Forest Lawn
by Tom Paxton

Oh, lay me down in Forest Lawn in a silver casket
With golden flowers over my head in a silver basket.
Let the drum and bugle corps
Play Taps while the cannons roar,
And sixteen liveried employees
Sell souveniers from the funeral store.

I want to go simply when I go;
They’ll give me a simple funeral there I know
With a casket lined in fleece
And fireworks spelling out Rest in Peace.
Oh, take me when I’m gone to Forest Lawn.

Oh, lay me down in Forest Lawn, they understand there.
They have a heavenly choir and a military band there.
Just put me in their care,
I’ll find my comfort there
With sixteen planes in a last salute,
They’ll drop a cross in a parachute.

I want to go simply when I go.
They’ll give me a simple funeral there, I know,
With a hundred strolling strings
And topless dancers with golden wings.
Oh, take me when I’m gone to Forest Lawn.

Ohhhh, come, come, come, come,
Come to the church in the wildwood.
Kindly leave a contribution in the pail.
Be as simple and as trusting as a child would,
And we’ll sell you the church in the dell.

To find a simple resting place is my desire,
To lay me down with a smiling face comes a little bit higher.
My likeness cast in brass
Will stand in plastic grass
While hidden weights and springs
Tip its hat to the mourners filing past.

I want to go simply when I go.
They’ll give me a simple funeral there, I know.
I’ll lie beneath the sand
With piped-in tapes of Billy Graham,
Oh, take me when I’m gone to Forest Lawn.

Rock of Ages cleft for me
For a slightly higher fee.
Oh, take me when I’m gone to Forest Lawn.

The Promise I Broke to Jennifer

It was December, 1997, less than a month before Jennifer died. We were driving back to our home in Santa Monica from a long weekend with friends in San Diego. In the shortness of the winter afternoon, the amber sun hung on the horizon of the Pacific Ocean as we drove north along the coast. We were both a little tired, but it was a good tired. We’d had a good weekend and we were now enjoying each other’s company, alone in the car, listening to CDs. I remember we were nearly home, negotiating the bending overpass that took us from the northbound San Diego Freeway to the westbound Santa Monica Freeway. Fifty miles back, Jennifer had put in an old John Denver album, "An Evening with John Denver", from the mid-70s. As we made the transition, John launched into the tongue-in-cheek jest "Forest Lawn" by Tom Paxton. Jennifer immediately chimed in with loud, energetic voice in that endearing off-key way she had. You see, Jennifer had a special place in her heart for that song, because only a few years before that album was made, her father had actually worked at Forest Lawn selling plots. She got a huge kick out of poking fun at it, and at the American Way of Death, in general. So when the song ended, I asked lightly, "So, I suppose you want me to promise to play that song at your funeral, right?" Absolutely! she declared loudly. And then she pushed the replay button to hear the song again....and to sing along again, as loudly and energetically as before. I delighted in her joy. In fact, nothing in life made me happier than seeing her happy.

Then, suddenly, at least in my memory it seems sudden to me, it was January 30, the day before the memorial service we held for her. I was making a tape of music to play at the service, agonizing over which songs to include, songs that meant something to her, or to me, or where just appropriate to the awful ache I was feeling. And I was acutely aware of my promise, off-handed though it had been. In a moment like that, everything you’ve ever said or done to your beloved takes on a heavy seriousness. So, I tried to include "Forest Lawn", I really did. But I couldn’t do it. The tone was so light-hearted and upbeat and irreverent... It didn’t fit the way I was feeling at all. I couldn’t do it; it seemed a violation of what I wanted to tell people about my wife. It was a selfish act, because I just wanted to focus on how much I love her and was missing her. Right then, there was no room in my leaden heart for anything whimsical. But I guess I still felt guilty for not keeping my promise.

So I include it here. You can’t hear it, I know, but at least you can read it. And if you want to, you can find the album and listen to it. I’m sorry, Jennifer, I couldn’t play it at your service. I know you understand. I know you know I was just too sad. I hope you will count its inclusion here as the fulfillment of my promise.