Party Hearty, Morty!

I know what you’re thinking. “Hey, Hurls, either that’s a typo or you don’t know the phrase. It’s supposed to be Marty, not Morty.”

To which I say, “You are wrong cemetery breath.” The Latin root for death is Mort, as in mortician or mortal. It’s the reason that Death, as played by the creepy Christopher Walken, is named Morty in Click. I’m not sure why he works at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, though. Sorry, I digress.

So Morty is the perfect word in my title. Still unclear? Consider this a PSA for those among you who need a killer idea for a party (see what I did there?).

Back in the 90’s, the Hurleys were pretty well known for our parties at 718 Eastman Drive. Melanie was the hostess with the mostest, kids filled in the grunt work, and I was the creative juice. There was A Salute to Fruit, an evening dedicated to the exaltation of fruits over veggies. We partied deep into the night with a What About Bob theme (complete with t-shirts that announced, “Don’t Hassle Me, I’m Local”). Of course we also celebrated Groundhog Day; that was a party I thought would never end. We also had several iterations of The Birthday Blitz! All winners, all memorable.

But the biggest hit of all may well have been our Death Party. It wasn’t ghastly Halloween or ghoulish in any way. It was more like one of those shards of light that pierces through dark clouds.

I believe the genesis to this one came about at a funeral, a young man who died suddenly and left behind a wife and two kids. At the visitation, there was an open mic where folks celebrated Dale’s life, told stories of his kindness and benevolence. Neighbors, co-workers, friends and family took their turn. I was truly impressed. Dale deeply touched others, but I’m not sure he knew that. What a shame.

Melanie thought I was a loon when I offered up the idea of a Death Party. I had to explain the concept. It wasn’t a party to celebrate Death so much. Rather it was a party to celebrate lives. I thought people would be dying to come. I was right.

When guests arrived, they were given two notecards. On one, they simply jotted their name. On the other, they wrote a short description of how one might die. It’s not nearly as grim as it sounds, I promise.

The room was decorated with black streamers but also with festive rainbow images and lots of color. The table featured Hurley Cookies (of course) and other treats. Naturally, the cookies were the bomb. Strewn all around the table were photocopied pages from Fatal Facts, a book that detailed all manner of famous deaths, last words, odd ways to die. You get the idea.

We had various games planned, all tied somehow to death. There were video clips, like the funeral of Chuckles the Clown from The Mary Tyler Moore Show (“A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants”). We also showed the finale of The End, a dark comedy with Burt, Sally, and Dom. You get the idea.

All that was frosting on the cupcake. The real purpose of the party was to celebrate all the folks who came. Throughout the evening, I set a timer, with the duration known only to me. Wherever we were in the festivities, when the timer went off, everything halted. Watching a video? Hit Pause. Eating? Plates down. The timer, like Death, waits for no man or woman.

When it chimed, a card was randomly pulled from the bowl with all the names. Whoever’s card came up, let’s call him John, that person stepped up to bowl #2. John pulled a card to determine his manner of death. One person had a plane crash into their house. Another tried unsuccessfully to foil a bank robbery. I think there was a grizzly bear in there too.

Upon news of his demise, John stepped into the laundry room, hidden from the rest of the throng. For the next several minutes, we eulogized John. Real stories, real sentiment and gratitude for his life. With John sequestered, we were able to honestly compliment and celebrate him. Best of all, he heard every word. Long before he died, John got a taste of how others saw his life. Then I reset the timer, and we picked up where we left off. Until the timer rang again.

For each subsequent interruption, the last person to “die,” would randomly choose the next victim who then chose their personal cause of death. And so the evening went. Games, videos, food, and untimely “deaths.” Everyone took their turn in the laundry room, everyone heard the heartfelt expressions of friends.

Anyone who knows me, knows I don’t mock death, nor do I doubt the existence of Heaven. During his service, I’m sure Dale looked down from above and appreciated the many kind words.

But life is tough, my friends. Really tough. It can be a real grind to get to the next day. It ain’t all sunshine and happy unicorns out there. How much better to hear some encouraging words while we live, while we could really use a lift?

Thanks for reading!

If you like this blog, please subscribe with an email address in the box below. It’s quick, simple, and free. Also, check out my books on Amazon.

I’m also on Twitter, examining life through the eyes of Devlin Spudd–HERE!

Have you ordered yet? Both books are available through Amazon, on Kindle or paperback. It’s good stuff!

Click HERE to order.

Share this:

• Facebook
• X