Barbara Billingsley

I wasn't completely sure she was still around. But man, this lady was a champ.

Although it was already a bit long in the tooth by the time I was a kid, "Leave It to Beaver" was a huge part of my childhood. Can I tell you how much I love(d) this show? In the past year or so I had been combing through the archives, available for streaming on Netflix. It has not lost any of its charm. In fact, it may be better than I remember.

"Beaver" is constantly held up as a paradigm of cold war squeaky clean America, old fashioned and conservative. Well, kinda. Nuclear families. Bed on time. Wash behind your ears. Blah blah blah. But watching clusters of episodes recently made me rethink this.

Although Ward and June had rules for Wally and The Beave, they weren't total hardasses. They were always loving and understanding with the boys, even when they did really dumb shit. And when they lied, covered it up and -- inevitably -- were found out, Ward and June were usually more disappointed than angry. And they sat the kids down and spoke with them calmly about what they did and why they did it and exhorted them to come to the 'rents and talk to them whenever anything of the sort dealt with in that particular episode arose again.

The elder Cleavers weren't the type to say "In my day, kids had respect for their elders!" They knew that they weren't much different when they were kids and that boys will be boys. They knew that, ultimately, most of what Wally and Beaver learned, they'd learn it through experience, not by listening to a lecture. And as long as no one got hurt, it was all good. They never yelled. They never hit. It was, dare I say it, a pretty liberal show. And not just for its time.

Wholesome? Oh yes. But hardly the hoary cliche of Eisenhower America it's often made out to be. Yes, Ward went to the office and June stayed home and took care of the house, always immaculately dressed and coiffed. But the Cleavers were both active participants in their children's lives. And they discussed matters of discipline and the kids' well-being together. Ward never put his foot down and said "Because I said so!" or "I'm the man of the house, and what I say goes!" Ward and June both knew that even they didn't always know best and admitted when they were wrong. And not just between the two of them. To their kids.

I could fill up an entire post about the language on the show, which is utterly brilliant in its own right. Ward and June spoke perfect standard American English but the youngsters on the show had a patois all their own. I wasn't around when the show aired, so I can't tell you how accurate it was to the time. But there never was then and never was after that a show that had "goofy" and "crummy" and "hunka" and "hollerin' at" and "little creep" and dozens of other nuggets of linguistic awesomeness as part of its arsenal. The writing was only nominated for an Emmy once (and didn't win). This is criminal.

At the heart of the show, though, was the lady that just passed. She was filled with love for her family and a wisdom that is stereotypical of mid- to late- 20th century TV motherhood. But it all began with her. She was the mom you wish you had.

Bernard Schwartz

Okay, it's Tony Curtis. But Bernard Schwartz was just way too jewy for Hollywood.

And besides, he wouldn't have been known as Stony Curtis if he hadn't changed his name. I mean, come on. Stony Curtis. Now that's a name for a rock star.

Ahem. Sorry.

I was never a big fan of Mr. Curtis. Even in his best movies ("Spartacus", "The Sweet Smell of Success") he seemed like window dressing. Or worse.

I think I liked him best in "Some Like It Hot". He seemed to let loose a bit more there. But even then, I found myself wishing for someone a bit less...I don't know. Unsettling, maybe. Maybe it was those icy blue eyes. Expressionless. He never seemed like he belonged in any of the movies I've seen him in. Except maybe "Sweet Smell". His "I think I'd just as soon be someplace else" manner made the most sense in that creepy world.

At any rate, he's out of here. Maybe he's going to the castle of his faddah. Which lies over yonder.

And if he hadn't changed his name? Why then, Fred would have been the stunt double for (wait for it)...

Bernie Quartz!

Chasing the Road Runner on an ACME Segway

I'm always torn. Death shouldn't ever be funny. Not real death, anyway. Cartoon death is funny. But real life death happens to real people. With real family that loved them. Even Richard Nixon had family that loved him. Nixon! Imagine that.

