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A woman we knew only slightly died one recent afternoon. The funeral was scheduled for five days later. The date and time landed hard on a previously scheduled, important meeting. 

Should we bail on the meeting? Would anyone miss us if we didn’t attend the funeral?  

Could we skip the funeral since she wasn’t a blood relative or a close friend? Or was this funeral — any funeral — a must-do? 

I was scratching my chin and mulling what to do when my mind (always churning like a Cuisinart) landed on the answer. It arrived via my boyhood baseball hero, Yogi Berra.  

He was the star catcher for the New York Yankees in the 1940s and 1950s. Dumpy, frumpy and lumpy, Yogi nevertheless resides today in the Hall of Fame. As we used to say in my ancestral home in the Bronx, Yogi was a heckuva ballplayer. 

But he was also a heckuva sage, especially when it came to funerals.  

Yogi is a legend for laugh-inducing, spit-your-coffee-back-into-the-mug one liners. Among his many sayings that have endured for decades, this one still lights up the sky: 

“Always go to other people’s funerals. Otherwise, they won’t come to yours.” How great is that? 

Of course, Yogi-isms have endured because they portray Yogi as a dumbo. But was he? As all my college professors used to say, let’s consider. 

At any funeral, the key person will not know who’s there and who isn’t. So, you are not risking the rupture of a friendship if you don’t show up. The friendship is already ruptured in the most important way. 

But at any funeral, the joint is jumping with relatives, old friends, business associates and neighbors. So even if the dearly departed doesn’t know if you’re there, many others do. 

Then there’s the question of the guest book. It’s the first thing you encounter at any funeral.  

If there is such a thing, the book is the official attendance record of a funeral. So, if you don’t want to tempt evil spirits, you will attend the funeral and you will sign. 

Then there’s the upside-down-ness of any funeral. The entire purpose of the event is to take notice of a death. But life is for the living.  

So, when one attends a funeral, one actually enjoys it much of the time, because it’s a chance to mix and mingle with — if you’re lucky — interesting folk.  

Finally, there are the eulogies. Even if you aren’t asked to offer one, others will amble to the microphone. And if you’re not careful, you might learn something. 

Yes, the principal actor is dead. But what a stamp collection he once had! And what a ghost story he used to tell his always-aghast younger sister! And what a brilliant financing coup he pulled off to keep his business afloat — no one ever knew a thing about it. 

So, if I may amend the sainted Mr. Berra just a tad, you don’t just go to someone’s funeral so they’ll come to yours. You go to someone’s funeral for the same reason you attend any social event.  

You are showing respect. You are showing optimism. You are showing a lively spirit.  

And you are doing what the deceased would want you to do — not mope, not moan, but have a piece of layer cake and offer up a toast.  

That’s how to ward off the evil eye. And that’s how to reinterpret a different Yogi-ism that’s even more famous than the one about funerals. 

Quoth Yogi, once upon a time: It ain’t over till it’s over.  

Even at a heartwarming funeral, a life may be over. But the stories, the grace and the glow of that person’s life ain’t even close to being over. 

Yes, we went to the funeral of the woman we knew only slightly. The eulogies convulsed the room in laughter. Even the grieving spouse was seen smiling. If it’s possible, that funeral was fun. 

Yogi, my guy, you’ve been right about funerals for a very long time. You’re right still.  

I know one person who will be attending my funeral. I just attended hers. 

Bob Levey is a national award-winning columnist.