by Tim Miller

We gather here today as a community of men and women who admired and loved William S. Burroughs and were transformed by his extraordinary life. We are here to mourn William’s death, but that is a secondary matter. William’s family members, meaning the dozens or even hundreds of individuals who lived and worked closely with him for many years, call upon all here today and all who know William’s life and words to sustain his visionary message and carry it to the unenlightened world. August, 1997, stands as a departure point for William Burroughs and for all of us whose lives have been redirected by his. As always in human affairs, the father dies but the family continues.

With the passing of William and of Allen Ginsberg we have no one of their stature left. They changed our landscape forever. The world would not be what it is today had Naked Lunch not been written, or had the censors succeeded in suppressing it. We will always have cultures of rebellion, let us hope, but no other promises to be as vigorous and ingenious as the one they led. Thus the departure of these two revolutionaries of the human spirit leaves us who survive with the challenge of taking their work and their criticism forward. That bearing of the torch, rather than just mourning, needs to be our purpose here today.

All of that is not to gainsay the hole that is left in our lives and hearts. We do grieve deeply at the loss of William and struggle to make ourselves whole again. About a month ago I was privileged to have dinner with William and a few of his close friends, and after we had finished eating the rest of the company disappeared to the kitchen to do the cleanup. I faced an unspoken choice: I could go in and help with the dishes, or I could stay and talk with William — not a hard decision, to say the least. Our conversation was long, and William, who was saddened because his beloved cat Fletch had died that day, kept turning it to death and last rites. This man who so profoundly dissented from many of our cultural inheritances said that he actually rather liked the idea that friends would come together to bring things to a proper close.

He said that funerals were good for the living, although the deceased would already be addressing other tasks. In his view death was the point at which our real troubles would begin. The afterlife he did not expect to be immediately pleasant; one would have to struggle to get, finally, to the western lands.

Was he appreciated? Did he influence anyone? Only whole generations of cultural provocateurs who saw in him a seminal and inspiring courage. In Europe, even more than in the United States, the obituary press coverage has been voluminous. Tribute pages were quickly set up on the internet by admirers, and in the first two days they attracted hundreds of comments from around the world.

The world’s last great author has died; all the citizens of the Interzone have fled. William, you taught me how to truly see. — Shannon Gramas, Bayside, New York

Thank you, above all, for telling the truth. –Robert Firth, Singapore

I taught Naked Lunch to a group of blue haired ladies and plaid jacket golf course men at Suffolk Community College. They loved it, laughing out loud and shaking their heads and maybe going to confession afterwards. The golf links and beauty parlors of Long Island are forever changed because of Burroughs. — Tim Tomlinson, New York

We all live in too much fear. I think that it is time that we take a look around. How much freedom are we willing to relinquish before we learn the art of self-rule? — Marsha Faize, Buchanan, Virginia

We who live in Lawrence owe a special debt of gratitude to William for living among us for sixteen years. He was a splendid member of our community, one who for all his international renown went to the movies and the hardware store and checked out Massachusetts Street and had dinner parties several times a week. He gave public readings and did book signings but never adopted the role of high and mighty celebrity. We Lawrencians like to think we live in a cultured town, and no one in our collective history has contributed more to literature and the arts here than William has.

But he was hardly the exclusive property of Lawrence, Kansas.

William Burroughs inspired free people everywhere. He was a spiritual father to generations of emancipated human beings who refused to accept the mind-numbing canons of late American culture. He stood for freedom for everyone — not, for example, just for the polite homosexuals who could mix easily in elite academic company, but for the drag queens and the hard-core leather-and-chains crowd as well. He challenged our mores and our conditioning to the core.

