Charles Boehm had never written an obituary before. When his father Robert died in October 2024 after a fall in his Clarendon, Texas apartment, Charles sat down in his Houston home, completely stumped, and did what anyone would do.
He Googled it.
“I decided to Google, ‘What do you put in an obituary?’” he told The Washington Post. What came up changed everything. He found the obituary of a Connecticut man named Joe Heller, written with wit and irreverence and genuine love, and immediately thought: that sounds like something my dad would do.
So Charles did the same. What he wrote for Robert Adolph Boehm, 74, of Clarendon, Texas (population 2,000) went viral almost instantly when Robertson Funeral Directors shared it on Facebook. It has since been viewed more than a million times.
The viral obituary of a Texas man
It begins like this:
“Robert Adolph Boehm, in accordance with his lifelong dedication to his own personal brand of decorum, muttered his last unintelligible and likely unnecessary curse on October 6, 2024, shortly before tripping backward over ‘some stupid mother****ing thing’ and hitting his head on the floor.”
It continues. Robert was born in Winters, Texas in 1950, “after which God immediately and thankfully broke the mold and attempted to cover up the evidence.” He managed to avoid the Vietnam draft by getting his wife Dianne pregnant three times between 1967 and 1972. His youngest son Charles arrived in 1983, the obituary notes, “with Robert possibly concerned about the brewing conflict in Grenada.”
His lack of military service was, the obituary observes, “probably for the best” — given that Robert later took up shooting as a hobby and managed to blow two holes in his own car’s dashboard on two separate occasions. His wife Dianne, “much accustomed to such happenings in his presence, may have actually been safer in the jungles of Vietnam the entire time.”
Good grief: Humor helps a family heal
There’s the fashion: homemade leather moccasins, a wide collection of unconventional hats, boldly mismatched shirts and pants. The career: he became “a semi-professional truck driver — not to be confused with a professional semi-truck driver.” The hobbies: historical weapons spanning from a 19,000 BC French atlatl to a Soviet-era Mosin-Nagant, plus a wide selection of harmonicas he kept on hand but rarely played. When Robert’s wife Dianne died in February 2024, Charles wrote that God had gotten her “the hell out of there for some well-earned peace and quiet.” In her absence, Robert had thrown himself into entertaining the people of Clarendon with what the obituary calls his “road show.”
It closes: “We have all done our best to enjoy/weather Robert’s antics up to this point, but he is God’s problem now.”
Attendees at the funeral were requested to wear “outlandish or mismatched outfits” in his honor.
The reaction said it all
Chuck Robertson, who owns the funeral home and received the obituary, told The Washington Post he almost choked on his breakfast laughing. “I told people in the office, ‘Well, this is going to get us some attention,’” he said. “I’d never had a family come through the doors that wrote an obituary as classic as that one.”
Charles said he was astonished by the response. “I was sad that my father was going to be forgotten and that my parents’ small life would get packed up into my trailer and that would be the end of it everywhere but inside my own mind,” he told TODAY. “That obituary was intended to ease my own pain and make a handful of people in a town of two thousand smile instead of frown, and it’s probably done that for 2 million at this point.”
The message behind the laughs
He also has a message for anyone reading: don’t let your parents slip through the cracks in small towns. “There are people all over the country like my dad,” he said. “They go there to retire, then when they’re old, their kids scatter and they end up alone.”
When the family cleaned out Robert’s apartment, they found four harmonicas immediately.
















