My obituary writing career

Claire Doll
MSMU Class of 2024

(10/2023) Writing obituaries is a fascinating career. Of course, when I signed up to be a writer, I didn’t think that I’d be writing about dead people. I went to college to investigate news stories, to actively interview people and see my articles on the front page. A big headline, bolded and black, followed by my name, in print.

But the thing about being a writer these days in the twenties is that you cannot choose where or what the jobs are. While I wanted to do the top headlines of the week, I was given the task of writing obituaries.

What kind of news is that?

I’ve found that, time after time, I actually like writing these articles. You know for a fact they are being read, and you also feel like you’re making some type of contribution. They’re informative but emotional—personal, yet fact-based. Plus, it’s good money. A cent a word for some of my articles, but obituaries are more. By just a bit, but still.

But my first obituary—that was something.

Her name was Margaret Mehring.

She died in October 1923, just when the leaves were turning. I remember because I had just graduated college, and I had landed this job in the Emmitsburg Paper. My editor told me that I’d begin with an obituary of Margaret Mehring, who had died peacefully in her sleep at age 70. "She’s lived here her entire life," my editor said, "Go to town." With a pat on the back, I was left to my own little desk in the corner of the office. I overlooked the mountains, and October was slowly painting its way through the mountains. Autumn-touched leaves and chilled air. Tonight, the sun would set earlier than it has been.

70. That was old. My editor’s words floated around me: She’s lived here her entire life. In Bruceville, Maryland of all places. It was an ordinary town, a creek driven through the soil, and the stone-arch bridge over the creek. Woods painted with autumn and road signs and such. It was normal. How could Ms. Margaret Mehring have lived in Bruceville her entire life? I was only 22, a young journalist fresh out of college. I dreamed of travel and writing from all types of countries and cities. I couldn’t fathom staying in Maryland forever.

70 was also beyond the life expectancy these days. It was normally in the fifties or sixties, if you were lucky.

Ms. Margaret Mehring was born in 1853. She lived through the Civil War, through the first world war. With just a little research, however, I learned that the last name "Mehring" had a fine reputation in this small town.

Margaret’s father, George Mehring, bought a house, stone grist, and sawmill in Bruceville just on the banks of the Big Pipe Creek. The house was called Myrtle Hill; it was big and beautiful and white, with a wraparound porch and swaying trees all around. Mehring was a rich man as well. He wanted the best for his children Frederick, Johanna, and Margaret (called Maggie, back then), but he also built houses for his workers and located his house near the store, school, and blacksmith shop. Right in the center of the village. However, he died in 1860, when his youngest daughter was just seven years old.

Margaret ‘Maggie’ Mehring. Already so young and without a father. Her mother wasn’t in the picture, at least from my research. Maggie is remembered best for her diary, one she kept during the Civil War while she was at boarding school. Come to find out, the Union troops marched through her town towards Gettysburg in June of 1863. She wrote of her cousin Annie and the movements in her town and how it was a beautiful sight, with the moonlight and the horseman and the flashing clattering of the swords.

An excellent writer and also, later, a teacher. With her sister she taught in the one-room stone school and joined the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. She was a "fine lady," and that is all that is remembered of her. A fine lady.

As an obituary writer, I am required to only write facts. I’m also supposed to be as generic as possible. But with an entire life lying before me, especially all confined within one town, I am inclined to know more. She kept the last name Mehring—was there ever a man she loved? Did she write love letters? What about Myrtle Hill? Research and files show that Maggie died there, in the same house her father raised her in. Frederick died nine months before her, and Maggie was keeping the house for him. Did Maggie even like living there? Did she dream about travelling like I do now, or even about a career? Did she have friends?

But I also know that she was a noble woman, both sincere and accomplished. She was cheerful and had great energy. At least, these are things I’m supposed to write about. The words that, here in the obituary business, we call filler words, because you can put them anywhere in an obituary and someone will relate to them. "Ah, yes, Maggie Mehring was sincere." "Oh, how cheerful she was." "Yes, so accomplished, too."

And suddenly I realized how far away from the truth I was. How far away all obituaries are from the truth. All facts and generalizations and filler words, with no emotion or meaning. I didn’t even know Maggie Mehring, so how was I supposed to write a summary of her life? A notice of her death?

It was money, though, my editor reminded me. These days both jobs and money were hard to come by, if you weren’t the wealthy. I wrote the obituary, and it was perfectly emotional for those who could relate, but also entirely generic for anyone to glance at and say, "Oh, what a shame." I wrote it and got a couple of dollars. But for Margaret Mehring—Maggie—I still always think about her. Every obituary I write. I wonder how she is doing. If she finally left Myrtle Hill.

Read other articles by Claire Doll