Soupy Sales

So, I am trying to get back in the game here. It's 5 AM on Sunday morning, and Soupy Sales is obvious fodder to make it happen. Getting Lou Albano up was positively cathartic, and had to be done BEFORE I could touch "Milton Soupman."

There's a lot of things my recent spate of work has affected. I've had a little less time for soccer coaching. And domestic repairs and chores? Well, they're always a challenge, even on a slow day. Once I get busy and traveling, other aspects of my life start to fall apart. I truly long for a simple life, but living in the go-go northeast with five kids and a large mortgage, I can't have one. My therapist tells me that I have too many interests, too many distractions. Pick ONE thing, he says. To me, that's like watching one channel all night. And, I was never very good at watching one channel.

When I was in third grade, a direct mail piece showed up at our house, informing my family that CABLE TELEVISION was available in our area. I was so tickled about this news that I brought the brochure into school with me. My teacher, a sweet older woman named Jewell Smith, mistakenly believed that I was hawking Cox cable and told me she wasn't interested. Truth was, for me, it was just this bizarre show and tell thing. Cable TV is coming! Cable TV is coming! And with it, came The Chicago Cubs and HBO movies, and wrestling from Georgia, oh, and ... Soupy Sales.

My family all knew about Soupy Sales, the "pie-in-the-face" guy. He had a show in the late seventies that was supposed to re-ignite his career , and that is pretty much how I ran into Soupy. Truth be told, the show wasn't all that great and I probably watched a handful of episodes, if that. I really don't else to say about him. But, there's always the Web, far cooler than cable TV, to help me out.

For starters, the Alice Cooper episode seems to get a lot of play. His old stuff is positively weird. Four Soupy, off-camera was probably more important than on, which is kind of a nice way to engage folks. The Stripper gag is legendary and really remarkable for its time. Pull a gag like that in this day and age, and there's a national scandal. He was a frequent guest on the great celebrity recycling bin known as Match Game. And here's a neato factoid I completely missed. Soupy's sons Hunt and Tony were a part of that bullshit David Bowie "band," Tin Machine that released not one, but two, almost un-listenable albums.

And, stopping with Soup's progeny is probably a good enough way to end this bloated, overdone post. Now, back to work.

Captain Lou Albano

I'll be the first one to admit that I have let you down. That I am out of shape. Lazy. Lame. Just like Captain Lou Albano. Heh Heh.

Let's face facts. The celebrity death business ain't what it used to be. It has been slow. Really, Really, Slow...

I swear. Every single day I check the obituaries, and every single day there really isn't all that much of interest. And, gosh, short of Patrick Swayze, this has been going on for well over two months.

So you might think I would be all over the Lou Albano thing. Well, it kind of caught me on a rather busy week. See, I started this blog during a relatively slow time in my career, and (Thank God) things have picked up, so I am not exactly sitting around downloading music all day long.

Captain Lou, like, perhaps, Ed McMahon, is pretty much why Celebituary was invented. I mean, sure, we all felt the Michael Jakson death on some level, but, as I have said before, this blog is about giving another fifteen minutes to some of our best friends on their way out the door. And, unlike Michael, Lou Albano, really could use that last fifteen, methinks.

See, I was way into 'rasslin growing up. I watched it every Saturday. An on occasion, I had the honor of going with my dad to the old Municipal Auditorium in Pensacola, FL. I had the honor of seeing a young Hulk Hogan, at the time known as "The Hulk" battle Andre the Giant. And Hogan was the bad guy.

Lou Albano was "New York wrestling," and that wrestling was much better than most of what we got on the Panhandle. No offense to Ron Fuller, Bullet Bob Armstrong, or even Austin Idol.

Here's the thing about Captain Lou. First of all, his schtick was unmatched, save for perhaps George "The Animal" Steele. Frankly, I never liked the whole Cyndi Lauper thing. He shows up in that video as her dad, and I'm thinking "well, that's an endearing role, but Captain Lou is a bad guy, not a good guy,...so WTF?"

Well, I got over it, and as we all know, that video launched Lou into a brief period of national celebrity. I think you know you've made it when you are the center square, even if you have to share it.

This is kind of fun from a pop culture standpoint. What do you get when you combine Captain Lou, Mario, and hip hop? This.

And, the captain parlayed his Mario celebrity into a memorable PSA against doing drugs, which is a bit laughable given his Coke-fueled rants of years gone by.

Ok. Enough. Let's close this one out with a sweet song. It's remarkable. Detached from the body, he sounds a bit like Jimmy Durante.

Mary Travers

Hey, I finally have something in common with Mary Travers – we’re both late. (I know, it’s not funny. Especially this one.)

Lots of people die, even famous ones – it’s part of life, and death. But something about Mary Travers’ passing really hitting me hard. I don’t know, maybe because while she was an internationally know, Grammy-winning artist, she was not a superstar in the unapproachable-traveling-with-entourage kind of way. She was a regular person, living a few miles from me and my family – the kind of local celebrity you’d see from time to time…hey isn’t that?

As a kid, my wife Jill had the honor of hearing Travers speak her name. My wife was a volunteer at the Ives Center in Danbury where Travers was performing. At the end of the performance, she read the list of volunteers’ names. It’s not quite the thrill of Bill Clinton citing you as inspirationfor a trip to North Korea, but in everyday life, it’s something.

Of course this personal connection to Travers pales in comparison to her musical accomplishments – 1/3 the seminal folk group Peter, Paul and Mary. But that’s what we keep of people after they’ve left us; the impact they’ve made on us personally.

I must have worn the grooves off my mother’s copy of Puff the Magic Dragon as a child listening to it over and over. And that’s without knowing the alleged drug reference, which I’ve just learned was never really about drugs anyway. The song and Burgess Meredith voiced-over movie taught me more about honesty, self-confidence and innocence than any piece of pop culture should be expected to.

I hope Mary is in Honalee.

Patrick Swayze

Finally.

