The 2007 recipient of The Artificial Heart Award™ was Joshua Johannson. There were a number of worthy nominees, and any of them would have been a credit to The Artificial Heart™ but, in the end, there was simply no one who could measure up to the man. And that’s exactly what Mr. Johannson was in 2007: the man.

Here’s what photographer Ed McJackson had to say: “Johannson. He spent thirteen hours one day posing for a photo op with a cancer-ridden kid. That might seem too low-key or cornball to be real Artificial Heart™ stuff, but check this out: the kid died during the shoot. People asked about stopping, some got all hand wavy over what was in good taste. But not Johannson. He kept his cool, tilted the kid’s head so itlooked like the kid was looking up at heaven, and knelt down by him, for six more rolls of film. Nobody could argue with that.”

Indeed, nobody could. Of course, there was more than just charity work and photo ops. There were the public statements. Coming out with strong stances against such things as zealotry, apathy, and hypocrisy. Sure, anyone can take a stand on a war or a hot button issue, but when Mr. Johannson declared that he was making it a personal mission to oppose misfortune in its conventional sense, well, his fellow public figures rallied around that cause lickety-split. Listen to Jack McEdwards, philanthropist: “Sure, everyone jumped on the bandwagon. Except for old Charlie Barker. He wouldn’t comment on misfortune one way or the other. But a month or two after refusing to comment during an interview, poor Charlie Barker’s house caught on fire and burned down. A lot of us laughed and said that the house collapsed to the ground in a most conventional way. Johannson? He refused to comment.”

But even after his war on misfortune, there were plenty of people who thought that they’d be able to beat out Mr. Johannson for The Artificial Heart™. It wasn’t until he started using French on a regular basis that most of the competition threw up their hands and started planning for next year, or, as Mr. Johannson would say, “D’jwa da vive.” Speaking French was the easy part to come up with; anyone could have done that. It was the refusal to actually learn French before speaking it that made Mr. Johannson such a shoe-in. Indeed, he used a brilliant strategy, not only using improper phrases, but also mysteriously attributing them to various regions that had no tie to the phrase. Often, they were not even in France or a French speaking country, instead preferring Germanic countries like Austria, to whom he attributed the phrase “du frommage” in reference to his hair. His competitors couldn’t top that. They couldn’t even imitate it. Not if they wanted an Artificial Heart™ of their own.

Now then, for the vast majority of recipients, The Artificial Heart™ ceremony is capped off with a speech combining platitudes with vacuity. But not Mr. Johannson. Once again, he stood head and shoulders above the rest by telling a story for his speech. Experts have had great difficulty in trying to verify the truthof this story, but perhaps whether or not the story is true was never the point. It’s hard to say. There werepeople who Mr. Johannson knew who may well have been the characters in this story, but (as you’ll see) asking the key players of their involvement would be difficult, to say the least.

Here’s a transcription of the speech. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Good evening and touché, as they say on the Autobahn. Wow. It’s really great to be here accepting this. I’m so honored. This is the kind of thing you dream about for so long, but you just never…well, let’s say ‘vishee swaw’ and leave it at that. There are too many people to thank, so instead, let me tell you this. One of my close friends once told me this story on his very death bed. Honest to God. He was crying as he told it to me. You know what, we were both crying. It was so…emotional.” Mr. Johannson put a hand to his lips and paused before continuing.

“He told me about what he did when he first found out he was dying. There was this woman that he was in love with. They had been friends, but they never done anything beyond just friendship. I mean, they were close, they’d just never, you know, had relations. Avec’ed.

“Well, the guy knew he only had a few months to live, and that his condition would just get worse and worse, so he asked the woman if, just once before he became an invalid, they could make love. She said yes, and they agreed that the next weekend they’d have a romantic dinner and, well, make love.

“So, that weekend, they got together, had a wonderful dinner at his house. Talked, laughed, cleared the table, did the dishes. Then they went to the bedroom. My friend said that they started kissing and touching each other. He said he really wanted to make it great for her, too, so he spent a long time running his hands over her, kissing her body, all of that. You know, real parlay voo sort of stuff, as they say in Berlin.” Mr. Johannson winked at the crowd.

“And after they’d sufficiently warmed up, he picked up the condom wrapper, opened it, and went to slide it on. Well, wouldn’t you know it, by the time he got it out and on, he’d started to go limp. He tried to get it back up again, but it just wouldn’t work. The woman tried to give him a hand, but at that point, he was too tense and disappointed to do it. Even as she kissed him, he just sat there in her hand like a wet noodle. Or Madmoyselle, as they say in Hamburg. And that was that.

“Well Sir, like I said, my friend told me this story on his death bed. When he finished the story, he said, ‘The one thing I wanted most in the world. I had a shot at it thanks to this god-damned disease, but I worked so hard trying to make it good for her that I just gottired out or something. And now it’ll never happen. Life’s just like that sometimes, I guess.’ And right after that, he passed on. You know what? I think he was right. That’s why this award means so much to me. It’s all so very, jenna say qua.”

With that, Mr. Johannson gave a wave to the crowd and walked off the stage. The audience didn’t exactly applaud, but there was definitely some clapping going on.

EC Jarvis is finishing his Ph.D. at UW-Milwaukee, where he’s served in various editorial capacities on The Cream City Review. His work has appeared in Bitter Oleander, Heliotrope, and Isotope, among other places. He’s also had two one-act plays produced.

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