So I'll just have to take a deep breath, walk in a circle three times and ask forgiveness of the universe for THINKING THIS IS REALLY FREAKING FUNNY.

Don't want to click through? Here's the headline.

Owner of Segway Company Dies in a Segway Accident

Ha! Sorry. It's just funny. And (it gets better) he plunged off a cliff! Like Wile E. Coyote! Maybe it was a cartoon death after all.

Sorry.

No, really. Sorry.

Art Clokey

Geez, this dude was still alive? Apparently so. But not anymore.

Art Clokey was responsible for one of the most oddly beloved of animated characters, Gumby.

I used to watch Gumby when I was a kid, just like everybody else. And I can still sing the song, which is pretty whimsical. But the animations themselves were often really really messed up. I'm talking about the stuff of nightmares here.

This is one of the earliest Gumby shorts. Check it out. The visuals, the soundtrack, the plot (such as it is). Terrifying. This is better suited for college kids on dope than children.



Clokey talked about his scientific background and how he tried to make things realistic, like with a rotating module to create artificial gravity. (Kubrick had the same thing in "2001". Nice.) And yet how do they get Gumby down from the moon? With the effing firetruck!

And nobody ever asks how Gumby got there or why. They just look through the telescope and say "Oh, there he is" as if they had already checked the bathroom and the crystal meth lab and this was the next logical place to look.

And how do you like those little triangle creatures with the eyes that pop out. Eyes that get blown clear off one creature's head by Gumby's dad, by the way. Without even checking to see if the little fuckers just wanted to play. Did they really look that threatening? Did they have weapons?

Thanks for the nightmares, Art.

Arnold Stang

Remember how on MTV's "Remote Control" they had a category called "Alive or Dead"? Always loved that one. We've had two people shuffle off on us this week, neither of whom I realized was still alive. One was a complete charlatan and another was a comic treasure.

Guess which one Oral Roberts was.

Never mind him, I'm here to write about Arnold Stang. You may not recognize his face, although it was a great one. But the voice is unmistakable.

Here he is as the Bilko ripoff "Top Cat", using his slightly more cool voice.



But the total nerd voice was his real stock-in-trade. Even when he was in live action he was a cartoon. Here he is as one of the gas station attendants (he's the skinny one) in a priceless scene from "It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World", fleeing in terror as Jonathan Winters wrecks the joint. The real mayhem starts about 4:30 in.



"Irwin, we're gonna have to kill him!"

Ken Ober

Well, here's another one who dropped off before his time.

Ken Ober was known to many as the host of MTV's "Remote Control". It was the first, and probably best, of many game shows on the channel that subverted the format with jokey categories and gimmicks like a chair that sent contestants flipping over backwards when they lost and a spinning wheel from which contestants were supposed to identify music video "artists".

I had my shot on that wheel in the show's final season. The episode I was in aired on St. Patrick's Day 1990 but it was taped on a freaking freezing Manhattan day the prior December. I remember I had planned to wear my NYU sweatshirt on the show but they changed us all into green shirts and stupid hats for the occasion.

Ober didn't come backstage to greet the contestants. He just showed up on set. But he did show me some personal grace. There was a question about which four characters besides Barney and Fred could see the Great Gazoo. Deductive reasoning got it for me. Dino was one, of course. And the other characters must be the ones who weren't going to blab to anyone about it. Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm, who didn't talk. And Dino's counterpart in the Rubble house, Hoppy the Hopasaurus, of course.

Ober, and everyone else on the show, seemed awfully surprised that I actually answered the question. I think it may have been intended as a stumper. (They often put in questions for which they didn't expect an answer.) After the question, an interruption from "Ken's mother" took place. Ken said "Wow, Mom, I'm just dusted that that kid got that one." Then he looked at me and gave me the thumbs-up while Mom said something stupid.