Look, I didn't mean that the way it came out, but this one is truly overdue on so many levels. OK, well...two levels.

#1) In case you haven't noticed, things have been rather quiet in celebituary land the last two weeks and I was waiting...hoping for a big name to end the um...moratorium on celebrity deaths. Sure, I could have caved and done the world's oldest woman. And, I had a nice little thought about Jack Kramer, what with the US Open going on. But, I was really holding out for someone big to pass.

#2) That someone, Patrick Swayze, has been on the near death list for a long time. He and Farrah Fawcett were essentially the King and Queen of the death prom, and..well...he kind of stood her up, if you ask me.

I usually find out these things from a friend, and I betcha anything my inbox will fill up in the time that it takes me to write this entry. This time, I got the news from my arch nemesis, the precious Obit magazine who has the same business model as me, except they have a staff, and probably nice offices. I bet they were sweating this prolonged lull out. Frankly, I was OK with it -- it was a nice break. But, now it's back to school, and I really can't think of a better way to head into the fall than celebrating the life of St. Patrick.

I have a few Patrick Swayze memories, but the one I'd like to document is actually quite fresh. It was winter break this past year. My abnormally large family and I were stuck in a hotel in Portland, Maine during one of the bigger snow days -- only it seemed even bigger in Maine. It would have made for the perfect Stephen King novel, but the Embassy Suites didn't really offer that vibe at all. Amazing free breakfast buffet, though. Highly recommended.

So, we're pretty much snowed in and Ghost comes on the TV. And this was after the news had broken about Mr. Swayze's illness. So, I'm sitting there watching this movie about a dead man, and explaining to my kids (who are a little young to appreciate irony) that in real life this actor is going to die soon. What I didn't know until just looking it up this evening is that "Willie Lopez" (actor Rick Aviles) has been deceased now for almost fifteen years. Alas, actor Tony Goldwyn, most recently of "Criminal Intent" fame is still with us. I wonder if he has made the "last man standing" connection like I have? Probably.

I'm not going to go into the whole Dirty Dancing thing. I'm just not. But, since the theme has suddenly become dead co-stars of Patrick Swayze, I stumbled upon this vintage link of a SNL skit with Swayze and Chris Farley. The hair is simply awesome. Hard to believe it was the nineties and not the eighties.

I couldn't find any deceased co-stars from the movie, "The Outsiders," but damn, what a movie, what a cast! I swear to God, in my attic, I have that movie on a beta tape and I refuse to get rid of it.

While we are all caught up in Patrick's acting prowess, I won't let any of you out of here until you enjoy the vocal talents of Mr. Swayze as captured in the timeless 80's classic "She's Like the Wind."

What else? Sure, there were the gay rumors. I mean, come one, he DANCED for God Sakes! And then he goes and plays a Drag Queen? Gay. Case closed. But, perhaps his wife and co-author Lisa might beg to differ. I don't think he was gay, but what's up with the no children?

DJ AM

[not that I need to explain myself...EVER, but I decided to honor the passing of DJ AM in a manner more consistent with what you might expect from a fellow DJ]

Disc jockey DJ AM dies
Disc jockey DJ AM dies
Disc jockey DJ AM dies
Disc jockey DJ AM dies

Terri Schiavo's Dad Dies
World's Oldest Dog Dies
Terri Schiavo's Dad Dies
World's Oldest Dog Dies

Disc jockey DJ AM dies
Disc jockey DJ AM dies
Disc jockey DJ AM dies
Disc jockey DJ AM dies

Korean Actress Dies
Bunnymen Keyboardist Dies
Korean Actress Dies
Bunnymen Keyboardist Dies

Bunnymen Keyboardist Dies
Bunnymen Drummer Dies

Travis Barker Lives

Teddy Kennedy

This one reminds me of the recent "Uncle Walter" death, where the big papers had already written and spit-shined the man's obituary months back. And with good reason. If you recall last spring and last fall, I doubt many of us thought the youngest Kennedy would be with us for even this long. But, we put it out of our mind, and kind of moved on. Maybe he would beat the cancer after all, serve another ten years, and break the record. But, no, he didn't. As they say, death and taxes (a topic Mr. Kennedy certainly knew a thing or two about) are inevitable.

I was lamenting the fact that I had to work tonight on the Teddy Kennedy obit, and my oldest daughter, Cameron asked "Who's he? Did he work for you?" And I suppose he sort of did.

I grew up in a lower middle class Democratic household, and was well versed in the obvious distinctions between Democrats and Republicans. The Democratic Party was the working class party that fights for the little guy and the Republican Party was the "money" party. And it's as simple as that. So, yeah, Ted Kennedy spent his whole career working for me.

My Irish mother was about as working class as it gets, and a big fan of the Kennedys. But, even she admitted that young Teddy was "damaged goods." It was the whole Chappaquiddick thing. I went so far as to write a report about it in high school. It all went down in 1969, and rather than write about the moon landing or Woodstock, I chose Chappaquiddick. I suppose I have always been a tad perverse. I have an extremely visceral memory of pouring through reel after reel of microfishe, reading authentic articles from the time. Damn, I wish I still had that paper.

I distinctly remember an old SNL skit, where the 1980 candidates were all doing domestic chores in an Iowa home. One of the big punchlines came when Teddy, played by Bill Murray, offered to drive the daughter home. You want longevity? How's this. TK was impersonated by FIVE different SNL actors over the years, starting with Murray and most recently Will Ferrell. That might be a record. But think about it. Who else has been in the public eye for that many years? Queen Elizabeth, for one. But she isn't tragically funny like our dearly departed Massachusetts senator.

