The Last Will and Testament of Silverdene Emblem O'Neill:

Paul, a former classmate of mine, and his family, just lost their golden retriever, Maggie, after 14 years. He posted about it on Facebook, and a number of our former classmates sent along their condolences. It's remarkable the power that pets have on us, and one of most touching accounts of this loss was written by the playwright, Eugene O'Neill.

Here is an excerpt--for Paul and his family: The Last Will and Testament of Silverdene Emblem O'Neill:


I, SILVERDENE EMBLEM O'NEILL (familiarly known to my family, friends, and acquaintances as Blemie), because the burden of my years and infirmities is heavy upon me, and I realize the end of my life is near, do hereby bury my last will and testament in the mind of my Master. He will not know it is there until after I am dead. Then, remembering me in his loneliness, he will suddenly know of this testament, and I ask him then to inscribe it as a memorial to me.

I have little in the way of material things to leave. Dogs are wiser than men. They do not set great store upon things. They do not waste their days hoarding property. They do not ruin their sleep worrying about how to keep the objects they have, and to obtain the objects they have not. There is nothing of value I have to bequeath except my love and my faith. These I leave to all those who have loved me, to my Master and Mistress, who I know will mourn me most, to Freeman who has been so good to me, to Cyn and Roy and Willie and Naomi and -- But if I should list all those who have loved me, it would force my Master to write a book. Perhaps it is vain of me to boast when I am so near death, which returns all beasts and vanities to dust, but I have always been an extremely lovable dog.

I ask my Master and Mistress to remember me always, but not to grieve for me too long. In my life I have tried to be a comfort to them in time of sorrow, and a reason for added joy in their happiness. It is painful for me to think that even in death I should cause them pain. Let them remember that while no dog has ever had a happier life (and this I owe to their love and care for me). . .

What may come after death, who knows? I would like to believe with those of my fellow Dalmatians. . . that there is a Paradise where one is always young and full-bladdered. . . where each blissful hour is mealtime; where in long evenings there are a million fireplaces with logs forever burning, and one curls oneself up and blinks into the flames and nods and dreams, remembering the old brave days on earth, and the love of one's Master and Mistress. . . .

One last word of farewell, Dear Master and Mistress. Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long happy life with you: "Here lies one who loved us and whom we loved." No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.


FULL TEXT CAN BE FOUND AT http://www.eoneill.com/texts/blemie/contents.htm

Book Groups and a Chat with Richard Nixon

So here is what I’ve been doing: talking to reading groups about Comeback Love. A couple of groups are considering reading it, and I’ve promised to show up for the discussion. Sounds fascinating, and any other groups interested please be in touch. One group even talks to authors over Skype.

I’ve also been working on my Web site. Over the years people have asked to listen to some of the interviews I’ve done with world leaders, and so now the interviews are up and easier to find.

Each interview has a story surrounding it, but I’ve never written about that, saving those tales for the memoir I’ll probably never write. But here’s one from the Nixon interview.

At the time—June of 1989—I’d heard that the former president did not allow his interviews to be taped—an understandable aversion given the Watergate scandal. Still, I wanted a record of our conversation and figured bringing my tape recorder was a worth a shot. So the door to his office opens, and I stand up, go in, shake his hand, and say hello, and as I’m asking if he’d mind my taping our talk, I dropped my tape recorder—one of those clunky cassette machines—on his foot. Smooth, right? I picked up the recorder, and he smiled at me and said taping would be fine. All in all, he gave me an hour, most of it recorded, but oddly enough, a couple of weeks after the interview, Nixon began to write to me. And that’s a story for another time.