I ended up winning the day, even though I did something really stupid and almost lost because of it. (I won't go into it here. Ask me about it some time.) And I correctly identified all but one video in the Grand Prize round, missing out on a trip to, where else, Ireland. The video I missed was by Bobby Brown. My response upon learning what I missed? "I hate Bobby Brown!" I said this on national television at the height of the man's popularity. I really heard it from the studio audience, who had been totally with me up to that point.

The whole thing was totally fun and I went home with a bunch of prizes, including a motorcycle that I never rode, all of which I had to pay taxes on. Boo.

Thanks, Ken, for giving me my first and only (so far; I'll get on "Jeopardy" if it kills me) game show experience. You'll be fondly remembered.

Edward M. Kennedy

No biographical details should be necessary here. That's been covered extensively elsewhere, in print and in video. (I'm not even bothering to link. If you're connected, you've seen it all.)

Ted Kennedy was the senator in my home state since before I was born. Think about that. The same man has held that seat for my entire life. But just holding a senate seat is not that difficult. The power of incumbency only grows with time. At some point, unless you do something really horrible like try to pass a bill mandating abortions for every woman due to give birth on a Tuesday, it's a lifetime position like the Supreme Court. But what you do with that position is what makes you.

Teddy was a bit of a goof in his younger days. Not a great student and prone to bad behavior. But, unlike some other children of privilege who were goofs in their younger days and went into politics based on their family name, he worked hard to become a legislator of the top order. And beyond that a fighter, a real and true fighter, for unabashedly liberal causes. When Reaganism was in vogue (and still is, among a certain subset of our brainwashed nation) he defended not just the word "liberal", which had become, and continues to be, a dirty word to some, but the ideals behind it. He was not ashamed to say that compassion meant more than just feeling for others but acting on their behalf. This was the "great work".

No one expected much of Ted. But he ended up being the most consequential of all the Kennedys (Eunice being a possible exception). Even after the scandals of Chappaquiddick and his nephew William Kennedy Smith, he proved that there are second (and third and fourth) acts in American lives. The totality of Ted Kennedy, even with his personal disgraces, was overwhelmingly a net positive. You can thank him if you have a disability, or are a woman, or a child, or care about civil rights, or if you just happen to have a body. His death may re-focus energy on passing some form of useful health care legislation.

In our corporate-controlled government, Ted's example will not be followed by many. But a true government of, by and for the people would be populated by a lot more Ted Kennedys and a lot fewer John Boehners and Mitch McConnells.

Goodbye, senator. And thank you. You will be sorely missed.

Robert Novak

Good riddance, you lying motherfucker.

I'm sure you had family that loved you. To them, I offer my profound condolences.

For the rest of us, you were a smug, deceitful right-wing apologist and propagandist who cared less about the truth and the safety and well-being of everyday Americans than you did about promoting your own ghastly ideology.

It's fitting that you died of a malignant brain tumor because you had the most malignant of brains.

You were the kind of person that makes me dearly wish that I believed in an afterlife, particularly the hot and crispy place, where right about now you would undoubtedly be checking in for an extended stay after a hasty triage to determine your proper infernal stateroom.

The world is a better place without you. You would probably take that as a compliment, as it implies that you "made a difference". Feel free. We'll get on with our lives without you to pollute our air any further.

Robert McNamara

One fewer reservation at L'Inferne Marriott. Good riddance to one of the 20th century's most cold-blooded wasters of human life.

Everything of importance that this man did was well before my time, except for recanting most of it. For this, watch Errol Morris's chilling documentary "The Fog of War".

Apparently, he did some good too. His obituary will tell you all about his work on behalf of tolerance, education and whatnot. But this can't make up for the evil that was Vietnam and his place at the forefront of it.