What more is there to know about a man whose life was so well documented? (Beautiful piece by the globe, I mean...hats off!) I found a neato interactive map of his relationships and interrelationships. Speaking of interrelationships, he once was one third of a sandwich with Chris Dodd and a DC-area waitress. His first wife, Joan, is a notorious alcoholic and DUI collector. He was expelled from Harvard for cheating on a Spanish test. He rather famously couldn't answer the Roger Mudd question, "Why do you want to be president?" But there's a lot of good too. He had a wonderful working relationship with Utah Republican senator and songwriter Orrin Hatch. He was a noted sailor up on the Cape. He loved dogs and in fact, his dog "wrote" a book.

Oh, and one final related thought on the "Singing Senator." My old friend, Glenn White, observed on Facebook today "The Dead Kennedys announce a new band member." Ok, a little twisted, but hey, why not take this moment and reflect on perhaps one of the best band names of all time?

Bob Novak

You never know. Bob Novak might kick-start a late summer celebrity death parade the same way that Ed McMahon really shook up the cosmic karma two months back. Only time will tell.

Good ole' Bob Novak. He was one of many "talking heads" that I grew up with. And, I have to say, for me, he is most remembered as the guy who replaced Pat Buchanon on Crossfire. I was a huge Crossfire fan as a teenager and I fondly remember watching it on the smallish television in the living room, which replaced the humongous "furniture" TV in the living room. For a person who truly revels in shades of gray, Crossfire was testament to the fact that nobody was necessarily right (pun intended) or wrong. It was just a matter of how you saw things.

And, before I go any further, it's important for me to give pause and shine a little light on one Tom Braden, the left-leaning ying to Mssrs. Buchanon and Novak's yang. He passed on April 3, of this year, about two weeks before I started this blog. What is interesting about him -- apart from what I felt like was the penultimate alcoholic face -- is that he wrote the memoir that led to the famous seventies television series, Eight is Enough, staring Willie Ames, who most recently attempted suicide. Probably my favorite Eight is Enough is the melodramatic Christmas two-part episode where Tommy, played by Mr. Ames, receives a gift from the grave, from his deceased mother. As I child, I was touched by this.

Oh my, where did I go? Only I can go from Bob Novak to an mid-seventies Christmas special. While we remain in tangential land, the most endearing episode of Crossfire that receives the most hits on the InterWeb is the one that featured Frank Zappa, discussing censorship. A free Celebituary T-Shirt to whoever can name the song that they are discussing at the onset of the show.

But, I think it would be unfair to hi-jack Mr. Novak's final goodbye what with talk of Willie Ames and Frank Zappa. Just before he was diagnosed with the tumor, he hit a pedestrian with his Corvette. In retrospect, it was probably due to the tumor.

Here's a nice moment from the past, where he gets frustrated with a co-host and calls him an asshole.

Other moments. Mr. Novak, you might remember was at the center of the whole "Plame Game" blown cover hoopla that transpired three years ago. He was criticized as an "unpatriotic conservative" for his anti-Iraq war stance. Sounds like Bobby probably took the right stance, after all.

A parting shot? Watch here as Mr. Novak walk off, stage right (natch) to the sound of The Clash. Isn't the Internet something?

Les Paul

[editor's note: When I heard about old Les, I put out an APB to all the axe men in my life. And, no I'm not talking about teen and pre-teen boys. One Brett Minieri answered the call, and wrote this baby like only a fellow guitarist could. Welcome to Celebituary, Brett]

Sure 92% of men and 101% of all women couldn't recognize Les Paul if he bludgeoned them over the head with a guitar bearing his very name. Doesn't matter. To truly gauge a man's life, you begin with his legacy. Like Einstein and Thomas Crapper, their contributions to society are far greater than any social (or celebrity) impact they may have had. Such is the case with LP.

As it happens, Les Paul had an incredibly prolific career and did many amazing things. Not one of which was more important than inventing the iconic single-cut electric 6-string instrument that would bear his name. By doing so he armed some of the greatest musicians and soon-to-be rock gods with one of the most important and influential tools in rock and roll history.

Can you visualize Jimmy Page prancing around on stage at MSG pretending some dinky Gretsch or Rickenbacker is his phallus? Of course not. Or the idea of Jeff Beck’s classic Wired being recorded with anything less than his ’58 Black top? Hells no. What about Joe Perry or Ace Frehley or Duane Allman or Slash…you get the idea.

Ever realize how many classic rock songs reference a “Les Paul?” At least a dozen…that shortlist includes bands like Aerosmith, Great White and Sammy Hagar just to name a few.

And one final piece of recognition for an often unnoticed contribution to rock/pop culture; it was he – not Cher or Madonna or Donovan to adopt a single name. And as far as being an icon…well even Prince’s “symbol” can’t touch Les Paul’s 9lb 6oz flamed mahogany beauty as a more singular symbol of what its like to truly be culturally relevant.

Did we know him intimately? No. Will we all miss his legacy? Absolutely, if not unknowingly.

R.I.P. Les Paul.

John Hughes

OK, I'm back in the game. In my humble opinion, the past week has been one of the slower ones in recent memory.

Yes, there was that famous dancer.
There was Time's Woman of the Year in 1986.
And how about the screenwriter who wrote "On the Waterfront?"
Then there's England's beloved manager from their 1990 World Cup semi-final appearance.
And how could I leave out the 'sweater zombie' from Day of the Dead?

But none of them captivated my imagination. And who knows? Perhaps I just needed a break. A Vacation, if you will.

John Hughes. Well, that death cannot go unnoticed. I feel blessed to be a member of perhaps the one generation that truly has its own canon of movies. Sixteen Candles. Breakfast Club. Pretty in Pink. Ferris Bueller's Day Off. See, when my kids ask me what it was like growing up in the eighties, I can just refer them to these films -- classics, every single one of them!

You want a memory? I remember standing in line to see Pretty in Pink at the old twin theaters back behind Town & Country Plaza. Pensacola people, ya' feelin' me? I remember when Molly Ringwald said "They Fucking Forgot My Birthday!" My mouth popped open and I looked at one of my friends, probably Ed Spears. See, Sixteen Candles was rated PG, and she said "Fuck," and you're not supposed to say that in a PG movie, at least none that I had ever seen. The next year, whadda ya know, the PG-13 rating comes out. I'm pretty sure that line was a big contributor to the whole movement.

