The first death of a media personality (in this case also a
statesman) to have left a record of having caught the direct attention of a
member of my family was that of Abraham Lincoln. My great grandfather Wilhelm Meyers
(b. 1856), resident of Clark NJ, stood by the train tracks to pay his respects
to the funeral train on its roundabout route to Illinois. The occasion made
enough of an impact on the 9-year-old for him to have repeated the story throughout
his life, so that all of his descendants are still aware of it.
Mass expressions of grief for pop culture figures didn’t
occur with any frequency until the 20th century. They had to await
movies, records, radio and other mass media that could make an entertainer familiar
to millions of people. The
first truly modern event of this type was upon the death of film star Rudolph
Valentino on August 23, 1926. 100,000 onlookers showed up at the NYC funeral
and rioted. There was a rash of suicides; Jean Acker, Rudolph’s first wife,
scored a hit record with her tribute song There’s a New Star in Heaven. Despite the greater tragedies that at all times are present in the world, such
outpourings aren’t as frivolous as they may seem. These people influence our
lives every bit as much as politicians. Their songs, films, and personas are intimately connected with
our memories and sense of self. We employ them as symbols of our own aspirations and fears, and
when they die we are reminded of our own mortality. It is not quite like losing
a family member, but it is something akin to it.
The
first celebrity death which impinged on my consciousness in a significant way
was that of Marilyn Monroe when I was 9. I recall the TV news flash announcing
it, and my dad’s immediate comment, “She was only 36.” (For whatever reason, my
dad was aware she was the same age as he.) A cascade followed in the next
several years, some leaders with gravitas (JFK, MLK, RFK) and some pop culture
icons (Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix and others). Nonetheless, while
I appreciated the social significance of those deaths, it wasn’t until Elvis
that I felt the nostalgic twinge of personally having lost something from childhood.
In
the years since I’ve lost actual friends and close family members, as we all do
in time. The passing of public figures grows less surprising, less personal,
and, by comparison, less disconcerting. Still, we never lose that twinge
entirely, this time for Robin Williams. I have nothing to say about the
circumstances of his death, but I remember the days of which his performances
were a part. For those, a tip of the hat, Robin. (I have hat around here
somewhere.)
Freud
said that it is fundamentally impossible to conceive of one’s own death, for
when you try you necessarily do so from a live perspective. I know what he was
getting at, but the point is an academic one. We can conceive of limits to
existence superficially, and that is quite enough. It’s hard to imagine
a better motivation to try to enjoy the days that remain.
1962 Newsreel
We just watched a documentary showing the funeral for Valentino. It was really something else. Reminded me of the outpouring of grief we saw when Princess Diana died. I was so surprised how many people in the US were affected by her death.
ReplyDeleteYeah I feel like you do about Williams. He brought a lot of laughs in to my life, and I've quoted him on many occasions. He did a hilarious sketch about the invention of golf that I still love listening to. Anybody who can bring so much happiness to so many people will certainly be missed. And so many people grew up with him in television shows and movies from their childhood. I remember him from "Mork and Mindy", but my younger friend knew him as Peter Pan in "Hook". His older sister will always think of him as Genie from "Aladdin". Anyway, I join you in a tip of the hat, and I played John William's wonderful score to "Hook" yesterday. Certainly a excellent musical tribute.
The Diana response in the US caught me off guard, too. They're not our Royals, so I expected something more muted, rather like when a neighbor loses a family member: you just express condolences and stay out of the way, not invite yourself to the wake.
DeleteYes, I was sorry to hear about Williams' and Becalls' recent deaths. I think the first celebrities' death that affected me was John Lennon's. Though when I say affected, I'm not even sure what that means. I guess I mean reflect upon it in some way because although some part of them affected you or brought you joy and made your life richer on some level, you never really knew them personally.
ReplyDeleteNot too sound too jaded or hard bitten I can understand where their loss might affect the public at large, I guess somewhere along the line too, I realize that death will eventually happen to us all. So I take it in perspective and as a fact of life, and like you said, (and also like Williams' character said in Dead Poet's Society) try and enjoy or seize the day while I can.
Those lines about death when Williams is pointing out the old photograph to the class are a little freaky now. So is a poem (for me anyway) written by sister Sharon at age 16. She died in 1995.
DeleteTHIS IS A MESSAGE
Intended to guide
posterity on its long and
bloody path, something
unique in history.
Perhaps, you see, they will bring
busloads of people to look
at my room and baby shoes
after I’m dead.
They will build romances
from high school rings
left in my drawers,
tragedies from moldy
corsages
pressed in my anthology books.
I will be mysterious,
Shrouded in mystery.
When asked of me, my
lovers, now grown suavely
wrinkled, will smile sadly
and sigh, “I knew her when."
Nice poem, Richard.
ReplyDelete