In Morris's film, which you really need to see if you haven't already, he sounds as if he's describing a product launch that didn't go as planned. He's not entirely unsympathetic in the film, which is the most sobering part of it. It's an important reminder that people will commit the most horrible acts thinking that they're doing good, and that evil is not Darth Vader or Sauron but actual human beings with families, values and ideals who have really bad solutions to problems.

"Dr. Strangelove" was a satire, but about the only thing different in "The Fog of War" is the accent and the apology. The sentiment is pretty much the same. Humans are no more than pawns in the game and their actual lives have no meaning.





Goodnight, Doctor. Enjoy the company where you're going.

Karl Malden

Admit it. You thought he had been dead for years already. He was 97, after all. 97!

Growing up, I knew him as the guy on the American Express ads with the funny hat. And as the dude on "Streets of San Francisco" with Kirk Douglas's son. And he was old then.

It was only later that I found his earlier work in two classic films, "On the Waterfront" and "A Streetcar Named Desire", both directed by the great Elia Kazan and both starring some dude named Brando. He was clearly meant to be a character actor. That mug and that schnozz were there even back then. Not a handsome man.

But, as it goes, he could act. And he had himself a long and distinguished career. He stands in stark contrast to this week's other celebrity snuffings. Unlike Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett, he lived a long life unmarred by controversy or suffering. His greatest achievement? He was married to the same woman for 70 years. 70! That's beautiful.

A good and well-lived life. Thanks, Karl, for doing it the way it oughta be done.

Blossom Dearie

When Isaac Hayes died last year, there was an entire generation that said "Oh man, Chef died!" The rest of us went "Dude..."

The lady over to the right just passed, and I'm of the generation (which is the same as the above-referenced "dude" generation) that remembers the later pop-culture sensation but not the prior musical legacy.

The voice was instantly recognizable. And she was a talented and versatile singer and songwriter. Her career lasted from the 40s into the 21st century. But in my heart, she'll be remembered for two songs that she recorded for Bob Dorough in the early 70s.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the late Blossom Dearie. (Her real name, by the way. Didn't know that. Wouldn't have guessed it.)



And for something a bit more somber.

Ricardo Montalban

You know, when people croak you learn all sorts of stuff. Until I read Ricardo Montalban's obituary I didn't know that there really was no such thing as Corinthian leather, soft or otherwise. That saved me a gaff or two, I'm sure.

It's a been a tough month for Trekkers and the booking agents who populate their conventions. First, Majel Barrett, and now the man who made William Shatner scream, "Khaaaaaaan!" Next thing you know, Max Grodenchik will drop off. Oh, the humanity.

Of course, when I was a wee lad it was "Fantasy Island" that really got us going. "Smile, everyone, smile! We want our guests to feel welcome!" Every freakin' week he had to remind those idiots. And every week another group of tourists was not too careful what they wished for.

After seeing Ricardo looking so dapper on that show and in the Cordoba ads, it was a bit of a shock to go catch the reruns of "Space Seed" and seeing just how, well, hunky he looked. And then, flipping forward to "The Wrath of Khan", just how, well, odd he looked. But still strangely hunky.

It's the best of the Trek movies and, after the snoozefest of Robert Wise's "Star Trek: The Motion Picture", it saved the franchise and paved the way for the new TV series. So we have Ricardo to thank for that. Okay, and Nicholas Meyer. But he's still kicking.

I love what they've done to my car. Khaaaaaaaaaaaan!

Ron Asheton

Damn, it seems like my record collection is getting more and more populated by dead people.

I reckon that now's the time that those who actually survived the 60s are starting to drop in earnest. I wrote about some of them fairly recently. (Believe it or not, I skipped Mitch Mitchell.)

The latest is Ron Asheton, guitarist for the Stooges. That's Ron with the glasses over there with a practically zygotic Iggy Pop in front. Ron, Iggy and the bunch (including Ron's brother Scott) were responsible for some of the dumbest, simplest, most awesome music to come out of the late 60s-early 70s. They were punk before punk existed. Which is not really news, but hey.