I go could on and on about Sixteen Candles. "Girl's Underpants!" That really was the ultimate prize back in the day -- maybe still is, but I feel like kids have moved beyond that. I'm not sure whether I got into the R rated "Breakfast Club" or I had to wait for the video, but God Damn!, another amazingly quotable, well written masterpiece. Then, there was Bueller, which pretty much contributed to a nationwide rise in "skip days" in high schools, I'm sure of it.

Hell, I even liked Uncle Buck, which I recall seeing in college with my roommates. The "melanoma head" scene made me laugh out loud then and it makes me laugh out loud now.

Hughes made me cry with the whole Kevin Bacon not knowing if Elizabeth McGovern was going to make it or not in "She's Having a Baby." The Kate Bush song there, not sure if that was John's call, excellent choice.

Damn, so many Hughes memories. So many.

So, here's the strange serendipity part of the whole story. Recently, my kids have been consuming Beethoven movies like ice cream. It's pretty much been the summer of Beethoven. For those who don't know, and don't click on my painstakingly researched hyperlinks, Beethoven is a series of movies about a huge dog. Who wrote those films? Come to find out it was Edmond Dantès, which is the pseudonym of one John Hughes.

Hughes dropped out of sight in 1994, still writing, but not directing anymore. Speaking of directing, this is my favorite Hughes story. The entire film, Breakfast Club was conceived by the writer Hughes, as a way for him to get into directing. He had never directed before. Never been on a set, even. So, what does he do? He writes a film with a limited number of actors, who are mostly kids (easier to direct), with a limited number of shots (easier to direct). Talk about making your own luck!

Well, I could sing the praises of Mr. Hughes for days, but I do have a format to keep to. I'll leave you with one of Hughes earlier works, as a pure writer for National Lampoon. It's about a boy who wakes up one day with a vagina. OK, not fair to women,..um men...um..I'm confused. Here. Here's the opposite story, also written by John.

Oh, God, good st

Vernon Forrest

We can only hope that Vernon Forrest marks the end of an an unfortunate summer for boxing deaths. First Alexis, then Arturo, and now Vernon.

But who am I kidding? Boxing is a dangerous sport and its practitioners face far greater odds of death than most. It didn't make the top ten list, but I wonder if that's because the size of the overall population is relatively low. The thing about at least two of the aforementioned gentlemen is that they died due to the people that they hung out with and the places they traveled.

So, either you die Apollo Creed style, as was the case with Marco Antonio Nazareth or Benjamín Flores, two young Mexican boxers whose summertime deaths flew under the radar. Or you end up murdered like Mr. Gatti or Mr. Forrest. Clearly, I am generalizing here. Some boxers, like Johnny Caldwell, live relatively long lives and die from cancer.

So, what to make of Vernon Forrest? I've got to say, I sort of missed his career. Unlike Gatti, who was vaguely familiar with, Forrest's rise and glory days ocurred virtually unnoticed by me. But, he was an Atlanta-based boxer, just like Evander Hollyfield, who I did see one day in the Atlanta airport. But I don't want to give too much of that encounter away, given that Real Deal is very much alive, and I want to save that story for another day.

So, what of Vernon Forrest? By many accounts, he was a good guy. Clean living, well-educated, and charitable. He was the only man to ever drop Shuga Shane Mosley, which was quite impressive. And, given the age we all live in, yes, Mr. Forrest was involved in MySpace and Twitter... a perfectly good place to foretell his own demise.

Gidget

The presentation to the Darden Restaurant Group (who don't really have any Mexican joints, by the way) is this afternoon. But irony firmly noted.

"Yes, but that cute, weird little dog from the Taco Bell ads died."

I have a huge proposal to write for the Mesa County Community College account.

"Why haven't you covered the dog yet, dude? That's like right up your alley." Some would say he's (she's?) bigger than Michael!"

There's a big wireframe presentation with the nice folks from well, ...well, those nice people.target="_blank"

"We're going on Two Days here. God you're insensitive. Oh, and you really missed your moment. Thank goodness for Conan!

"The five kids are driving me crazy, especially the baby, got your ass home right night now. It's Friday afternoon and I know you don't have any thing better to <expletive> do"

But, this famous dog really does mean a lot to me. A part of me, at least 23 pounds, has passed on when this female WTF? dog died over two days ago.

Friday night es Taco Night at the Marrelli House. Dad's making his famous tacos and he's gobbling down a soft enfolded clump of irony mixed with ground beef, sour cream, cheese, lettuce, and a tad of guacomoletarget="_blank.

OK. Game over. You can' do the God Damn Dog anymore. You missed it. People have stopped following you on Twitter. Destroy the T-shirt plans. It's over.

WHAT a GORGEOUS DAY!Now, go landscape and put up a 15 foot trampoline in the backyard. But first, clean up the dog poop. Sniff Sniff. Not at the dog poop. I'm crying here. What kind of creep do you think I am?

Bed time festivities and I get a little thought about how life sometimes gets in the way of important projects. All of a sudden, it's a angle. Let me sleep on it. But first let me check...anything else out there...Les Lyle? Usted can' t hace eso en celebituary!

Sunday Morning, 3 AM for me is pretty much the high point of the Taco Bell experience. It's the truce that you offer to Saturday night. OK. I didn't win. You didn't win. So give me a Meximelt. They never publicize the Meximelt and it's the best thing they go going. Perhaps it's because of the negative connotations. Yup, Meximelts and that cute, weird, little...OH GOD. Please take me instead.Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Frank McCourt

"You love me, ...you really love me."

I tried to get out of this Frank McCourt post, but the overwhelming response was for me to honor this school teacher turned Pulitzer Prize winner. And why shouldn't I? Despite my surname, I have always felt more Irish than Italian. Oh, and I'm a writer, and, at times, a reacher of writers. And I live in Connecticut, for Christ Sakes! Where do I send the flowers?

