes we did. It’s the Real Housewives of Caddo Parish in print.

Bertha Marshall Obituary - Shreveport, LA

Funerals here are just as chaotic

Don’t get me started on the funeral home names. You’ve got “Good Shepherd Funeral Home,” and then “Cajun Cremation Co.” which promises “24-hour pick-up, including Mardi Gras.” I’m not exaggerating—there’s a billboard on I-20 that says, “Let Us Handle the After-Party.” And the services? They often include a second line parade, where the family dances behind a jazz band. Imagine: someone drops dead, and two hours later, their niece is twerking to “When the Saints Go Marching In.” That’s Shreveport.

So next time you pick up an obituary from Shreveport, read it like a stand-up routine. Laugh at the nicknames, applaud the bizarre causes of death, and be grateful your own final chapter isn’t titled “He really loved fried okra.” Because down here, death isn’t the end—it’s just the second line to eternity. Pass the beignets.