Winking, Buchwald knocks on death's door

Too Soon to Say Goodbye
By Art Buchwald
Random House, 181 pp., $17.95

Nearly a year ago, doctors told Art Buchwald that his failing kidneys would kill him within weeks unless he went on dialysis. Buchwald decided against the treatment and checked into a hospice. But a funny thing happened on his deathbed: He didn't die. And so Buchwald, a humor columnist, did what he has been doing so well for decades -- he wrote about it.

The result is a memoir, "Too Soon to Say Goodbye," a funny, moving, and ultimately uplifting book on a subject that is still taboo to many. Dying, he writes, isn't hard compared with snagging a parking place in Washington, D.C., or getting reimbursed by Medicare.

Last February, Buchwald entered the Washington Home and Hospice, which, as his health held up, turned into his salon, with visits from family and old friends such as Walter Cronkite, Ben Bradlee, John Glenn, and Tom Brokaw. Buoyed by the outpouring of attention, Buchwald has found his "dying days" the best of his life, and he invites readers to the party.

The book's opening chapter is vintage Buchwald: a dream in which he is headed for heaven, leaving out of Dulles Airport. He runs into friends, is scanned by security because of his pacemaker, and inquires about frequent flyer miles. "You won't need any because you're not coming back," says the agent. Then the loudspeaker announces that because of inclement weather, the flight to heaven has been canceled; he can come back tomorrow and fly standby. It's a fitting metaphor for the past year of his life.

The memoir isn't all laughs: Buchwald recalls growing up motherless, in foster care, and writes about his depression and the painful separation from his wife of 40 years. But he spends most of his ink on his impending death, which he seems to be facing with remarkable courage, grace, and, of course, humor.

One hilarious chapter deals with his funeral plans, which include cremation, an obituary in The New York Times ("I also make sure no head of state or Nobel Prize winner dies on the same day"), the sprinkling of ashes over every Trump building in New York, and a memorial service at Carnegie Hall. Watches, he says, will be checked at the door so people can't keep checking the time during the service.

Most of the chapters read like his columns: punchy and satirical. One of the main targets of Buchwald's mordant humor is himself. He wants his obit to read not that he died after a long illness, but that "he died at age 98 on a private tennis court, just after he aced Andre Agassi." In a takeoff on the silly bestseller "The Five People You Meet in Heaven," Buchwald lists those he doesn't want to meet, including a girlfriend who dumped him, the woman who stole his parking place at the mall, and the insurance guy who wouldn't pay for damages to his house. Who does he want to meet? Ava Gardner, Grace Kelly, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth, and Judas (he wants to learn the truth about the Judas Scrolls).

Buchwald has been getting mail from strangers all over the world wanting to know why he seems so happy. "I'm happy because I'm still here," he replies. "I never knew how many perks were involved with dying. I have to be honest; I've enjoyed every minute of it." But he makes it clear that he realizes how lucky he is to have the medical, financial, and emotional support he needs, that he has been granted a rare and rich reprieve.

The epilogue includes eulogies from those he has asked to speak at his funeral, including his daughter Jennifer, who concludes: "Make them laugh in heaven." That has certainly been Art Buchwald's earthly job, and so far, he seems to be having the last laugh.