As you may have noticed from previous postings, one of my best friends is Dan Kurtycz. Among his many contemporary august honors are his titles as Medical Director of the Wisconsin State Laboratory of Hygiene, and Professor at the Department of Pathology and Laboratory Medicine for the University of Wisconsin, Madison, School of Medicine and Public Health. An amazing doctor, teacher, trainer of technicians, executive and tech guy (Dan was also one of the first people in the world to cut a chromosome with an electron microscope, and to this day is alway a step ahead of the technological curve), Dan is also husband to the wonderful Tina Iyama, proud father of two amazing boys, David and Jonathan, a fun-loving Role-Player and Game Master, and a superb friend.
Of course, our friendship goes back to the dim and misty days of 1969, when he and I were both undergrads at Wayne State University (at which point, I should also point out, that we were both card-carrying UAW members and veterans of the Detroit Auto Industry, he at Ford, and me at G.M.). We both gravitated to the new science fiction group on campus, the Wayne Third Foundation, and we had a lot in common, including dating the lovely Paula Layton (I got the first date, and she was the first girl I ever kissed, but he won the long-term relationship).
By the autumn of 1970 we were good friends. Good enough friends to have some great arguments, and to badger each other from time to time. The conversation in question when like this:
Me: “Dan, you can’t know when you’re going to die.”
Dan: “Maybe not. But I know when you’re going to die.”
Me: “What?”
Dan: “Yeah, I know when you are going to die.”
Me: “What are you talking about?”
Dan: “I know exactly when you are going to die.”
Me: “When?”
Dan: “April 24th.”
Me: “What?!?!”
Dan: “Erick, you are going to die next year, on April 24th, 1971.”
Seeing he had hit a nerve, Dan didn’t give up the certainty of his prediction. To the contrary, he enrolled most of my friends, and for a time wearing an ‘April 24′ button was quite popular.
Eventually, of course, as with all fads, the craze died away, and things returned, more or less, to normal.
Until Saturday, April 24th, 1971 rolled around.
At that point I was living in the back of a grocery store, operated by myself, and my senior partner, Dan LaFleche, recently retired USMC Sergeant, fellow WSU student, fellow science fiction fan. Dan LaFleche and I rented the place from Dan Kurtycz’s mother, and kept it open all hours. So, naturally, it became a favorite hang out for all our friends (snacks were always available!), and where we could play board games to all hours (this being long before role-playing, we just inserted role-playing into Risk, Diplomacy and whatever other games we could find).
So it was mid-morning in west-side Detroit, on a slow Saturday (school days were much busier, since we were directly across the street from the O.W. Holmes Elementary School), and I was happily reading a science fiction paperback whilst tending the quiet cash register.
In walks Dan Kurtycz, both hands full, right past me, back behind the counter, and down the trap door to the basement.
Not a word to me. No ‘hello,’ no nothing.
A few moments later I hear banging.
“Dan, what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m building your coffin.”
So began the strangest day of my life.
Sure enough, Dan was building a coffin. Eventually it would be painted black with a nice lining. It was only the first of many, many elaborate preparations. And Dan was only the first of many, many participants in the day’s events.
When evening fell the place was packed, refreshments were flowing, and there were several interesting costumes.
By far the best costume, and maybe the best costume I’ve ever seen, was worn by my roommate, senior partner, great friend, and mentor, Dan LaFleche. He came out in full executioner’s rig. Black boots, tight black pants, bare chested (and the man had muscles, a wide chest, and the biggest wrists you’ve ever seen), with a perfectly fitted executioner’s hood, capping his head down to the nose, leaving his solid jaw and malicious grin for all to see. I’d never seen a better period outfit, and I’d never seen LaFleche filled with such glee.
I immediately fled the house.
Well, then, or when someone put a target around my neck and started a rubber dart game with me as the target, or when the pall bearers showed up with the finished coffin, complete with the finished effigy of me (how they’d managed to duplicate my signature hat, jacket and boots I’ll never know!), or maybe there was something else that tipped the balance. All I know is that my courage only went so far, and from that point I watched the following proceedings from a safe distance, generally outside the fence of our back yard.
The next events included some kind of formal proclamation of my various crimes and misdemeanors (arrogance and being mouthy come to mind, but I can’t recall exactly), followed by a trial, sentencing and a verdict (death, of course), and then a very elaborate multi-stage execution. It seems everyone wanted a piece of the execution. After the dummy Erick was nailed to the back wall (ouch!), there was a firing range involving bows and hunting arrows, various axes and swords, and our gentlest, largest friend Randy Bathurst wielding a medieval morning star, plus the mandatory wooden stake to the heart.
I came back into the house around the time the funeral had turned into a wake, and the coffin became the repository for innumerable empty cans and bottles.
Definitely one of the most vivid, most memorable events of my life. My first funeral.
Many thanks to my good buddy, Dan Kurtycz!
Erick (San Rafael, California)