Here's their most well-known stupidfest, "I Wanna Be Your Dog". You have to love this. I love even more that classically-trained John Cale, recently divorced from Lou Reed, was responsible for producing the record.

Ron and Scott had re-united with Iggy recently for a tour and album, which just goes to show you that anybody who isn't dead will eventually get back together. Weirdness, indeed.

Even weirder... Chuck Berry? Still alive, people.

Ann Savage

Ms. Savage has shuffled off this mortal coil. She was a B-movie actress for most of her career. She had resurfaced recently to play Guy Maddin's "mother" in "My Winnipeg" (which I haven't yet seen, although Maddin is a unique and fascinating filmmaker).

She'll be remembered most for playing the absolutely vicious Vera in Edgar G. Ulmer's no-budget film noir "Detour". "Femme fatale" doesn't even come close to decribing what Savage does in this movie. Savage's character would eat a femme fatale for breakfast. And then beat another femme fatale to death with the first one's bones.

The scene where she wakes up in the car next to Tom Neal is awe-inspiring in its trashiness. When Savage opens her eyes, it's as if a sleeping crocodile has just been startled out of its tentative slumber and is mere nanoseconds from tearing your head off. It's so over-the-top that you don't know whether to be frightened or to laugh. The movie is basically trash, but it's hugely entertaining trash. Savage's character, such as it is, is one-dimensional and subhuman. And you can't stop watching her.

Majel Barrett

How cool was this lady? The obits all talk about Nurse Chapel. Which was cool. I loved that she had a crush on Spock. I also loved that she was the voice of the computer in every incarnation of the series. But I loved her most when she came back in The Next Generation and even Deep Space Nine as Lwaxana Troi. She was the mom you're glad you never had (or were annoyed that you did have). It was worse for poor Deanna, of course, because her mom, being a Betazoid, could read her thoughts. (What, you didn't know that?) And you only thought your mother could.

When Stanley Kubrick died, my first thought was "Oh, no!" but it was followed almost immediately by "Oh, no! Did he finish "Eyes Wide Shut"? I'm the last person earth who would suggest that the passing of Majel Barrett ranks up there with Kubrick's as a loss to our culture. But I was heartened to hear that Mrs. Roddenberry managed to complete one last turn as the computer's voice in J.J. Abrams' new prequel.

Trekkers of the world, raise a glass of, oh, I don't know, Romulan ale... Klingon bloodwine... tea - Earl Grey - hot... whatever ya got. She lived long and she prospered.

Jimmy Carl Black

Jimmy, we hardly knew ye.

I knew nothing about this guy until the news dropped that he was dead at the ripe young age of 70. Well, almost nothing.

What I did know was that he was the drummer in The Mothers of Invention and he didn't do too much of note after Zappa disbanded the group after a few of the freakiest records that anyone had heard up to that point (which was 1969).

And every time I popped in "We're Only In It for the Money" I'd hear him say, "Hi, boys and girls. I'm Jimmy Carl Black and I'm the Indian of the group." Which was kinda funny, although I'm not really sure why.

It really sucks for some people after they get booted out of famous bands. Millions of people hear your playing and you get bupkis for it. The Ms of I were on salary and Frank wrote all of the songs so he kept all of the royalties. Apparently the guy even worked in a doughnut shop for a while. Oh, the humanity.

But he seemed like a decent guy who had a sense of humor about himself. And there just aren't enough Indians in rock music anymore. Or ever.

No, Buffy Sainte-Marie doesn't count.

Richard Wright

Someone sent me an e-mail the other day with the subject "Pink Floyd Founder Dead" and I thought, "Oh man, what happened to Roger Waters?"

Nope. It was keyboardist Richard Wright, not to be confused with the author of "Native Son".

It's always interesting when someone who is considered a minor part of a creative endeavor passes on. It makes you stop to consider what that person's contribution was and how the group would have been different without it.

