They say we truly grow older when we realize our own mortality, a realization that comes first with deaths in our own families, and then with the passing with enormous figures in our popular culture. Those of us who spent 1976-77 in high school danced to The Jackson's Enjoy Yourself, and watched Charlie's Angels with an ache in our teenaged loins. On this day, June 25, 2009, we all aged considerably.
In the summer of 1977, Elvis Presley died suddenly, sending shock waves around the world. Elvis? Dead? My late sister Laura came running from her bedroom, putting a loud, disbelieving voice to the news that this 42 year-old man, his career in decline for years, had passed away. In those days when tabloid news was pretty much restricted to actual supermarket tabloids, we scarcely realized or acknowledged his problems with weight and prescription drugs, making it much harder to understand that, at such a young age, he was gone.
Much the same can be said about Michael Jackson, except that we've known, via one outlet or another, of his controverseys and peculiarities. He was a year older than I. When the first bulletin crawled across the TV screen around 2:30 PDT (I'd been watching the Dodgers and the Chicago White Sox head into extra innings, tied 5-5), I figured he'd make it. It was on a sports talk show that I heard news of his death confirmed by the website TMZ, while local L.A. Tv stations and the cable news outlets were waiting for their own sources to make it official.
Shocking? Absolutely. When you get past the shock? Not as surprising. A 50-year-old man training intensely for one more come back, suffering cardiac arrest. A 50-year-old man, perhaps, not fully realizing his body is 50, and likely compounded by more than we know--his history with presecription drugs largely goes undiscussed. Hell, my own doctor told me last year that if I wanted to start jogging or running, I should have a stress test first. At 49 or 50, we are not what we were at 25.
This news, the surreal word that Michael Jackson was dead, obscured the fact that the pain and discomfort Farrah Fawcett experienced for three years , had ended, and that she was gone. From her great fame as Charlie's main Angel, to befuddling appearances on Late Show with David Letterman, Farrah was a beguiling creature. Tons and tons of high school and college-aged guys, and many more servicemen, hung that iconic poster of Farrah on their bedroom walls. To be truthful, I tacked the centerfold of a Playboy playmate named Denise Michelle (April '76) on the back of my door, but I watched Charlie's Angels until it began to drive my testasterone- charged teenaged senisibilities utterly wild.
But, back to the point of all this: the deaths of pop culture icons remind us that we are getting older, and mortality is the destiny of all. Farrah died at 62, but in our minds (and on that poster) her visage will forever be 29 years of age.
Michael Jackson dreamed of one last tour that would remove the stain of the last 16 years...years beset by allegations and peculiar behavior. The sad irony of life, as those of us old enough can attest to, is that his music, his phenomenal legacy between 1969 and 1993, will fly off the shelves of what stores still sell CD's, and burn up iTunes on the internet. He may become bigger than ever as some of his less appreciated or well remembered efforts after Thriller find their way to the air, with all the appropriate kudos.
There will be the inevitable books, with unimpeachable sources telling their stories without fear of reprisal, and we will learn in hideous detail of his massive foibles and peculiarities. The fact remains, however, that hardcore fans will pay no attention. In death, he will once more be the giant whose 1982 album sold more than any other by a solo artist. Like fans of Elvis rear-up in fury at the mere mention of drugs or dietary gluttony, those who deeply mourn the King of Pop will look past prurient revelations, and fiercely defend their lost Idol.
And perhaps we can hope that for the first time since his childhood swerved into superstardom, then disfunction, Michael Jackson has found peace.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)