Today we fight an uphill cultural battle. The forces of mediocrity, of multinational corporate domination, of intellectual and ideological rigidity, of consciousness shaped and controlled by greedy and narrow commercial interests, overwhelm us. We build endless prisons while we ignore what is really criminal in our midst. The battle is not an abstraction: witness the impending dissolution of the National Endowment for the Arts, among other omens. William wrote and spoke passionately about our society’s downward spiral. He maintained that we were tragically sliding into a time of lost spirit, a world of endless Johnson County suburbs and mediocrity and agents peering into our lives.

As he wrote in Nova Express, “This is a burning planet — Any minute now the whole fucking shit house goes up.” His call was for us to free ourselves from the relentless legions of decay. He never told us what to do, or to emulate him, but he encouraged us to do everything and always to keep from being run down by what his great pal Ginsberg called the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality.

Hail and farewell, William! Without you we will never be the same, but in our humble ways we will strive to be free and to make others free. We will carry your vision forward. Nothing is true and everything is permitted.

These images from the program offered at William S. Burroughs’ memorial service were originally reproduced online at the now defunct site BigTable.com. Luke Kelly, the proprietor of that site, has kindly agreed to let RealityStudio reproduce them here.

The images were originally provided by Dave Hull of Lawrence, Kansas, who wrote:

The service was quite somber. It’s easy to forget that William Burroughs was a man with very close friends. These close friends were there and it was obvious they were deeply saddened not by the loss of the influential writer, but by the loss of a close friend.

Burroughs passed away on 2 August, 1997, and the service was held on 6 August, 1997, at Liberty Hall in Lawrence. There was an open casket viewing, selections from Burroughs’ favorite music, a voice recording of Burroughs, a reading of Tennyson’s poem Ulysses by David Ohle, and closing remarks by James Grauerholz.

Lydia Ash sent RealityStudio these poignant recollections of the memorial.

My most vivid memory about the service was the appallingly disrespectful behavior of the (literally) unwashed masses who showed up in cut-off shorts and flip-flop sandals. Dave Hull and I were in funeral black — myself in a vintage 40s frock, he in a suit. It seemed that everyone seated around us in the balcony barely managed to pull on more than pajamas. It seemed most people attending the service viewed it as some sort of freakish entertainment opportunity. I was grateful that the family and friends of family sat below us in the floor seating of the hall and couldn’t see the balcony, or the people sitting in it, without some effort. The family was so generous to open the service to the public, and the public couldn’t bother to show them — or Burroughs — the respect they deserved. It was a pity.

However, I do remember good things: I remember the awe of walking into Liberty Hall, seeing the casket, and realizing my god, there lay the remains of someone who, I believe, surpassed (or perhaps, just ignored) what most of us consider human.

I remember the glorious discomfort of hearing Burroughs’ voice echoing in the hall, while seeing his body in the casket.

I remember the sadness of Mr. Grauerholz. I could feel his loss, all the way up in the balcony.

Charissa K. also wrote to RealityStudio to describe an impromptu funeral party.

We were on the 1997 Phish tour, recovering from a grain alcohol night at a rest stop outside of St. Louis, when Burroughs’ funeral party pulled in. At some point Anne Waldman approached me and one of the other riders. She informed us of Burroughs’ death, then invited us to pay our last respects. At the time, the book Big Sky Mind: Buddhism and the Beat Generation happened to be circulating the van. Anne signed her section of the book, which included a picture of her and Burroughs. It was then that we were invited to the burial. I saw Patti Smith and Oliver Ray recite poems, at least I think they were poems. Burroughs was buried with three joints in his pocket.

After the burial we were invited to an art dealer’s house for the gathering (or party) that they were having for Burroughs in St. Louis. It was there that I had my first Cosmopolitan. We were in a maroon van, there were seven of us. My friend Chris had dreadlocks that stuck straight up in the air. My hair was in the process of dreading. I was wearing a purple and green skirt and a purple backless shirt. My boyfriend at the time was an incredibly handsome Argentian guy from Long Island. There was a black kid and some spaced-out blond dude. A chick with short hair and another chick who had to be 5’1″ with long blond hair.

