Statesmanjournal Obituaries

Let’s talk obituaries. Specifically, the Statesmanjournal ones. You might think they’re just sad. You’d be wrong.

They are fascinating. Tiny biographies of real people. Think of them as micro-novels with killer endings.

The Quirky Job Titles

Where else can you find a “professional cat-wrangler” or a “retired pickle evaluator”? These titles are gold. One recent gem: “Volunteer master of whistling for community theater.”

It makes you wonder. What did they whistle? Show tunes? Bird calls? The obituary won't say. That mystery is the fun part.

Hobbies That Will Shock You

These people lived. They didn’t just work. One obituary bragged: “She once arm-wrestled a kangaroo at a county fair and won.”

Another said: “He collected doorknobs from every state. His favorite was from Delaware.” Delaware? Really? That’s a story begging to be told over coffee.

You get actual personality. Not just “loved gardening.” More like “grew tomatoes that terrorized the neighbors with their size.” I love that energy.

The Family Shade

Sometimes, families get sassy. It’s fantastic. “She is survived by her husband, Bob, who she always said could never find the butter in the fridge.”

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Or: “Predeceased by his patience, which ran out in 1985.” You can feel the inside joke. The Statesmanjournal lets that slide. Good for them.

It’s like reading a family’s final roast. Done with love. And a little bit of spice.

The Wacky Final Requests

These are the best. “Donations may be made to the local banana museum or to the ‘Buy Jim a Beer’ fund.” Yes, that’s real.

Another asked: “Please wear polka dots to the service. No black. I hate sad colors.” That’s a party, not a funeral.

Some request a “moment of loud silence” where everyone shouts “hooray.” I’m doing that at my own funeral. Sorry in advance.

Why This Is Fun

You learn about people you’ll never meet. A retired lighthouse keeper who knitted sweaters for seagulls. A teacher who wrote secret love poems to the school janitor for 30 years.

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Each obituary is a tiny time capsule. It’s history without the homework. It’s drama without the commitment.

You start to think: “What would my obituary say?” Would it be “loved long walks”? Or “once ate a whole pizza in six minutes”? Be honest.

The Unexpected Community

Reading them turns into a wacky game. You hunt for the weirdest detail. “Survived by his pet tortoise, Speedy, age 47.” That tortoise is probably at the reading going, “Took him long enough.”

It connects us. Death is universal. But these stories make it feel less scary and more human.

So next time you’re bored, skip the news. Dive into the Statesmanjournal obituaries. You’ll laugh, you’ll gasp, you’ll wonder who the heck “Cookie the clown” really was.

Trust me. It’s the best reality show you’re not watching.