I suppose I just didn't want to open the doors to all the writers of the world, because then you have to do all the screenwriters, the potters, ...pretty much anyone famously involved in the creative arts. But, fair enough, I'll do McCourt, because there is a story in there, I think.

Thus far, some of the best couple years of my life were those spent in Chicago in the late nineties. I was running the creative department in the Modem Media Chicago office. It just so happened that I ended up working with a bunch of Irish guys...McCue, Feeley, Tullis. And, one of these guys, I think it was probably Tullis, turned me on to "Angela's Ashes." Heard of it? So, when I think about that book or movie, I think about the good times down on West Erie, my commute on the green line from Oak Park, Kerry Wood's ridiculous 20K performance, and the Mexican place down the street from our rental which was eventually shut down by the board of health, but I enjoyed very much. What can I say? I'm Irish. I have a high tolerance for filth.

Speaking of filth, a professor friend of mine, Scott Barnett, wondered how McCourt contracted menningitis which is more or less a college kid's sex disease. The thing about McCourt is that his days in the spotlight were relatively brief and his back story has been neatly summed up, not only by the press, but by McCourt himself in the aforementioned Ashes, 'Tis, and Teacher Man.

But I got a huge bag of tricks from this here Internet. Let me shine a light on Stuyvesant High School, where he taught for 30 years. How about a shout out to his less famous brother, Malachy. And, I'll even throw in the other famous Frank McCourt who isn't dead yet.

Walter Cronkite

It's well-known in the circle of obituary writing that many tributes arrive pre-written, based on the expected death of the subject. Such was undoubtably the case with my 92 year old uncle, Walter. Many of the obits were exquisitely well cooked or even over-cooked, if you ask me. This is my challenge with celebituary. Being three or four people, but mostly me, there really isn't the chance to write these things in advance. But, I sort of like the reactionary ethos of celebituary. It carries that little "punch in the stomach" you feel when, out of nowhere, you hear that someone you knew has passed on. Here's one of my favorite jokes to play on people:

"Did you hear Elton John died? ... Me neither."

And pranks is where I will start in my recollection of Walter Cronkite. Who remembers the notorious "Walter Cronkite Spit in My Food?" web site? I sure do. It came out in the early early days of the Web, and to me, it was one of the early examples of the audacious "you gotta see this" potential of Internet content. While, I liked it very much, Uncle Walter was not amused. Legal action ensued and the site no longer exists. A free celebituary T-Shirt to anyone who can find artifacts to the original site.

So, the whole irony about this is that due in part to these shenanigans, Mr. Cronkite was not a fan of internet journalism. So, here I am, some random guy in Fairfield, CT, getting the last word on Walter Cronkite. Well, that's the way it is.

The most personal connection I have with this icon is actually via my wife, Jennifer, who saw the guy speak while attending his j-school in Tempe.

"Did you meet him?"

"No."

"...it was a really big auditorium."

So, her relationship with Cronkite is basically like my relationship with Michael Hutchence of INXS. Well, I'll take it. But, unlike a rock star or a president or a rock star president, I think many of us feel like we know Walter, given his regular dinnertime appearance in all of our homes. He sort of came into prominence before cable's 500 channels, so his relevance is magnified. For me, though, my fondest Cronkite memory is one that I never experienced first hand. That Kennedy reaction was so real, so human. Like my own uncle showing up at the door with bad news.

Tom Wilkes Booth

Tom Wilkes Booth, famed art director and album designer, passed away recently. There’s no relation between him and John Wilkes Booth, in fact his name is just Tom Wilkes. Sorry, I was just trying to spice this burrito up. Anyway.

If you’re of a certain age, you probably grew up pondering the cover art and posters Tom Wilkes created. Me, I’m a little too young but I think I recall a t-shirt a creepy guy who lived in my neighborhood wore that was probably a Wilkes design.

The Stones, Beatles compilations, The Who (Grammy for Tommy album design), Ike and Tina, REO Speedwagen (ironically making Pitchfork’s worst cover designs ever – scroll to bottom), Streisand, Mr. Neil Young and tons more all had some groovy designs courtesy of Wilkes. This was when cover art was truly a part of the experience. Will we ever see those days again? Will we think back years from now about the wrapper Taylor Swift or Black Eyed Peas music came in? I don’t know.

But Wilkes’ talent was too much to be contained by the drifting, rebellious music scene and he spread his love around to book jackets, print ads and illustration projects. Check it and see. Really cool stuff, and if you’ve read this far, you might as well spend a few more minutes getting some value.

Ever hear of the Monterey Pop Festival? He was art director of it. Ever lust after the One Show Award in your boss’ office? Wilkes had one. Think the world could be a better place through a “planetary enhancement program”? So did Tom!

Heeding the aptly titled George Harrison album All Things Must Pass (the cover of which is awesome), we take the needle off the record briefly to sit a quiet moment for Tom Wilkes.

Dash Snow

OK, I confess. I didn't know who he was at first. Being the suburban creative director that I am, I'm a little slow on the uptake and behind the times on the hip downtown artists.

Bitter? Guilty as charged. I have just never had much tolerance for trust funders who call themselves artists. It's probably a bad trait of mine. Why be so angry? Why not give the guy a break? Why you be hatin', C?

I dunno. I just don't know if it is possible to be hardcore if you grew up as art royalty. He's sort of disqualified from day one.

So, what does it mean to me? Well, I see the guy's Polaroid work, and I think about my good friend, Steven Cloud, who has been doing shit like that for years. OK, so maybe no pictures of penises (that I know of), but I just feel like this Snow fellow gets a little advantage that most of us wouldn't get and for that I hate him. But, I do enjoy art, particularly provocative art -- and, to a degree I'll give him a pass. I even like partying hard, although I have never done H, and I never plan to. My brother, who got hit by a car was a big fan of Dylan Thomas who basically drank himself to death. So, I sort of romanticize the tortured, fucked up artist persona more than most. And for some reason, all of a sudden, I am thinking about Layne Stanley, who I think captured that heroin addiction vibe quite well on one of my favorite albums, Dirt.

