Many times, I've written about my ongoing fascination with Hardy Boys books. And why not? My admiration for the once-teen master sleuths has only increased as the magnitude of their accomplishments becomes more vivid with time.

Last year I stood in a New Hampshire cemetery on a sharp blue October afternoon. The leaves flashed carnival tones of red and yellow, and nightfall would bring frost. A small crowd of mourners listened as a stern older minister said a few words over the coffin of Chet Morton.

Hardys' fans will remember Morton as the brothers' goofy, double-extra-large "chum," by which they meant "friend" and not "food for sharks." The minister, though, seemed like he hadn't actually known Chet. The eulogy was a cut-and-paste effort mixing dry Psalms with descriptions of Chet taken from the famous books authored by Nobel laureate Franklin W. Dixon.

For example, the preacher said, "Though Dixon variously described Chet as 'moon-faced,' 'plump,' 'always thinking of his stomach,' 'relishing an apple,' 'the fat lad,' 'waddling towards an exit,' 'ordering a second burger' and 'stout' — "

Here the padre paused, frowned, and peered over his glasses down at the coffin. It was as though the estimable appetite of the deceased was truly sinking in. He finally shook his head and continued.

" — Er, yes, in spite of myriad allusions to caloric excess, Chet Morton is credited with often discovering clues that were significant in Joe and Frank's success."

None of the mourners seemed to find it odd that A) despite his girth, Morton outlived the Hardy Boys by several years, and B) we were attending the funeral of a fictional character. I was the last to leave and I slipped the sexton a $20 bill to let me tuck several fried apricot pies inside the casekt so Chet could munch contentedly on his way to Glory.

Why is any of this important?

Because I was able to get a bit of closure by attending the funeral of a childhood friend — er, chum — from the Land of Imagination. These are harrowing times, and I'm probably not alone when I suggest I've spent some of the virus-induced solitude to mentally flip through the yellowing pages of the past. Jeez! One day, you're watching an episode of "Leave It to Beaver" and, the next, you're 65 and here's a global plague and the real-life Eddie Haskell dies.

Frankly, I wasn't properly allowed to say goodbye to the imaginary cohorts of my youth, and that's why I created the elaborate Chet Morton scenario. And, as with Chet, I've been inventing several "farewell" scenarios for not-real compadres from Time Past. It's therapeutic. Did you know:

1. Felix the Cat was run over by Marilyn Munster returning from a sorority party in that odd Munster-mobile. Marilyn was out of her mind on "Kappa Punch" and Romilar CF cough syrup.

2. Holden Caulfield became a TV game show host and died onstage of an embolism during the Bonus Round.

3. The Partridge Family was the opening act for Lynyrd Skynyrd and on the plane that day in '78 when it crashed. Only manager Reuben Kincaid survived. He went on to manage Prince.

4. One thing the preacher at Chet Morton's funeral didn't know: Chet, tired of being called a "plump chum," murdered Frank and Joe Hardy. He framed their peppery Aunt Gertrude and she was executed by firing squad in 1957.