Last year my husband’s uncle died.  His name was Joe M. Thomas.  My husband’s name is Joseph E. Thomas, but everyone knows him as Joe.  Can you see where this is headed?  Coincidentally, when the hospital called to release Joe M. to us, Joe E. was the person answering the phones after hours.  We were sitting in the Mexican restaurant having our traditional Sunday evening meal when he took the call, greeting the caller in his usual manner . . . “Shackelford’s.  Joe Thomas”.

There was this long pause on the other end of the line . . .

The nurse in charge of releasing Joe M.’s remains was amazed and then afraid when someone with the same name took her call.  Afraid because she feared this was a family member who was unaware of the death; amazed because, come on . . . what are the odds?  And that, my friends, is the entire point of this missive.

We went to great lengths to circumvent the confusion that we knew was preparing to pounce after the announcement of Joe M.’s demise.  On our website, we specified that he had reached the ripe old age of 90, but it didn’t matter.  Evidently, everyone thought Joe E. was hiding his age really well.  People called the funeral home, tearfully bemoaning his death and wailing in doubt about how we could ever continue without him.  I guess if there was a silver lining to all the confusion, at least Joe E. heard the things most of us don’t get until after we’re dead and gone.

It wasn’t until we got Joe M.’s picture on the website that the calls slowed down.  But you can’t put a picture on a recorded obituary information line . . .

And that, people, brings me to my point.  Most everyone who heard the name got their daily dose of exercise by jumping to conclusions.  They didn’t read the related age.  They didn’t call to confirm or wait until more information was available.  Joe Thomas was dead and they only knew one Joe Thomas so it had to be him—and with that certainty, the news spread like wild fire.  Never mind that at one time there were at least three in Savannah, one of whom was a doctor.  (Don’t even get me started on the calls we got at home asking us for a sight unseen diagnosis.  I would tell them my husband worked at the funeral home and I didn’t think they wanted us just yet.  They’d laugh and agree, but one lady still asked if I knew what time the clinic opened.)

When it comes to the word around town, especially a small town, there are three points to always remember:

If you pay attention to, and follow, those three points, there is a good possibility you won’t find yourself guilty of believing, and then spreading, false information about an alleged death.  And, amazingly enough, this also works quite well in other areas of life.

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