A Manfred Memorial

Two weeks ago, as I driving through a small Bavarian town near me. One I drive through regularly and thought about a former employee, Manfred. He worked for me when I was in Germany the first time and retired not long after I left. Later that day I received an email that stopped me, Manfred had passed away.

On Saint Patrick’s Day, I attended Manfred’s funeral.

I had an opportunity to speak. This is the second funeral I have spoken at, and I decided that I want to speak at every funeral I ever attend. That’s a subtle joke about immortality—which I shall believe in as long as I live—not a request to speak. In fact, I would rather my family and friends not die to keep up my streak.

My author friends understand that the first draft is rarely the best and this brief speech was no exception. I came up with it while listening to the hymns of the service. The words were different, but the music was the same. In fact, as I sang and recited the Lord’s Prayer with the attendees, the only words I said that were the same as the words they said were the Jewish ones (Hallelujah and Amen). I thought my transition from German to English particularly clever but I am the most humble person you’ll ever meet. As I type the main portion of what I spoke I will edit to make it what I should have said.

Before I get there, the Oberfalz is the regierungsitze (a subdivision of the state but bigger than a county) we live in while Franconia is a neighboring one. I was wearing a blue shirt and colorful sport coat that I call my Used Car Salesman Coat because I look like a cheap yard leach in it. And it was a clear, nippy day, in the 40s Fahrenheit.

Mein Deutsch ist schlecht, aber Ich probieren. Ich war die letzen Chefin Manfred. Und es gibt sieben Mitarbeitern hier heute. Aber das sind mehr (I messed this word up and said it twice, as I formed the other sentences in the Friedhof they may not be grammatically correct either but don’t harsh my mellow). We were Manfred’s friends.

I learned many things from Manfred. (Edited here) I learned that when the sun is out it is warm. A beer in Bavaria is not alcohol but rather bread. And that three beers in Franconia means you are drunk but three beers in the Oberpfalz means you are the designated driver. (Back on spoken)

These are not the only things I learned from Manfred, but I hate that the last thing I learned from him is how a German funeral is. This is my first, and I apologize in advance if I say or do something that offends or is improper. Speaking of, my dress here is not what most people think of as proper. But the part of the US I come from we don’t mourn passing but celebrate life. And that’s what we are here to do today, celebrate Manfred’s life.

(Edited here, leaving some out and adding the way it should have ended) So on this warm day, when none of us have to drive, let us go break bread and remember our friend Manfred.

I hope Manfred’s life is remembered a long time. I will do my part. And I hope I don’t get asked to speak again any time soon.