On June 5, 2004, gathered among the sagebrush and creosote of dusty New Mexico, the men and women of the sixth Great Obituary Writers’ Conference learned that Ronald Reagan, 40th president of the United States, had died. For their journalism colleagues around the world, the news bulletin killed half-formed thoughts of morning assignments, temporarily stilled clacking computer keys and sparked a frenzy of whirring tape recorders, telephone calls and lattes-to-go as reporters rushed to cover the sad news. In New Mexico, they thought it was a hoot. Obituarists. On the outside they are just another fact-checking body in a swivel chair. But while they share their office space with the meat-and-potatoes ‘trouble on Wall Street’ journalists, there is a distinct sense that something about them is a little . . . odd. Think of them as the indie scene of a …show more content…
Joan Harvey of the Oregonian chuckles as she recalls death notices of brave WWII heroes who were born in 1930. She says truth-stretching begins to surface after a blockbuster like Saving Private Ryan releases in theatres. Alana Baranick of the Plain Dealer says a popular line in Cleveland is to tell reporters that their dad beat future Olympian, Jesse Owens, in high school track and field in the 1930s. As it turns out, the only person ever to beat Owens was a poor, unknowing fellow in a rigged exhibition race for charity. For the roguish characters of the after-life, a whispered code is put in play by the obituarist; a truthful, yet gentle way of turning philanderers into romantically restless, and dead drunks into one having been known to enjoy a drink. The writers know what they mean to the families, but have established professional boundaries. Sandra Martin of the Globe and Mail says, “You are writing for your reader. Of course family members are going to be among them. They let you into their grief. There is a privilege to that, but you respect that grief, not pander to