Republicans
decided that they didn’t want a Democrat governor, so they shot the man instead. Who
cares what the voters wanted.
But he got the last word – really. William Justus Goebel was sworn in as governor
on his deathbed. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Goebel died on February 3 rd allegedly whispering these great words before the grim reaper took him, “Tell my
friends to be brave, fearless and loyal to the common people.”
Of course, everyone knows what Goebel really said after eating his last dinner of
raw oysters was, “Doc, that was a damned bad oyster.”
Doesn’t have quite the same noble ring to it, does it?
Why bring up Goebel now?
I always say – if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, swims like a duck . .
. it’s a duck. You’ll understand this comparison later in my tale of mayhem.
Besides, Goebel was late to his own funeral. Instead of the body going from Frankfort
to Covington on the L&N line, the body had to be transported to Louisville, across
the river to Indiana, then to Cincinnati, across the river again to Covington and
then back the same route to Frankfort on the Queen and Crescent Railroad. The L&N
owners hated Goebel and refused their service. Talk about petty.
Just as Goebel was late to his funeral, I was late to Addison DeWitt’s.
Jake was having trouble finding a handicapped parking space. It seemed like all of
Doreen’s friends were infirm, so I got out and left Jake to park where he could. I
wheeled my chair to the back of the memorial service for Addison DeWitt at the church
on Market Street, hoping to be inconspicuous so I could snoop.
A couple of pews in front of me sat Detective Goetz, hoping to do the same. He was
writing names in his worn out little notebook while I was sure someone else was taking
down license plate numbers outside.
Hmmmmmm. Didn’t Goetz tell me that he thought DeWitt’s death was due to natural causes?
Maybe the coroner had come up with a different view of things but I knew it was too
soon for the report to be finished. What gives?
Up front sat Lady Elsmere, with Meriah and Matt behind Doreen who was making little
whimpering noises as her daughter tried to comfort her. Lady Elsmere reached over
the pew and sympathetically patted Doreen on the shoulder. Just like June. She so
liked to be in the thick of things.
I must admit this was my first Episcopalian funeral. You know my views on the Twenty-Third Psalm at funerals. I was hoping against hope that it would not be repeated here. Oooops!
I was wrong. A priest began reciting it.
I let out a long sigh, which was heard by Goetz, who swiveled around in his seat.
Upon seeing me, he also let out a sigh.
Was that due to me?
He got up from his pew and sat beside me in a very uncomfortable stack chair. “Whaddya
doing here?” he whispered.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “You said DeWitt’s death was probably a heart attack.
Coroner say differently?”
“See that girl crying in the corner over there?” replied Goetz. “I shouldn’t be telling
you this, but she has been hounding my office since DeWitt died and claiming that
Mrs. DeWitt had something to do with his death.”
“Really!!!!” I gave the young woman sobbing into her handkerchief a very good study.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I don’t want you poking your nose in this. If I tell you stuff, you have
to keep it confidential and promise you won’t go around stirring up things.”
“What if I do tell someone?”
Goetz gave a very smarmy smile. “Then I’ll arrest you for interfering. And I would,
too; don’t think I wouldn’t.”
“How about this? If I hear something interesting . . . now just listen . . . from
my friends, let’s say, then I tell you. It’s quid pro quo. You tell me what’s going
on with O’nan. I know your department is keeping tabs on him somewhat.”
Goetz’s hound dog face looked thoughtful for a moment.
decided that they didn’t want a Democrat governor, so they shot the man instead. Who
cares what the voters wanted.
But he got the last word – really. William Justus Goebel was sworn in as governor
on his deathbed. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Goebel died on February 3 rd allegedly whispering these great words before the grim reaper took him, “Tell my
friends to be brave, fearless and loyal to the common people.”
Of course, everyone knows what Goebel really said after eating his last dinner of
raw oysters was, “Doc, that was a damned bad oyster.”
Doesn’t have quite the same noble ring to it, does it?
Why bring up Goebel now?
I always say – if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, swims like a duck . .
. it’s a duck. You’ll understand this comparison later in my tale of mayhem.
Besides, Goebel was late to his own funeral. Instead of the body going from Frankfort
to Covington on the L&N line, the body had to be transported to Louisville, across
the river to Indiana, then to Cincinnati, across the river again to Covington and
then back the same route to Frankfort on the Queen and Crescent Railroad. The L&N
owners hated Goebel and refused their service. Talk about petty.
Just as Goebel was late to his funeral, I was late to Addison DeWitt’s.
Jake was having trouble finding a handicapped parking space. It seemed like all of
Doreen’s friends were infirm, so I got out and left Jake to park where he could. I
wheeled my chair to the back of the memorial service for Addison DeWitt at the church
on Market Street, hoping to be inconspicuous so I could snoop.
A couple of pews in front of me sat Detective Goetz, hoping to do the same. He was
writing names in his worn out little notebook while I was sure someone else was taking
down license plate numbers outside.
Hmmmmmm. Didn’t Goetz tell me that he thought DeWitt’s death was due to natural causes?
Maybe the coroner had come up with a different view of things but I knew it was too
soon for the report to be finished. What gives?
Up front sat Lady Elsmere, with Meriah and Matt behind Doreen who was making little
whimpering noises as her daughter tried to comfort her. Lady Elsmere reached over
the pew and sympathetically patted Doreen on the shoulder. Just like June. She so
liked to be in the thick of things.
I must admit this was my first Episcopalian funeral. You know my views on the Twenty-Third Psalm at funerals. I was hoping against hope that it would not be repeated here. Oooops!
I was wrong. A priest began reciting it.
I let out a long sigh, which was heard by Goetz, who swiveled around in his seat.
Upon seeing me, he also let out a sigh.
Was that due to me?
He got up from his pew and sat beside me in a very uncomfortable stack chair. “Whaddya
doing here?” he whispered.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “You said DeWitt’s death was probably a heart attack.
Coroner say differently?”
“See that girl crying in the corner over there?” replied Goetz. “I shouldn’t be telling
you this, but she has been hounding my office since DeWitt died and claiming that
Mrs. DeWitt had something to do with his death.”
“Really!!!!” I gave the young woman sobbing into her handkerchief a very good study.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I don’t want you poking your nose in this. If I tell you stuff, you have
to keep it confidential and promise you won’t go around stirring up things.”
“What if I do tell someone?”
Goetz gave a very smarmy smile. “Then I’ll arrest you for interfering. And I would,
too; don’t think I wouldn’t.”
“How about this? If I hear something interesting . . . now just listen . . . from
my friends, let’s say, then I tell you. It’s quid pro quo. You tell me what’s going
on with O’nan. I know your department is keeping tabs on him somewhat.”
Goetz’s hound dog face looked thoughtful for a moment.
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