The Slow and the Dead

“Hey honey?” my wife said.

“Yeah?” I replied, recognizing the tone as the “this is the start of a request” variety and mentally gearing myself up to either run to the store, pick up some take-out, or fabricate an excuse why I would not be able to fix the front patio door at the moment.

“Terry asked if you could do her a favor.”

“Oh?” I replied, my interest peaked. Terry was May’s old friend from when they were both doing time at the post office, and had interests and hobbies that I was always intrigued by. For example, when they were selling their house, they may have lost a few potential buyers due to a totem pole of facsimile human heads out in the yard.

Anyway, I digress.

“Yeah,” May continued, “she wants to know if you will pick up a death certificate for a complete stranger that’s been dead since 1938.”

“I am 100% in,” I replied instantly.

Much more exciting than picking up some Coffeemate Natural Bliss brown sugar plant-based oat creamer!

The request was particularly interesting, but not for the reason that many may think.

Terry’s interest in death certificates for strangers who passed away in the last century is perfectly logical: she writes the “As Close To Crime” blog (http://asclosetocrime.blogspot.com/ and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/p/As-Close-to-Crime-100083675090763/?paipv=0&eav=AfbmR3K-xVui00N0WKyo0LTTHLEMHx8ISPMcgi6D4GSbjyM-c-KCfzAAnvdCcbaRmeo&_rdr as well) and unlike many bloggers who just regurgitate whatever they happened to stumble on via a Wikipedia page, Terry actually does a lot of actual research on her own. Like, reviewing-microfilm-at-her-local-library level of research. So, that she was looking for a death certificate wasn’t too surprising.

What was surprising is that she needed help on this, as she was extremely adept at obtaining proper documents without the need for any aid. In this case, however, she had been stymied in her effort to obtain a copy of the death certificate. She had mailed in the request with the proper form and a check for the requested fee to the appropriate New York state offices, but at the time of writing her check had yet to be cashed, meaning that no progress had been made.

Did her letter get lost on the way there? Was it buried under a pile of other requests? Was the person in charge flummoxed by this antiqued technology called a “check?”

Whatever the answer, Terry felt I might be able to help by going right to the source. According to the information she had already obtained, the person in question had died in a town not far from our house, so I should be able to go right to the town hall and request a copy directly. 

I was only too happy to help in this investigation!

Hence, the following week, I took a merry jaunt over to the aforementioned town hall. I arrived, parked, and walked into the building.

“Can I help you?” the security guard behind the clear plastic window asked me.

“Yeah, uh,” I inadvertently paused here, realizing how odd my request sounded when said out loud, “I am here to pick up a death certificate.”

“Ah, okay,” he said without a hitch. Apparently, this is just business as usual for a town hall. Who knew? “Take a right and it’s at the end of the hall on your right,” he explained. “The office for the Registrar of Vital Statistics.”

Kick ass – I want to be a registrar of vital statistics! How awesome would that be when being introduced at a cocktail party?

“So what do you do?” someone would ask. “I, personally, clerk for the U.S. supreme court.”

“I lead explorations of sunken vessels,” another person would haughtily announce, then turn to me and ask, “And you?”

“I am the Registrar of VITAL STATISTICS, BABY!” I would proclaim, and then let the sound of people’s jaws hitting the floor wash over me.

I was so enraptured with the fantasy that I actually got lost and had to backtrack.

The office itself was rather small and could only hold around 4-5 people. I know this because there were only about 4-5 people in there and I couldn’t even open the door all the way without it bumping against someone.

I managed to slip inside, and while others were waiting for some other type of non-death certificate, one of the clerks asked me what I was looking for.

“I am looking to get a death certificate,” I replied. “For someone else, not me,” I quickly clarified.

“What funeral home?” she responded, heading over to a large file cabinet.

Funeral home? Terry didn’t give me one, and even if she did, I suspect that since the person died almost 100 years ago, it was probably moot.

“Oh, uh,” I replied, “I don’t know. She died in 1938, if that helps.”

Everyone in the room, even the other clerks, took a moment to stare at me. I guess this type of request is a bit more unusual.

The clerk at hand, though, kept her cool. “Okay. What’s your relation?”

Heh heh… this is not quite going to plan….

“Uh, none. Someone is writing a story about her and sent me to pick up the death certificate.”

Certainly nothing shady about such a response, right?

Fortunately, while the rest of the people waiting continued to give me the side-eye, the clerk was the epitome of professionalism, and matter-of-factly told me that I needed to fill out a genealogy request form. I picked one up, headed back home, and traded some texts with Terry to get the details needed. Basically, it was just some information about the person in question, and the reason for the request. Given that the person was dead for more than 50 years, the certificate was considered a matter of public record.

The next day, with the freshly-completed form, I made my way back to the town hall. And this time, I stated I was there for a death certificate with the full confidence of a man whose mission was critical in upholding the free press.

Even better, I did not get lost on my way to the office.

Best yet, this time I was the only person in the waiting area and even stretched out to enjoy the whole 2 foot by 5 foot space!

The bad news? The clerk could not find this person in their database.

We even tried using their maiden name, and also checked the years 1937 and 1939. 

It was a bizarre moment, as after all of the effort that Terry had gone through, I was wondering if this person actually existed, or was like Michael Knight and was currently driving around the U.S. foiling crime. Did we hit a dead end? (No pun intended.) Was it just a matter of a clerical error? Or, more likely really, did we accidentally stumble across some vast government cover-up, and now we're on a top-secret government watchlist?

I left the town hall dejected, having failed in my mission.

Terry was rightfully annoyed, as she doesn’t want to publish her blog post until she has all the facts confirmed (again, higher journalistic standards than pretty much any cable news show), so this meant she would have to wait for possibly months until hearing back from the state office, assuming she heard back at all.

In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye out for any black helicopters showing up at my home. Hopefully they at least wait until I finish dessert.