Back to the formula. Give the information age that we dwell in, there is no shortage of hyperlinks, trivia, videos, and Tweets to be had from a contemporary artist. For some of these older folks, I have to work all night just to find a decent link, but anybody famous and under thirty is well-indexed.

Arturo Gatti

What are the odds of two recently retired athletes, both 37, being murdered on consecutive weekends? If I were Michael Strahan, I would stay home and lock all the doors next weekend. But even then, with all the domestic disputes and what not, are you truly safe? The whole thing is really sobering.

Arturo Gatti fell into the category of sports celebrities I "knew of," but did not follow. If you read the Alexis Arguello post, you'd remember that I was into boxing in the eighties, but have since lost interest. I do find it somewhat ironic that the suicide and murder of two boxers occurred in all the pre-fight hub-bub of UFC 100, a sport which I also do not follow, but I know it has really gained some momentum in the last couple years, at the expense of boxing.

I have to say, I wish I followed Gatti a bit more, given his reputation as the human highlight film. His trilogy, as they called it, with Irish Micky Ward was epic. And at this point I have to give pause and reflect on two things I just said. This "trilogy" idea makes me laugh because I associate the word with elves and minotaurs. Or perhaps other self-important works of art. And then, the other thing is "Irish" Micky Ward. As if the name "Micky Ward" needs some sort of modifier. In the absence of a deep frame of reference. I have nothing to cling to but interesting little turns of phrase. It's what I do. I'm a writer, not a boxer.

Robert McNamera

The Vietnam War. Missed it.

I was born a little too late to have any direct memories of this very unfortunate part of American History. I once had a very smart, but underachieving substitute history teacher who remarked that the history we live, and in particular, the more immediate history from the first ten years of our lives, is a massive blind spot. It was probably more true back then, when text books were woefully out of date and we didn't have the internet and we routinely ate dirt to survive. Oh, wait that was the thirties. Nevermind.

Forget about text books and internet for a moment. Even with those things, recent history isn't really history yet, and everybody takes for granted that if they lived through something (even if they were five) they MUST know about it. So, hence the blindspot. And, since I am not a big book reader, all I have to go on is Oliver Stone movies and long-haired "Nam" vets who talk my ear off down at the Pensacola American Legion. Believe it or not, this is absolutely true. My mom used to tend bar there. They served cans of beer. I'll leave it at that.

So, guilty as charged, this McNamera death was a good excuse for me to do a little homework on the Vietnam War. Call me lazy, but Wikipedia is a pretty damn good place to start. Then, I ended up at this site, which besides having amazing pictures, had a map of Vietnam. One look at the map sort of tells you why there would be a war in the first place. It looks like a "3" with thickness on the extremities and thinness in the middle. So, it isn't surprising that Vietnam has had a history of north and south tensions. I also can't understand how the hell Chile ended up like that, but now we are worlds away from Robert McNamera.

McNamara was responsible for a number of other things besides our greatest military failure. He was responsible for the 4 seater Ford Thunderbird. He was responsible for redefining the mission of the World Bank to focus more on developing the third world. He was largely responsible for JFK's burial in Arlington National Cemetary for greater public access. Oh, and he is responsible for the bespectacled walnut farmer, Robert Craig McNamara. But, he will forever be memorialized as the tragically misguided architect of Vietnam.

Allen Klein

This one has been on the back burner for about 48 hours, and my apologies to my fans and followers. Believe it or not, I have been extremely busy with my job, ripping off music artists from all their royalties, ...oh wait, that's somebody else...

Well, this Allen Klein gentleman is not a very popular man at all. He's almost universally hated as a rat bastard scumbag. So, what is one to do? Do you go for the jugglar like the Telegraph? Do you treat him with kid gloves like the Times? Do you give him the benefit of the doubt?

Well, in keeping with the spirit of the blog, you just give your own take on the man, toss a link or two, and move on.

Just in case you missed it, Allen Klein was the notorious manager of BOTH the Beatles and the Stones, fired by both, and spent the duration of the next twenty years or so in myriad lawsuits with both. He was famously chased by Mick Jagger throughout a NY hotel with Jagger shouting "Where's my F%$#ing money?"

I had a Beatles "Let it Be" poster in my bedroom as a kid, which was really just an expanded version of the album cover. There was no band at all, really. It was just four pictures of four guys, all doing their own thing. Contrast that with the early days, when they all dressed the same and looked the same. Even for Peppers, they were more or less, down with the program. Yes, for me, Allen Klein is right up there with Yoko in terms of Beatle-busters.

As for the Stones, I specifically remember buying "Hot Rocks," at a department store called J.M. Fields which is one of many, many, many Rolling Stones compilations from the sixties. Why so many? Well, the whole catalog is owned by one, Allen Klein, and he just kept pumping them out in different flavors.

I looked long and hard, and I couldn't find many people who had positive things to say about Mr. Klein. All of it was negative. So, let me give the guy a little parting gift. Unlike many dead celebs, Allen Klein has a nice Web site. And I should know. I specialize in both matters. Ok, so it was all about selling whatever Stones, Sam Cooke, and other catalogs he still owned. I sure would hate to be on the other side of the table in negotiating the price on that site, though. I'm sure he got a great deal.

Steve "Air" McNair

So, I am sitting at Penfield Beach waiting for the Fairfield fireworks display and my neighbor dropped this bomb shell on me.Perhaps I have lamented this before, but I really have made a 24/7 job for myself what with this celebrity death blog. I continue to wrestle with the whole "timely vs. thoughtful" issue. Instead of rushing home and banging out a hasty version of this, I decided to wait until today. And, then Allen Klein kicks it, and now I am all backlogged. Ugh.

