Raise a Glass, Shed a Tear

One of the things that fascinates me is when there are groups of famous people that die that create interesting juxtapositions. In Albert Brooks' Defending Your Life, there is a shuttle bus to heaven. I like to think of recently deceased people, waiting for a shuttle like they were going to an airline terminal. My favorite grouping was when Richard Nixon, Kurt Cobain, and Richard Wright died with within a few days of each other. Wonder what they talked about?

In the last month or so there hasn't been a huge persona passing on, but quite a few of moderate fame that occupy chinks in our memory. Beverly Owens, who was Marilyn on The Munsters (the first one, I think). Katherine Helmond, who everybody said or wrote was known for Who's the Boss, which I never watched. I knew her for Soap. Andre Previn, who was a great musician and composer but when he died was probably best known for being Woody Allen's father-in-law. King Kong Bundy, a huge wrestler. Wrestlers don't live long--probably the steroids.

On the next tier up there were some deaths that touched a wide range of generations. For the old folks, there was Dan Jenkins, who wrote two of the best sports books ever written--Semi-Tough and Dead Solid Perfect. And sticking with sports, Ted Lindsay, who was a huge hockey star, playing for the Detroit Red Wings during their heyday in the '50s, alongside Gordie Howe. When I first started watching hockey, I remember him as a broadcaster and later GM and coach of the Red Wings. He was a tough hombre, as all hockey players were back then. They played without helmets, and hit each other with sticks, which would now earn them prison sentences. Lindsay and Howe were in Toronto and a nut called in a threat, saying he was going to shoot them. There was a huge security presence, but both men played. Lindsay scored the winning goal in overtime. Instead of slipping off the ice as fast as he could, he did a victory skate around, holding his stick like a machine gun, pointing it at the crowd.

For us baby boomers, we were most saddened by the death of Peter Tork, the lovable dumb guy of The Monkees. The story goes that Steven Stills auditioned for a role, but was turned down because he had bad teeth. The producers asked him if he knew someone of his general look, and he recommended Tork, who was a folkie in Greenwich Village. Tork didn't sing much--his one song that you may have heard was the off-the-rails "Auntie Grizelda." He ended up doing a charity thing for a friend of mine, who said he was a really good egg.

Baby boomers should also remember Jan-Michael Vincent. I certainly do, for his role in The World's Greatest Athlete, or for Buster and Billie, which I never saw but was supposed to be one of the first Hollywood films to feature male frontal nudity. But he later became best known for his bizarre behavior after alcohol and drug abuse, plus three car accidents that he barely survived. That he lived to be 73 is somewhat astonishing.

The biggest name to appear in the obits this month is Luke Perry, who made a lot of Generation X-ers cry. I must admit that I have never seen him in anything, least of all Beverly Hills 90210 (not one episode). But he was regularly praised for his acting, and was not just a teen idol. His death was certainly the most untimely.

The death that made me nostalgic was that of Marshall Brodein. He was a magician who had a part on the Bozo the Clown show, but I remember him for a series of commercials for the TV Magic Club. I actually bought one of his magic sets, when I fleetingly thought I wanted to be a magician. I probably sent cash in an envelope, the way you had to buy things back then if you were a kid. He was ubiquitous on the TV that I watched, which was probably Saturday morning cartoons.

So farewell all, the world is a lesser place without any of you.