They happen in threes
By Mark Johnson
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mjohnson@morrisdailyherald.com
They are supposed to happen in threes, as the saying goes, but if you use a wide-ish definition of the word, four celebrities deaths occurred last week.
I knew who Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson and Billy Mays all were, and I'd hardly qualify, and I'd never make the $32,000 question on Us Weekly Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. If your national fame is generated from an area other than sports or poker, and I know who you are, then you genuinely qualify as a celebrity in my book.
McMahon's death came first among the four, and was the least surprising, since he was 86 years old. For all of the television work McMahon did, I remember him most for doing American Family Publishers sweepstakes advertisements. Ironically I didn't even remember him correctly in this context, as I always thought he was a pitchman for its rival, Publisher's Clearing House.
What McMahon is most famous for — serving as announcer and sidekick to Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show — was a bit before my time. I do remember him, I think, hosting Star Search. For some reason, I remember thinking of him as one of the world's most famous people when I was a kid. His celebrity, it turned out, was a bit exaggerated in my mind, but his entertainment career nonetheless qualifies as remarkable.
McMahon had more of an impact on me than Farrah Fawcett, who passed away early last Thursday. The reasons for that, I think, are simple. By the time I and other boys from my generation reached the age where we became interested in girls, Fawcett was already nearing 50 years of age. She was one of the world's top sex symbols for more than a decade, but like McMahon's Tonight Show stint, that was before my time.
Fawcett unfortunately gained publicity the past few years for her battle with cancer, about which she went so far as to shoot a documentary. Her subsequent death drew light to an acting career that was far more accomplished than I'd given her credit for. She took numerous dramatic roles, and was more than just a pretty face (and incredible figure) in them, according to critics.
While Fawcett commanded a steady spotlight during the 1970s and beyond, she ceded it to someone else later on the day she died. By mid-afternoon, rumors began to swirl, especially throughout cyberspace, that something was wrong with Michael Jackson. He later passed in a Los Angeles hospital, with a gigantic crowd gathered outside.
Jackson, of course, needs no introduction. He's one of the most famous (or is infamous a better word?) people in the world. He rose to become one of the biggest superstars in the history of music in the 1980s, and retains the nickname King of Pop. Of course, his star fell spectacularly, as his appearance changed dramatically through plastic surgery and his personal life went from mysterious to genuinely weird, a transformation that included multiple child-abuse accusations.
Separated from the man that created it, Jackson's music is virtually unparalleled. My friends and I have always had different tastes in music, but for whatever reason, Beat It, Man in the Mirror and Billie Jean are songs we always played when together. They may have gotten us more than a few curious looks when we played them on tavern jukeboxes, but we were among millions that enjoyed them.
Calling Billy Mays, the 51-year-old product pitchman who died Sunday, a celebrity might be a stretch. If you watch much television, particularly late at night, you're undoubtedly familiar with both Mays and his voice. He's the heavily-bearded guy that offered you products like OxiClean for prices that were always too low to be believed.
Some found Mays annoying, but personally, I thought he seemed effective, even if I never bought one of his products or even sat through an entire infomercial. His death was enough to merit a text message from the fiancee when she'd heard of his passing.
Obviously people die every day, and I didn't shed any tears or lose any sleep over what happened last week. At the same time, it's a shame to see Jackson, Fawcett and Mays, who were 50, 62 and 50 years old, respectively, die so young. Let's hope these things stop happening in threes, or fours, or any more than they have to.
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