An Obituary
Charles Bream
(25 Aug. 1943-15 Feb. 2010)
Charles Bream died of a heart attack Wednesday at his ranch house in Madison, Wisconsin. (The Bream home is the third one down from the hardware-convenience store on Pine, the brick house that’s had a droopy gate for a while.) Charles was found slumped on the toilet with dental floss wrapped around his right and left index fingers. He is survived by his wife Beverly and his sons Jeremiah and Paul. He was 66.
Although Charles was taken from us too soon, he lived a full life. In third grade his team earned second place in the local basketball league, and for a year after Charlie would remember the single basket he scored in the championship game, a layup six minutes into the fourth quarter that put his team up by one. Later, in his moments of leisure, he would tell Jeremiah and Paul about his exploits on the basketball court. They dribbled and swooped along with Dad as he told the tale. Perhaps they tired of hearing always about this one game, but every Saturday afternoon they joined Dad in reenacting the third grade championship in their driveway while Mom brought out hot chocolate or grape juice popsicles. Charles rarely made a layup when playing with his sons, but Jeremiah and Paul were quite good and may now be seen playing on Sunday and Tuesday nights in the A-level recreational league.
In high school Chuck caught on that sports weren’t for him and began to babysit after school for the neighbors. Seven-year-old Tommy took the bus home at 2:30, Chuck joined him at three, and they spent the afternoon together until Tommy’s parents came home. They played Chinese checkers or backgammon, Chuck following the rules and Tommy placing the pieces where he liked, and they watched people pass by on the sidewalk. They saw middle- and high-schoolers and also, once, a car wreck. Chuck had bent to pet Tommy’s dachshund when came the crunch of metal and explosion of glass. Tommy seized Chuck’s shoulder. Chuck shut Tommy in his room and went out to find an old man gazing at the tree that had come out of nowhere. His glasses hung from one ear. Chuck rubbed the man’s shoulder until the ambulance came.
When Charles became an actuary he would think back on the kind of premium he would have charged the old man to get behind the wheel. Something to make the man want to cut up his license. Not because Charles was vindictive, but because he was fair, and he remembered how hard Tommy had squeezed his shoulder. Charles was in fact too fair for the business, and after years of his boss’s nagging and of working at a soup kitchen on his lunch break every other day, Charles made the switch. He took over as kitchen manager, and there he would remain until he died while flossing his teeth. But the activity lost its appeal once he got paid for it, and 37 of his 85 paychecks remain endorsed but uncashed in his bureau. Whether wife Beverly will cash them now that he is gone remains to be seen. She will decide when she looks at the bank statements and bills that Charles always tended to. Maybe next week.
At the soup kitchen the regular diners note Charles’ absence and wonder why another good man has moved on. Those who aren’t quite so hungry as the rest note the sign posted above the kitchen door: “Charles Bream 8.25.1943-2.15.2010.” They, too, wonder why another good man had to move on.
On the basketball court on Saturday afternoon Jeremiah and Paul played a game of one-on-one and Mom brought out the beers. Jeremiah, a touch taller, has developed a nice hook while playing for the East Beasts, and Paul likes to use his quickness to create easy baskets under the hoop. Just like Dad, six minutes into the fourth quarter against Roosevelt Elementary.
When Beverly brought out the beers, she wondered if she should join to make it a game of three. She wanted to be sad, but Charles always said it would be up to her to make people happy if he ever couldn’t. She smiled and took a few pictures, then returned inside.
The public service for Charles Bream will be held on Wednesday evening at the Fuller Mortuary. All are welcome.◊