So, regarding Air McNair. Guts. Guts. Guts. Root for the Titans or not, and I imagine most were indifferent, the guy earned his rep as a real throwback type guy who played through injuries. He was the kind of guy who was more valuable in reality to his team than in the abstract, statistical world of "fantasy" football.

Interestingly, my strongest McNair memory is a non-memory. Everyone who knows me, knows that I am a huge sports fan. As such, I don't miss Super Bowls. Well, Super Bowl XXXIV was a different matter. At the time, I worked for Modem Media NY and we were pitching the site design of what would ultimately become the travel portal, Orbitz. I'm not sure how it worked out that we ended up working on Super Bowl Sunday, but sure enough there I was on 26th street in the old Bozell building. I recall "watching" the game, one of the most exciting Super Bowls ever, via a primitive version of ESPN's GameCast. Well, McNair's Titans lost the game and Marrelli's Modem Medians lost the pitch. I was miserable, especially given the personal sacrifice.

One of the things I like to do is go to the area where folks are most affected by the loss. A little research on McNair's roots brought me to Alcorn State University Athletics site which has a nifty flash intro. I also discovered that Jefferson County, Mississippi, has the highest density of obese people in the U.S. In keeping with the back to the roots theme of this entry, there is a really nice career retrospective in photos from the Mississippi Clarion Ledger. Taking it even a bit further back, I found this very humble home page for Mt. Olive High School that serves the less than 1,000 population of M. Olive, Mississippi.

Karl Malden

Mladen Sekulovich.

That's Karl's birth name. No biggie. That kind of stuff happens all the time with celebrities. Just ask Vincent Furnier, Lawrence Turead, or even Allan Stewart Konigsberg.

So, why is that important? I will submit to you, dear reader, that Karl Malden's story is a story about branding. Were it not for his 25 year relationship with Ogilvy and American Express, today's passing of Mr. Malden (if that is your name) would be merely a footnote.

Sure, there was "Streetcar Named Desire." And "On the Waterfront." And "Patton." It's all very good. Indeed, excellent. But, I think it's fair to say that Karl owes his true relevance and exposure to my profession of choice, advertising.

Karl was the first person, sorry, the first actor to utter the words "Don't Leave Home Without It/Them." It became his calling card. I don't think you get away with such a positively straight forward tag line these days. But it worked. Again and again and again. It was classic FUD (Fear Uncertainty Doubt). It was like, "...holy shit, if I am in a foreign country and I don't bring this with me, and I lose my wallet...that's it, I'm never making it back."

Amex did the class move and issued a statement, albeit a vanilla one, about old Karl.

OK, so yet again, I went and hijacked a fellow human being's obituary for my own selfish purposes. But, I maintain that this is my frame of reference. Sure, I have seen the movies, but, ...close your eyes, when I say "Karl Malden" do you think "collar" or "hat?" Hat, of course. And, OK, I will give you the fact that this look was originated in the show "The Streets of San Francisco." But I still maintain that were it not for American Express Traveler's Cheques, Malden would be about 10% as famous.

I've belabored the point enough. Here is my favorite Malden tidbit. Karl was a major player in the postal service as a member of The Citizen's Stamp Advisory Committee. These are the people who decide who gets on a stamp, which, in my opinion, is a pretty awesome gig. Karl was so influential and important to the group that he got a post office named after him. For my money, though, I'll always think of that office as Mladen Sekulovich Postal Station. Rolls off the tongue a little nicer, huh?

Alexis Arguello

Now that some, if not all, of the MJ hysteria has ebbed, I can just get back to a more workmanlike obituary. I do still need to revisit the Farrah one and add links. And I need to do a little housecleaning in general, going back and adding labels and what not. I guess of should apologize right away to the Mayor of Managua for being so matter of fact during this somber time. In fact, I bet if I were Nicaraguan, I wouldn't be so phlegmatic about the whole thing. So, let me get down to my side of the story and maybe I can make things right, again.

I really wish the major networks would carry boxing again. When I grew up, boxing seemed to be a bigger part of the entertainment equation. Who can forget Hearns, Hagler, Leonard, Duran,...even Ray BOOM BOOM Mancini who quite literally killed the Korean southpaw Duk Koo Kim on CBS Sports Spectacular. I was a huge Mancini fan, and that bout was a bittersweet return to form after his crushing defeat to, you guessed it... Alexis Arguello. I didn't like Arguello, or really any non-American fighter or team. I feel like the world was different then, and perhaps we all were a bit more patriotic.

So, here's this guy, Arguello who was #1) a foreigner and #2) the champ. And those two tings didn't sit well with me. Which is why I rooted hard against Arguello in his "Battle of Champions" against Aaron Pryor. The fight was on HBO and was a certified classic. I was so happy that Pryor won, mostly because of my extreme dislike of Arguello, which is unfortunate in retrospect, because it turns out that Alexis was apparently a helluva a guy. So much so that he was elected Mayor of Managua. But, by many accounts, he was a better boxer than a mayor.

And while we're talking about Sandinistas, I just can't stop thinking about the under-appreciated Clash triple album.

So, what is with all the suicides?

Fred Travalena

How does one begin to eulogize a person who was as many people as Fred Travalena? And since he was a master impressionist, did we really ever know who he was? He even has at least three nicknames: Mr. Everybody, The Man of a Thousand Faces, and the Man of a Thousand Voices.

My first memory of Mr. Everybody with a Thousand Voices and Faces is seeing him on a game show. Which one, I'm not sure, but I do know it wasn't his 1993 show Baby Races. And it probably wasn't Anything for Money. Or maybe it was. Did you know Kirstie Alley was on Password Plus? So was Travalena. But in a twist of fate, he was also in a short-lived show with Farrah Fawcett and Ryan O'Neal called Good Sports (scrub to 2:04). So, as they're probably saying by now, there's pretty much a verifiable death curse for being on this show. Watch out, Brian Doyle-Murray.

