"shameful mortuary story, part one"
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march 15th It was winter but not freezing. Jim Colvin and I got a HOUSE CALL at an apartment in Arapahoe County. Twas a coroner call and we had no idea what we were walking into. First of all we can sigh with disgust , right off, because we can see we're gonna have to bring Corpsey Lorpsey down MANY stairs and round sharp corners. It's one of those hideous Aurora apartment complexes. We see les coroner lady at a third floor railing as we pull up. Give her a little beep so she knows we've spotted her. We pack where we DAMN WELL PLEASE. How cheesy is it that we have magnetic "coroner" signs to slap on the van? When we enter the apartment, to the right we see a bored group of bad suit wearing homicide detectives. They're NOT playing cards but YOU could see them that way and still be in les esprit du moment, okay? They're chattin round the deceased's kitchen table. Coroner woman (Rachel, was it you on this call? I can't recall) leads us through les sloppy living room towards les back bedroom, k? Now as we walk in there I see a HUGE pile on les floor. I figure if one chants "here, corpsey lorpsey," one might find that it's under this dirty laundry. But no. There is a hallway stemming from les back of the bedroom ;and unmistakably we have ARRIVED. What we have here (temper, temper) is the corpse of a 23 year old male. No shirt. He's wearing blue jeans and he's wet himself. Everything is all quiet and distrustful and shameful for those of us still LIVING. Now, Lorpsey...he don't care. He's lying flat on les floor. Already been cut down by les fire department. Above us we see an open attic portal. When we take les corpse we are taking with us les auto tow rope he used to hangsy wangsy. Why, hons, we gather it all up and just slop it right there on his bare chest. Try and look around. QUICK. Take knowledge with you. LOOK. What do we see as we put on les rubber gloves? Well, I'll be dammed, we see the phone has been pulled out of the wall and smashed to les floor. We see a broken picture frame containing les photo of Whom?... this must be HER, his HER Did this girl in her early 20's drive this boy MAD? Was it her he was speaking with on les phone? Snap snap go les gloves. The boy aint FAT so it's not a strain to get him on les gurney. But we do have to screw around with the blankets a bit cuz he is tall, feet sticking out.... can't have that as we MAGICALLY appear on the landing and have the crowd that's gathered below take that in. "I could never do THAT," we hear them say about US as we struggle from one open visible stairway to the next. Later, people like THEM, turn into people like YOU, some of you, on les internet, oh, you'll gawk until we slam les van doors and clear the parking lot, but now you'll BLAME me for what I see up in those apartments and over at the coroners. You'll compare this to some personal death of yours. Like these things don't happen to US, we grim reapers. (why, why, why didn't I get around to sending Maya Angelou's "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings," to my Mother in the months she lay dying. She ASKED me for it, and though I worked a few blocks from Coliseum Book in midtown, I didn't make it there, and though there was a Barnes & Noble adjacent to the subway exit nearest my East Village apartment, still, I let it slip. (That's the ONLY glimpse like THAT you'll get from me by the way.) Let's go callously ONWARDS with this disconnected relentless DEATH. So Colvin and I drive over to les Coroner's office. It is in the same building with a portion of the Arapahoe County Sheriff's Department. We must call les Sheriffs to get them to press the button to open the garage door. (Later, I'll be escorted through this garage in handcuffs many times, fresh off the jail bus on the way to court in a nearby building.)(Corpse abuse charges.) So, snarlin' Colvin and I roll les corpse on the platform and press a button that elevates the platform to the door of the Coroner's office. Once inside, we do some markin here, some taggin there. There is a poster on the wall and at the bottom is discretely written the four digit combination to les cooler. Bye Bye mon petit Suicide. We've cleared you off our gurney and placed you on the coroner's tray. And oh what happened then is RICH. Sound the Tuba! Make a terribly droll noise as I tell you this simple thing. This is about les dirty worst I non accidentally did in les Miz biz. When I got home, (are you with me people?)(can you see my home at this point is a miserable rooming house so dark and dingy) ...when I got home I was STILL in this particular death's movie like suction. See. So pronounced and brightly lit a youthful suicide. And, I reached under my bed, see, and I pulled out...... I pulled out something you'll have to read about in tomorrow's posting. It is time to go to lunch, and this is a memory I carry, anyway, always convenient, it's right THERE, can surface anytime and is subject to interruption. About "Perfect," I think I met Kevin Raburn. He (or someone) approached me RE: R. case. We both had lousy LACKLEN for an excuse of a lawyer. But we never knew how much to say to each other but "this sucks." Paranoia. "Raffertys" restaurant, where he worked, is yet another place I mailed an"I'm being screwed, the Ramsey's lawyers manipulated my evidence" letter. When I see treatments of nicety nice handicapped people and how they're a-singin and a-dancin, and overcoming challenges, I wanna tear my bleedin liver out and cry, jump over les railing on the tier etc. All because of what people THINK about me. A FEATURE of these particular weeks is that the idiot who kept causing so many problems for me on the work crew is ALWAYS allowed to "volunteer" to clean the module during lockdown times. They KNOW he's PROBLEMATIC, (don't they Dep.Trujillo) but they let him roam further and farther than others. They do this daily. They do this TWICE daily. current | 1999 | 1998 | colfax diaries |