One of my all time favorite pieces of music is "Us and Them" from "Dark Side of the Moon". If you don't know it already, I feel bad for you for not having it as part of your life. Although I envy you for not being able to hear it for the first time. I first heard it when I was a kid and Floyd was all over what would eventually be called "classic rock" radio. I bought the record (yes, record) and proceeded to experience it in the way it was meant to be experienced, with headphones, lying on your back, in the dark. Wow.

Wright co-wrote "Us and Them" with Waters and damn, it's just gorgeous. Wright plays both organ and grand piano on the song. It moves along at a pace that is as stately as Ravel's "Bolero", and with similar undulations, but climaxes in a very different way before segueing directly into "Any Colour You Like" (which then segues into "Brain Damage" and "Eclipse"), forming one 16-minute long chunk of stoner heaven. Although I managed to enjoy it just fine without any controlled substances. (Those came later.)

"Us and Them" manages to be both sleepy and forceful at the same time. It lulls you into a nice pillowy unhurried place before launching you into a chorus that manages to be bombastic without pulling you out of the mood that the song originally created. Like the best Lennon-McCartney songs, where you can tell who wrote what part, the Wright verse alternates with the clearly Waters-orchestrated and themed chorus. Then Wright brings you back down with an understated piano solo on top of the song's base of his organ and Nick Mason's lethargic drums.

Wright made other key contributions to Pink Floyd, including his work on "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" from "Wish You Were Here". But if he had done nothing but "Us and Them" that would have been quite sufficient for me.

David Foster Wallace

So this man has shuffled off this mortal coil. His choice, apparently.

I only read one book by Mr. Wallace, several years ago, but it was the big one, "Infinite Jest". It's a 1000+-page satire of consumer culture, government, tennis and anything else that happened to be dropping into Wallace's head for a visit during its composition.

I spent a good month-and-a-half getting through it. For the intrepid reader (and man, you really need to be) it's dense, light, rewarding, frustrating, serious, stupid, highbrow, lowbrow, delightful and infuriating. Parts of it are among the funniest things I've ever read. Other parts left me scratching my head in bewilderment. Still other parts left me wanting to heave the book out of my window. Which I would have done except for two things, 1) the book is so huge it undoubtedly would have brained anyone unfortunate enough to be wandering down Henry Street at the time, and 2) it was a library book and I didn't want to pay for it, especially after it frustrated me so.

If you like things linear and/or clear, stay far far away. The book is heavily endnoted, with the endnotes ranging from one-liners seemingly intended to say "Made ya look!" to multi-page digressions seemingly intended to make you carry two separate bookmarks, which I did.

The complicated plot (minor spoiler alert) never really resolves itself, leaving you screaming at Wallace for putting you through all of the reading and the footnoting and the thinking and not even giving you the courtesy of a proper climax. Or loving him for it, if that's your thing.

Unlike "Ulysses", another insanely complicated book, I never felt the need to read it again. I got a lot more out of "Ulysses" the second time around. The first time was confusing, the second was less so and the brilliance really started to seep in. (Can't wait for Round 3!) One spin through "Infinite Jest" was quite enough for me. And probably more than enough for anyone.

Has Anybody Seen...?

We hereby solemnly mark the passing of Dr. Hugh R. Butt, whose breakthroughs in gastroenterology and the study of coagulation have saved many lives and made many other lives better.

Dr. Butt had worked at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota for many years and lived to the ripe old age of 98.

He was born Hugh Jass but changed his name to Butt in 1957 after a series of prank phone calls drove him and his family to distraction and annoyance. Wanting to make the phone calls cease while still honoring the respected Jass family name, he chose his new surname as a less naughty partial synonym. Puzzlingly, the phone calls continued nearly until his recent death.

For all you did, Hugh, we thank you. Now when anyone asks if we've seen a Hugh Jass, we'll tell them to look under the Hugh Butt.