Oceans of ink (a dated phrase -- how about googols of electrons?) have been spilled about last week's passing of three notable celebrities. As a baby boomer--and the world is all about us--I can't let this moment pass without adding my two cents.
Ed McMahon was the quintessential sidekick, the foil who accentuated Johnny Carson's comic genius over three decades. He was both set-up man and Greek chorus, framing Johnny's delicate barbs. Usually the fat man (Lou Costello, Curly Howard, Jackie Gleason) was the originator of the laughs. On the Tonight Show the skinny guy told the jokes. He mocked the portly sidekick, which was painful because we identified more with Ed than quick-witted Johnny. And even if he thought up a riposte, Ed couldn't really use it because Johnny was the boss. So he just stood there and took it, laughing, all the way to the bank.
Farrah Fawcett: Our dads had Betty Grable, the pinup girl with the gams that reminded millions of GI's what they were fighting for. We had Farrah Fawcett, whose blonde perfection was as impossible for us normal Joes to attain as the platinum triumvirate of Garbo, Harlow, or Monroe. Her tanned California cheeriness was just right for a nation recovering from the traumas of Vietnam and Watergate and preparing for its resurgence as the hyper-power of the '90's. Farrah should not be dismissed as just another swimsuit model. Her influence redounded beyond our shores.
Michael Jackson's ability took him to the top of multiple entertainment categories--as a singer, dancer, choreographer and composer. Combined in one individual the package was incandescent. The young Jackson's voice was so beautiful that only the most talented (or delusional) vocalists presume to sing his best-known hits. His life veered in disastrous directions, but those will be just afterthoughts to the music that will still be playing when we're all dead and gone. © 2009 Stephen Yuen
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