The answer is no. Religion, mental illness, bureaucracy, politics, sex, death, taxes, cats, marriage, children and hobbies pursued to the point of idolatry - they're all terrific sources of humor.
Laughter is a question of personal balance, something human beings aren't good at. I prefer to err on the side of humor. More human misery has been caused by taking things too seriously than by not taking them seriously enough.
Even so, there are things I take seriously. Dead cops are at the top of my list. I've spent 15 years researching the histories of Utah's fallen police officers. I wrote a book about them. I'll continue searching for those we forgot until I'm dead myself.
Thursday, the Utah law enforcement community will gather to honor its fallen comrades. Since the arrival of Mormon settlers in 1847, 115 peace officers have died in the line of duty.
A service will be held in the Joseph Smith Memorial Building at 2 p.m. and will feature the addition of six new names:
Grantsville Officer Festus Sprague, 1870; Ogden Special Officer James D. Snipes, 1903; Game Warden Ernest G. Berri, 1914; Millard County Deputy Floyd L. Rose, 1922; Washington County Sheriff John H. Cottam, 1936; and Conservation Officer John "Kip" Draper, 2004.
Photographs of more than 100 fallen officers will be on display at the service. I know their stories well enough now that when I look into their eyes, I often find myself smiling and, yeah, even laughing.
Strange as it sounds, I laugh whenever I look at the photograph of UHP Trooper Dennis "Dee" Lund, murdered by two witless teenagers in 1994.
Lund was such an inveterate prankster that when a rainstorm blew in during the somber dedication of his memorial cross at an I-70 rest stop, everyone knew it was Dee still kidding around.
I also find humor in the 1912 story of Midvale Night Marshal Frank Colclough. Following a string of saloon robberies on his beat, the frustrated officer was explaining to a bartender what he would do if it happened again. In the middle of his explanation, the robbers burst in.
Despite the irony of the meeting, Frank did exactly what he said he would. When the smoke cleared, he and one of the robbers were dead.
A burglar murdered Ogden Patrolman Charles Manzel in 1921. The officer died his first night filling a vacancy caused when the previous patrolman was sent to prison for burglarizing businesses on his beat.
Forest Ranger Rudolph Mellenthin, a German immigrant who desperately wanted to join the U.S. Army and fight against his native land during World War I, was turned down by the military. Instead, Mellenthin stayed home, sold war bonds, and was shot to death two months before the 1918 Armistice by an army deserter.
The youngest police officer to fall in Utah was Ogden Patrolman Albert G. Smalley, who was just 20 when he died from injuries suffered in a motorcycle accident. It still amuses me that Smalley only had one leg when he was a cop.
The amusement I see in tragedy is no less apparent in the officers I actually knew when they were alive, including Provo Officer Kim Nisson, Garfield County Deputy Dave Jones, Salt Lake City Police Sgt. James Faraone and UHP Lt. Thomas Rettberg.
Thursday, when officers and family survivors gather to honor those who fell, the stories they tell and memories they recall will bring more laughter than tears. It's how balance is maintained while waiting for the next to fall.
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Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@ sltrib.com or 801-257-9719, and he welcomes mail at 90 S. 400 West, Suite 700, Salt Lake City, UT 84101.To comment on this column, write to livingeditor@sltrib.com.
