I’m always thinking about what I want to address in this blog, always looking for correlations in life that translate into Death lessons. So many situations have presented themselves lately—situations that would make excellent teaching moments or observations on life and its unpredictability.  There are birthdays and signs in restrooms at ball fields and folks who still believe Tennessee recognizes common law marriage (news flash . . . they don’t) . . . and then Gene Wilder died.  I never met him, although my brother-in-law did and found him to be “a kind and gentle man”, but I appreciated the body of work he left behind, especially those movies that also involved Mel Brooks.

The first VHS tape my husband and I ever owned was “Young Frankenstein” starring Gene Wilder as the descendent of the doctor who was infamous for his piecing together of the deceased in an attempt to recreate life. The young doctor so despised his heritage that he even refused to use the same pronunciation of his name, choosing rather to be known as “Froderick Frahnkensteen”.  I gave it to Joe as either a Christmas or birthday gift; it’s been so long ago that I can’t remember which.  It was a used one in good condition because we were newly married and money wasn’t exactly plentiful.  Even then the bloomin’ thing cost me $70.00.  That’s 1978 $70.00; new would have been much higher.  Of course, those were the days when VCRs were the latest technology so everything about them was expensive.  Now that I think about it, the occasion must have been Christmas since I seem to remember my parents giving us a VCR as our Christmas present.  Joe didn’t understand why he had a VHS tape and nothing to play it on until much later in the day.

My children grew up watching that movie and if anyone ever quoted one line, our entire family joined in and we worked our way through every scene. My daughter revealed later that she used it as a test to determine if her then boyfriend (and now husband) was a keeper.  If he hadn’t laughed, he’d have left.  Fortunately, Dennis found it as funny as the rest of us.

Later Mr. Wilder would give life to Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka, making every small child—and any honest adult—wish there really was a factory with an edible candy garden through which a river of liquid chocolate flowed, all overseen by an eccentric candy maker with a heart of pure gold.

Eventually we allowed our children to watch “Blazing Saddles” although we probably didn’t wait nearly long enough for that one. I remember my father taking us to see it in some mall while we were on some trip.  He laughed until he cried while my mother sat there, stone-faced in absolute silence.  As we left the theater he was still laughing while wiping his eyes with his ever-present handkerchief and attempting to apologize for taking us to see it.

The flood of memories associated with someone that I know only through his portrayal of others has amazed me in its depth. And even though Gene Wilder hadn’t been extremely active artistically in his later years, the news of his death brought a profound sadness to his countless fans—me included.  That night my daughter and her husband watched “Young Frankenstein” in his memory; she told me next might be “Willy Wonka” or perhaps “Blazing Saddles”.  She hadn’t decided which at that point, but nightly watching of Gene Wilder movies would definitely happen.  It is surprising how those we do not truly know can bring about such grief, not because they are no longer present in our lives—since they never really were—but because we simply know they are no longer here.  We watch them as they bring fantasy to life and know they will never create that magic again.  My one consolation is that whenever I want to visit with “Froderick” or Willy Wonka, the Waco Kid or Sigerson Holmes, Sherlock’s smarter brother—or relive the memories they helped me make—all I have to do is start up the DVD player . . . or the VCR.

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