Posted by
Dave Smith on Wednesday, June 09, 2010 5:32:21 PM
The human mind has some strange foibles, presumably left behind from our hunter-gatherer days. One such eccentricity, widely held, is the fact that we have a hard time putting things in perspective. Instead, whatever is in "the now" is superlative, and our lives are measured in "ever"s: the football game was the most exciting ... ever; winter was the coldest, or the snowiest, or the windiest... ever; summer was the warmest, or the rainiest, or had the worst Hurricanes; that movie was the best, or the funniest, or the scariest, or the worst; and so on down the line. While it is easy to remember events, and with important ones (9/11 for my generation, the Kennedy assassination for my parents') nearly impossible to forget where you were when they happened, it seems difficult for humans to put things in proper perspective.
As a result, we end up with people juxtapositioning "good ol' days" with walking to school uphill (both ways, according to the cliche) and "these kids today" with dissertations on the superiority of the contemporary athlete. It's a curious characteristic we seem to share, and perhaps does nothing more important than keep us entertained.
All that said, is it just me, or are famous people -- celebrities, actors, coaches, you name it -- dropping like flies at the fastest rate, well, ever?
Some of this perception on my part is perhaps related to an understandable peculiarity of the human mind: the seeming increase in quickness in the passage of time, the feeling that every year passes more quickly than the one before. This is easily explained by the fact that the longer one lives, the smaller the marginal increment of each passing day, year, etc. -- a year to a 40-year old is only 2.5% of his life, while a year to a 15-year old is 6.7%. Congruently, the longer one lives, the longer one has the exposure required to acquire an attachment, revulsion, or just a familiarity with a larger swath of people. It makes sense that, all other things being equal, that the older one gets, the more famous or influential people seem to be passing away. And, well, I am getting older.
Again, though: all that said, it still seems that over the past year, an inordinate number of notable individuals have passed away, and it seems that they hail from diverse fields, crafts, and professions. And it seems that we are on the cusp of losing more.
Consider: in 2009 and 2010 -- regardless of what you think of each of them -- we lost icons in entertainment: director John Hughes, the remaining actresses of the "Golden Girls" (save Betty White), Patrick Swayze, Fess Parker (Davy Crocket!), Dixie Carter, and Peter Graves; trailblazers: singer Lena Horne, civil rights activist Dorothy Irene Heights, and former Philippines President Corazon Aquino. There was Eunice Kennedy Shriver -- founder of the Special Olympics -- and Senator Ted Kennedy. The classy Dixie Carter, the reclusive JD Salinger, the iconoclastic Dennis Hopper, and the newsman Walter Cronkite. Nobody will ask "whatchu talkin' 'bout Willis"; Gary Coleman is gone, a sad testament to what happens to too many child stars. There's no more "My Sharona", Billy Mays, "the rest ... of the story" (Paul Harvey), or Titanic survivors. Two great voices of sport, Harry Callas and Ernie Harwell, are silenced. The "King of Pop" is gone, and David Carradine took his own life.
Just last weekend, the "Wizard of Westwood", John Wooden, joined the group. He lived a long, full life -- he was 99 at the time of his death -- and without dissent every person he mentored, coached, or befriended spoke of his character and integrity. It was interesting to see an old man from rural Indiana being eulogized, at times in tears, by men as varied as Bill Walton, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, Shaquille O'Neal, coaches who worked for him, and journalists who covered him. His was the most decorated coaching career in all of college sports. He won 10 national championships (including 7 in a row) and sent countless players to the NBA. Yet even though he retired from coaching in 1975, he remained relevant for the next 35 years as people sought his mentoring, his perspective, and his company.
My mother always said that famous people die in threes, an assertion at which I formerly scoffed. It seems now that has increased, because we seem to be losing them in droves. Perhaps it is just me and a lack of perspective. But it sure does seem like it.