R.I.P., Phil Donahue
by Rob - August 19th, 2024.Filed under: Uncategorized. Tagged as: Milestones, RIP.
I was very sad to hear of the death of former talkshow host Phil Donahue, who left us today at the age of 88. I was a regular viewer of Donahue in the 1980s and 1990s because he so often tackled big issues.
And so, when I was writing my novel The Terminal Experiment — which dealt with the ramifications of a biomedical engineer discovering proof for the existence of the human soul — it seemed appropriate to have that character, Dr. Peter Hobson, appear on Donahue.
I wrote the following scene thirty-one years ago, on Thursday, August 5, 1993, setting it in the then-distant year of 2011. It marked the first — but by no means the last — time I included a real person in one of my novels.
The Terminal Experiment went on to win the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America’s Nebula Award for best novel of the year.
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“Is the caller still there?” asked Donahue, back on daytime TV after his failed presidential bid.
“I’m here, Phil.”
Donahue made his tortured face; precious seconds were being wasted. “Go ahead — I have very little time.”
“What I’d like to know,” said the caller’s voice, “is what life after death is really like. I mean, we know now that it exists, but what’s it really like?”
Donahue turned to Peter. “That’s a very good question, caller. Dr. Hobson — what is the afterlife like?”
Peter shifted in his chair. “Well, that’s more a subject for philosophers, I’m afraid, and —“
Donahue turned toward the studio audience. “Audience, are we prepared for these questions? Do we really want to know the answers? And what will America do if the afterlife turns out to be unpleasant?” He spoke into the air. “Show ‘em, Bryan — number 14.”
A chart appeared on the screen. “Sixty-seven percent of the people of this good country,” said Donahue, “believe that the soulwave proves the Judeo-Christian model of a heaven and a hell. Only eleven percent believes that your discovery, Dr. Hobson, disproves that model.”
The chart disappeared. Donahue spied a raised hand in the back of the studio. Still spry at seventy-five, he bolted for the back row and shoved a microphone under a woman’s chin.
“Yes, ma’am. You had a brief comment.”
“That’s right, Phil. I’m from Memphis — we love your show down there.”
First the little-boy face, patted on the head. “Thank you, ma’am.” Then the pained face, as if something was caught going down his gullet. “I have very little time.”
“My question is for the doctor. Do you think your discovery is going to get you into heaven, or are you going to hell for interfering in God’s mysteries?”
Close up on Peter. “I — I have no idea.”
Donahue did his standard theatrical arm gesture that ended with his finger pointing directly into the camera. “And we’ll be back …”