I remember sitting by the pool at this beautiful house in St. Louis listening to a man talk about Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead party and what wonderful times he had with them. I remember being in this one room with an artist in circle of five maybe six, and watching him roll and smoke joint after joint like they were cigarettes.

Charissa distinctly remembers a photographer at the funeral party. Does anyone have any pictures of it?

Memorial Program

William S. Burroughs Memorial Program
Viewing

William S. Burroughs Memorial Program
Old Man of Letters

William S. Burroughs Memorial Program
Celebration

Where Is Burroughs Buried?

A reader wrote to ask where William S. Burroughs is buried. The short answer: Bellefontaine Cemetery, which is located at 4947 W Florissant Avenue in Saint Louis, Missouri.

In the “Epilogue” to Word Virus, James Grauerholz wrote:

“According to Burroughs’ express wishes, he was laid to rest in the Burroughs family plot at Bellefontaine Cemetery in St. Louis, alongside his grandfather, the inventor; his uncle Horace, the drug addict; his father, Mote; and his mother, Laura.”

Burroughs’ grave does not yet seem to have become a popular hangout, like Jim Morrison’s grave in Paris. Maybe this is because it’s in the midwest. Maybe it’s because Burroughs’ death is still relatively recent and it’s unclear to RealityStudio whether there is even a specific marker for Burroughs the writer. The family plot is marked by an obelisk in honor of Burroughs’ grandfather, inventor of the adding machine. There were plans to build some marble benches and plaques listing names of those in the family plot. Does anybody know if these plans have come to fruition yet? Here is a picture of the obelisk and a brief description of the cemetery by someone who went to pay his respects.

John Giorno also published a list of the various items that were included in Burroughs’ coffin. (Skim down the page to “The Death of William Burroughs.) Giorno writes: “I was with William Burroughs when he died, and it was one of the best times I ever had with him.” I wonder if Burroughs felt the same!?!

Published November 2004.

Pictures of Burroughs’ Grave

Jay Dugger (blog, suprglu) visited the Burroughs family plots at the Bellefontaine Cemetery in St. Louis. He took several pictures and commented that “the cemetery staff are quite friendly and very helpful, and even eagerly share stories about Mr. Burroughs.” There is still no marker for William S. Burroughs the writer, who was buried just to the right (in this picture) of his grandfather’s obelisk. (Jay’s photos at flickr outline the spot.) Jay also took a close-up of the inscription on the marker for William Burroughs the inventor.

Please note that Jay’s photographs have a Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike license. Many thanks to Jay!

Published March 2006.

Burroughs Creek

The town of Lawrence, KS, named a creek after Burroughs in May 2004. The former Atchison Topeka and Santa Fe Tributary is now officially called Burroughs Creek, in honor of the many years the famous author spent in Lawrence.

More recently, there is also an attempt to get Burroughs’ former house at 1927 Learnard Avenue listed on the Lawrence Register of Historic Places. On June 17th James Grauerholz made a presentation to the Lawrence Historic Resources Commission recommending that the house be listed: “James Grauerholz spoke as the applicant for the project, explaining he had been a friend and companion to Mr. Burroughs for 23 years, the last 16 of which were spent in this house.  He outlined a number of Mr. Burroughs’ works, which were known around the world, and said Mr. Burroughs brought world-wide attention to Lawrence by living here. Mr. Grauerholz said Mr. Burroughs chose Lawrence to live out his remaining years because of its landscape, the climate, and the generation of friends he had made here. It was noted that other Burroughs’ residences had been historically registered and this house was already included on the Visitor’s Bureau website.  Mr. Grauerholz hoped to use the property as a museum, providing walk-through tours, or as a literary residence.”

A month later, on July 15th, 2004, the Commission approved a motion that Burroughs’ former residence be added to the Lawrence Register of Historic Places… Might it become a William S. Burroughs museum?

Published October 2004.