Last week after I attended a public memorial for actor Hamilton Camp, I wrote something here that drew a great deal of e-mail response. Most of the event was wonderful, with people who knew Hamilton well telling tales that reminded us all what a special, gifted man he was. But there were a couple of folks who somehow seemed to think, "Ah! A microphone and a chance to talk at length about my career!" This has unfortunately been true at most of the funerals and memorial services I've attended the last few years, and not just those where a "show biz" crowd was gathered. Some people just don't seem to understand that you pay tribute to someone by talking about them, not about yourself, and that very few speeches are worth much more than about five minutes.
The two best eulogies I've ever heard were delivered by Alan Alda (at the funeral for writer Don Segall) and by Carl Reiner (at the services for Howard Morris). I think Alda spoke for around seven minutes and Reiner for about six, and those ought to be the benchmarks. Don't go over five unless you're as clever and talented as Alan Alda and Carl Reiner. And don't go over eight at all.
My posting last week brought notes of agreement from more than a dozen folks who were at the Camp memorial, and as many more who weren't there but have cringed at other such events when someone got up and made everyone sit through a half-hour infomercial for themselves. As one noted, and as I should have, "Part of the problem is this idea that at a public memorial, anyone who wants to should be able to get up and speak for as long as they want. Setting it up that way is practically inviting people who have very little to say about the deceased to get up at the podium and ramble on and on and on about whatever they feel like talking about."
This afternoon, I spoke at a different kind of memorial event. Every January, A.S.I.F.A. (the International Animated Film Society) joins with The Animation Guild and Women in Animation to stage "An Afternoon of Remembrance." It's kind of a mass service for everyone in the cartoon business who passed away the previous year. They had a lot of them this time: Don Adams, Rueben Apodaca, Henry Corden, Howard Morris, Ed Friedman, Vance Gerry, Joe Grant, Wendy Jackson Hall, Gene Hazelton, Selby Kelly, Derek Lamb, Norm Prescott, Joe Ranft, Thurl Ravenscroft, Hal Seeger, Paul Winchell and 38 others. Some friend or associate spoke about each, with speeches ranging from less than a minute to a strictly-enforced maximum of three. A gent in view of the rostrum held up a sign to indicate "one minute left" and another to tell people to wrap it up.
It worked very well. At least while I was there, no one used the whole three minutes but no one was rushed and no one really had the time or inclination to speak of anything but the deceased. I talked about Don Adams and Howie Morris…and I could have gone on about either of those guys — Howie, especially — for twenty minutes if I'd just wanted the joy of commanding an audience and if I hadn't cared about forcing people to sit there for too long. It was no hardship at all to keep it brief. If you ever find yourself about to get up at a memorial service to speak about a departed friend, show his friends and family the courtesy of keeping it brief. And it helps if you talk about the dead person.