I’ve been communicating with Ken Johnston, a retired journalist in Ireland. He’s quite a character. Over the years, he’s been generous with his time, teaching and mentoring aspiring journalists.
Recently, a couple of his proteges contacted him. These media students were studying the ins and outs of writing, producing, and related areas.
They wrote a script they were in the process of making to enter into the upcoming University film festival, but there was a problem.
His proteges explained that they casted the entire script of characters except for one. The part was a non-verbal role, and they wondered if they could impose on him to help. So Ken agreed to play the Roman Catholic corpse.
The filming took place at one of the students’ parents’ homes in Northern Ireland. Ken was surprised to see that he was the only amateur among the other actors, who were TV personalities.
Luckily for him, the student’s mother padded the casket with a foam pad and cushions to make it more bearable for Ken while he was in the casket.
With only a few more scenes to go, everyone was delighted at how smoothly everything was working out. But all this time, nobody thought to tell anyone that they were filming there.
The neighbors, noticing all the traffic, people, and commotion figured out that someone had died. So they came over to pay their respects and condolences, offering to bring food or to assist in any way possible.
When the laughter died down and the dust settled, filming resumed. Or so they thought.
The coffin was just behind a window in the lounge, with the blinds down. As always, the window cleaner set up the ladder, climbed halfway up, then hosed the window.
Hearing the splash, one of the crew members raised the window shade, and the entire cast and crew saw a pale, disheveled, middle-aged window cleaner, water running down the glass, staring at the coffin.
Ken, now the corpse raised an arm and gave the window cleaner a thumbs up as they lowered the blind. One of the crew members had to run out to console him.