Ready for double eerie? Here's Travalena with Ed McMahon's wife.

But I digress. Fred Travalina loved pets. It's hard to concentrate when I've got so much going on in my head. Here's how Travalena kept track of everything.

OK, OK, I have to admit that I'm not sure what my real memory is of the guy, but I remember him vaguely, very very fondly. And truth is, I hate impersonators pretty much across the board. Even Rich Little. And Joe Piscopo if you count him. But with the passing earlier this year of Danny Gans, we can't really afford to lose anyone else. In this economy, it might be worth taking up the hobby yourself.

Evidently (as of Monday night, 6/29/08) you can still book him for events. Things might get interesting.

And I just remembered Frank Caliendo and Dana Carvey, so I take it all back. There are plenty of impersonators out there, but none that could do Fred Travalena as well as the man himself.

Billy Mays

[celebrity written and generously donated by one, Julie Palmer -- thanks Julie!]

Oh-so-obnoxious on those commercials, wasn't he? But I have to say, morbid curiosity and my sweetheart's interest in inventing and inventors led us to start watching his new show, Pitchmen, on the Discovery Channel.

In spite of my negative pre-conceived notions, I found myself strangely drawn to this man. First of all, he had an incredible joie de vivre...loved the job he'd created for himself, loved his family, loved to use informercials to help the little guy get a leg up in life.

Initially, I saw him as a glorified carny barker or a huckster...willing to hawk any product whose inventor could pay his fee. But I was surprised to see that the man had character and integrity. He demanded that the product would benefit the masses by solving a problem in a "wow" kind of way, and he also insisted that it could do so for a reasonable price. I was shocked to watch him—on more than one episode—try to convince inventors that they needed to reduce their prices enough to give their product mass appeal. And he genuinely seemed pretty picky about what he put his name behind.

Much to my surprise, I never watched his show without being highly entertained. He had a great sense of humor and there was always something fun going on between him and Anthony Sullivan.

So, from this reluctant positive impression has evolved a sense of loss the last couple of days. He wasn't some freaky celebrity who will have people swooning and lined up for the opportunity to participate in some memorial to something positive he did decades ago. This man was just trying to do something good for his clients and the general consumer population...make a positive contribution all while making a good living for himself and his family. Isn't that the epitome of the opportunity the free enterprise system is supposed to provide?

Yep...I'm sad...

[note from Marrelli: in supplying a couple hyperlinks to this article, I came across the genre of "infomercial dubs." I enjoy these in particular because one of my favorite activities when I am with the kids watching TV is to turn down the sound and watch infomercials. Of course, how was I to know that there is a whole art form around this.]

Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson's death will probably go down as one of those "I remember EXACTLY what I was doing" events. In this case, I was working on an RFP, trying to beat a 5 PM deadline. I received a text message from my good friend, Cloud, and I have to admit, I really felt it. Not really sadness so much as a "Holy Shit!" wave that came over me.

This is actually the 2nd time I thought he was dead. The first time was the popular 90's techno track, "Michael Jackson is in Heaven Now." I was in college and in all likelihood stoned, and I remember hearing that voiceover and really being shaken by the audacity of it. Anybody with me on this one? It sounded real at the time.

I, like many of you, am well qualified to riff on Michael Jackson as he was a big part of my mediated (not medicated) experience from my very early days. I remember the cartoon when I was 4, back when cartoons were a once a week treat. I remember the duet with Roberta Flack from "Free to be You and Me." That was always my favorite song in the whole video. Later in life, I bought the CD and was sad to see that the song was on there, but the King of Pop was not.

I remember the famous Motown 25 moonwalk. I happened to catch it live the first time it aired and it really was flabbergasting to see. I remember what a big deal the Eddie Van Halen solo was on Beat It. Talk about Crossover appeal! I remember the Thriller jacket that every boy in 8th grade seemed to have. Who knows? Maybe it will make a comeback now.

I remember the day BAD came out. I was at my favorite record store, The Music Box in Pensacola, FL, and the owner, Daryll put it on. I specifically remember Daryll dancing badly to the song BAD. That's sort of all I remember from that day.

After that, MJ sort of fell off the radar for me. Then there was "Black or White,"' with God-awful performances from Macaulay Culkin and George Wendt. It was at this point there was the sudden realization by all that Mike's transformation had started to go too far.

And somewhere in that time frame, I became an amateur DJ. The one sure fire song that to this day makes everybody dance is "Don't Stop til you Get Enough." It's probably one of my ten favorite songs. Really. I consider this to probably be the ultimate roller skating song.

But, then things just got too weird for all of us. The whole "Living with Michael" Interview was unquestionably one of the creepiest things I have ever seen. But, then he went and matched it with the whole nose photo. And somewhere around this time, I also experienced the Koons sculpture which also made me feel all icky. And, then even the Eastern European irrational adoration made me somehow uncomfortable.

But despite all this, "Don't Stop..." continued to slay the house. I even would play it at elementary school dances and nobody seemed to mind. That's the thing with Michael Jackson. There are so many of him. And some of them are OK. And some are not OK.

One of my prevalent thoughts over the past few years was that the Michael Jackson spectacle was going to get even more bizarre over the coming years. I wondered about 60 year old Michael, and even 80 year old Michael, and what more could possibly happen.

But now I am at ease, as the story is pretty much over. Sure, there will be some controversy and investigation, and many many many Larry King Live shows dedicated to this. By the way, not only did he flat out bump all the Farrah guests tonight. He TOLD everybody that bumped Farrah because of Michael. No need for that, really.

But, the truth is that nobody is bigger than Michael Jackson. I've given this some thought. Paul McCartney? I don't think so. As an aside, the run out on "The Girl is Mine," one of the worst songs ever, is very embarrassing.

Maybe Obama is bigger. Just Maybe.