A milestone for Dr. Jack
a SUIT column by Chris Jungle

Dr. Jack Kevorkian assisted in his 100th suicide last week, and I don't know what to get him. A shiny new syringe? Rubber gloves? Contacts? For a long time, Dr. Jack would not admit to how many of suicides he helped with, but earlier in the week, he confessed the number to be 99. With the passing of Waldo Herman, who had lung cancer, the number went to triple digits. I've always understood the motives, if not the method, of Dr. Jack. There are some people who go out badly, and sometimes not much is to be gained by sticking around for another couple painful years. I've had family members go quickly and excruciatingly drawn out, and the former has a better feel to it. Enough about my personal history, though. This rambling's for Dr. Jack.

They call what he does assisted suicide, but that has always sounded funny. Assisted suicide is a lot like making test tube babies. While the outcomes are normal, the ways of getting there are weird and bordering on perverse. "Sure, I'll help you make a baby in a bowl," and "Sure, I'll help you stop living," are two lines I never thought doctors would say. Let's face it, there are some strange ways to be born, and there's some equally strange ways to die.

Many people have a problem with Dr. Jack's methods because they feel he's helping people cheat away their existence. That belief doesn't really hold water. People cheat throughout their lives. They cheat on history exams, resumes, taxes, wives, husbands, how many grocery items in their basket while in the 12 or less line, basketball games, and their overall credentials. Why can't people cheat death? It's not like their tombstones are going to say A Good Father and Husband But Cheated Death At The End. If they did start making epitaphs like that, I would probably go to cemeteries more often.

Now there are one hundred less people because of Dr. Jack, and that's okay by me. Most of the folks barking about him are mad about his methods, but they don't care about the hundred passers on. No one is crying out about how Waldo Herman is no longer with us. In the newspaper article, Waldo was just a name, and it did not share how he lived his life or any of his hopes and dreams. He was just number 100 for the guy everybody wants to read about: Dr. Jack.

When Dr. Jack passes on, there will be a big hoopla with A & E Biography specials and five minute stories on the national news. Who knows? He may even assist in his own suicide. Would that be called self-assisted suicide or just suicide?

As a matter of fact, Dr. Jack may hit legendary status. He has an almost fairy tale type quality already, and his story would fit nicely between the Pied Piper and Rip Van Winkle. Or how about comic books? His name would have to be changed to something like Assisted Suicide Man or The Death Merchant, but if he's got a cool costume, the kids should go for it. He could battle lawyers each issue while desperately trying to kill the dying in the name of justice.

Whether you love or hate Dr. Jack, he's still going to continue his work. It's a pretty good gig for him, and he enjoys what he does. That's all anyone can ask for from their job, isn't it?

How many people will die from his assistance? 120? 150? 200? It really doesn't matter because no matter how many people die sitting next to Dr. Jack, there are millions who die whether they want to or not. At least the people who need help with their suicide want to die, and they want it done correctly. There are a lot of people with nasty scars they don't care to explain.

So, here's a healthy and hearty salute to Dr. Jack for making it to triple digits. I hear many assisted suicide specialists never get out of the teens. While he may not hold the record for killing people who want to die, he's definitely brought the technique to another level, and I strongly support his induction into the Assisted Suicide Hall of Fame whenever it comes to be. Everyone's going to die sometime, and it's nice to know Dr. Jack is around when we think we've had enough of this nonsense.

Chris Jungle contemplated suicide very seriously until someone told him puberty wouldn't last forever.

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