The Courant Obits

Let’s be honest: nobody wants to read the obituaries. They’re the sad, grey corner of the newspaper where we acknowledge that yes, we are all on a one-way trip to cremation or a very nice plot of grass.

But the C courante obits? They’re different. They’re less a wet blanket and more a fireworks display of forgotten lives, weird jobs, and heroic bingo streaks.

The Secret Soap Opera

Here’s the surprising fact: the Courant loves a good scandal, but only after you’re dead. You’ll learn that Mrs. Phyllis Hendershot, who seemed like a sweet grandma, once wrestled a burglar in her bathrobe. The obit doesn’t just mention it; it brags about it.

Then there’s the professional title inflation. One guy is listed as “World’s Okayest Hot Dog Eater.” Another is “Retired Captain of the Tuesday Night Bowling League.” The Courant knows that titles are a joke, and they print them with a straight face.

The Weird and the Wonderful

I once read about a man who “invented a machine that could polish a potato.” Did it work? Absolutely no one knows. But the obit treated it like a Nobel Prize. The amount of pride stuffed into these three-paragraph life summaries is frankly unbelievable.

They also love a good hobby. You’ll see “survived by his collection of 4,000 unopened ketchup packets.” Or “she was known for yelling at squirrels.” These aren’t dull lives; they’re magnificent failures at being boring.

an older woman with white hair smiling at the camera

Let’s not forget the “unexpected” deaths. The Courant obits are masters of dramatic irony. “He passed away suddenly while pruning his prized petunia,” it reads. You picture a man, a flower, and a tragic slip. It’s a horror movie, but with gardening puns.

Why You Should Actually Read Them

Forget the front page. That’s just politicians yelling. The obits are the real history. They tell you that your neighbor once rode a unicycle to work for a month. They remind you that everyone is a little bit unhinged, and they wait until you’re dead to show it.

There’s also the accidental hilarity. One obit for a local historian said “he is predeceased by his patience.” Another for a shopkeeper claimed “she never met a coupon she didn’t like, or a store clerk she didn’t argue with.” It’s passive-aggressive poetry.

Hartford Courant Obituaries

The Final Punchline

But the best part is the “In lieu of flowers” section. Some people ask for donations to a charity. The Courant regulars ask for “donations of old socks to the local animal shelter” or “a party in their name where everyone must eat pie.”

One absolute legend requested that mourners “please do not wear black. Wear neon pink. It’s what she would have wanted.” And she probably did want that. She was the one who chased that burglar in a bathrobe.

So, next time you’re sipping your latte and feeling gloomy, flip to the Courant obits. It’s not a death notice. It’s a comedy club where the headliners are already gone. They couldn’t take the joke with them, but they left the script. Read it. You’ll laugh—and then you’ll hope your own obit is this weird.