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Dad Laughed Last.

Bill Tope

No one who knows me is ever happy
for long. My Dad, for instance, when
I was very small, had a hell of a good
time. He would drink his beer--endless
quarts of Falstaff Beer that he christ-
ened “Big Daddies“ and then demoted
to “Another Dead Soldier“ once each
bottle was depleted.

And he would smoke his cigarettes--
Old Gold unfiltered--which were
later judged by scientists to have
among the highest level of carcino-
gens of any “tobacco delivery system.“

But Dad fooled them all: he didn’t die
of lung cancer or cirrhosis of the liver;
no, he perished from mesothelioma,
garnered from a 30-year career of in-
stalling asbestos-laden ceiling tiles in
office buildings built between the 1950s
and the 1970s. Yeah, he sure got the
last laugh.

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