An author of over a thousand obituaries has died and no one has anything to say about him. The man whose identity has been kept private to protect his irrelevance was born. But that, and his work composing favourable life narratives about the notable deceased, is as far as knowledge of his existence or otherwise goes. He died at some unrecorded time before this article goes to print.
When asked to flesh out of the details of his day to day life, a friend would only say, “…”. A family member contacted by an anonymous go-between went even further, saying, “….” Meanwhile, staff at the n publication he worked at for n decades could or were willing to add little to descriptions, saying only, “.”
The man wrote obituaries for some of the most recognized figures in post-war British cultural history, including Montaine Baxter, former scout leader who would only box Greeks, Sir Shane Masters, Isle of Man tourism thousandaire, and former SAS captain Mike Deveres, who owned stables that Daily Telegraph reader, Angie Donalson, notoriously coveted.
Obituary writing has, ironically, proven hazardous work for many of its practitioners. It is undertaken in the mistaken belief that it may, juju-like, ward off the demise of the obituarist themselves. Yet, like other professions, it has a 100% death rate.
“…” said n at n. “…”