R.I.P. in 2020: Moments To Remember

We value those closest to us for their continuing presence, for their support and their surprises, their questions and comments and movement through our mutual world, their words (of wisdom or of hilarity or both), their particular physical presence, their expressions and the sound of their voices. But once the continuity is broken by death, what we eventually remember is mostly moments, when their lives intertwined with ours in some memorable way. If we have been close for a time and over time, it takes time to see those moments clearly, beyond the fog of grief. 

 The moments are easier to recall when they are people we value in some way but that we never knew personally, or only briefly. We may admire their achievements but we remember the moments that stay with us. In some way, or even at some moment, we have formed a personal relationship, so our memories have both of us in them, even if we weren’t there at all. I expect that’s true even of those who made a vast public impression, and changed many lives, like Rep. John Lewis and—in his brief moment—the young Chadwick Boseman.

 

But as much as I admire the achievements, principles and example of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, what I remember first is looking her in the eye as she marched to the Columbia University graduation ceremony I attended.

 

Railsback conferring with Chair Rodini

In a different way, the death of an otherwise obscure politician evoked distinct moments both in history and my experience.

 Tom Railsback was a Republican Member of Congress, representing a district in Illinois that I believe included Galesburg, where I went to college and otherwise lived for about 5 years. It was only about five years later that I was seeing him on TV in the epic Watergate committee hearings, which I watched obsessively every day. With his tremulous voice he was clearly agonized and reluctant to accept the mounting evidence, but eventually he became a key Republican in writing the two articles of impeachment that were finally adopted. I watched him writhe in one or another of those awful 1970s suits for weeks, but his journey from Nixon acolyte to defender of the Constitution was extraordinary, and riveting to watch. 

 The memories in moments is especially true of actors and other performing artists and entertainers, and part of their mystery: they may have lived long lives and performed many times, but may be remembered for only a few portrayals, or moments.

 

Shirley Knight in Petulia (1968)

So although Sean Connery was famous for other films, I’ll remember him as Indiana Jones’ father, and as Danny in The Man Who Would Be King. I’ll recall Shirley Knight for the impact of one short mesmerizing scene with George C. Scott in Richard Lester’s 1968 film Petulia. Or Pamela Tiffin with Paul Newman in Harper. I remember Wilford Brimley best in another Newman film: Absence of Malice, but also in a fairly obscure 1984 film called Country. Or Max von Sydow in those Bergman

 films, but also as a quietly methodical hit man opposite Robert Redford in Three Days of the Condor.

 Perhaps we remember those most fondly who were characters in our childhood, or some specific part of our lives. Ken Osmond created the immortally awful Eddie Haskell in Leave It To Beaver, which was his only successful role, playing it in the 1950s and again in the 1980s and 90s, with a stint as an actual Los Angeles motorcycle cop in between.

 

Abby Dalton in Hennessey

Abby Dalton is better known for other television roles, but for me she was one of my first crushes playing opposite Jackie Cooper in a favorite late 1950s/early 1960s TV comedy: Hennessey. (I still remember the theme tune.) Ed Byrnes as Kookie was a kid’s delight in 77 Sunset Strip. 

 

Honor Blackman

And of course, Diana Rigg as Mrs. Peel. I knew she was sexy even if I was too naive to get the joke of her character’s name. Then she was replaced on The Avengers by the very fit and sexy Honor Blackman, who went on to a long and varied career which included the ultimate Bond girl as well as musicals, a Tom Stoppard stage play and television, including classic Doctor Who. And speaking of sexy, there was Ann Reinking in the amazing 1979 film All That Jazz.

 Later on TV there was Kevin Dobson as Kojack’s second, a peculiar contributor to a hometown exile in the 1970s, and James Lipton, whose BRAVO Actors’ Studio interviews were among the presentations that momentarily justified the claims of cable TV, though that sure didn’t last. 

 

When I was first going to the movies with my friends as a kid, among the big male stars were Burt Lancaster, Tony Curtis and Kirk Douglas. Of course Douglas is indelible for Spartacus, but I remember him also in Disney’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and his very different roles opposite Curtis in The Vikings and Lancaster in Seven Days in May. 

 I was always drawn to comedy, and certain practitioners helped define their eras. I remember Carl Reiner best as Sid Caesar’s second banana on his 50s TV shows (where he was also in that fabled writers room), which along with Steve Allen and Ernie Kovaks was 50s comedy to me. In a different way, Buck Henry was characteristically 1960s, Terry Jones with Monty Python bridged the early 70s, as Fred Williard did the late 70s and 80s. 

 

Ian Holm

Then there were the character actors who I always recognized and valued: Brian Dennehy (whose greatest moment may have been one I didn’t see: playing Willy Loman on Broadway in a production of Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman in 1999 that made grown men cry) and especially Ian Holm. 

 There was no role Holm couldn’t play and elevate it in the process, so he was memorable in Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, and The Day After Tomorrow, for instance, as well as his more famous roles in the Lord of the Rings films. Though he had mostly supporting turns in movies, he played the big parts in UK theatre, including one I did see—on film at least—namely, King Lear. 

 

And then this year, just as I was getting deeply into a DVD of Tom Hanks’-directed 1996 movie about the rise and fall of an Erie, PA one hit wonder band in the early 60s, and ecstatic about its title tune, “That Thing You Do!”, I saw in the news that the principal writer of that song, Adam Schlesinger, was an early fatality of Covid-19. 

 

Then there are those with whom I shared a moment or two in person. My first professional interview with a rock star was with Bill Withers in the first flush of his fame. He immediately calmed my nervousness, as we sat on the steps of his trailer near where he would be performing on the Boston Commons. When I asked him about a thematic thread I detected on his new album, he said softly he didn’t think anyone would notice that.

 Later I interviewed Hugh Downs, when he was a familiar presence alongside Barbara Walters on 20/20. But I remembered him from the 50s when he was almost everywhere as an announcer: on the first Today show alongside Dave Garroway, then Jack Paar’s stint at Tonight and part of Johnny Carson’s. He was even the announcer on a year of Sid Caesar. He struck me as a gentle, modest man with real intellectual enthusiasms, but someone who also was guarded and wary.

 Sports figures have their claim on our memories, sometimes over a long period: I followed Kobe Bryant for much of his career and have a number of his great playing moments on tape. But his death reminds us that one of the usually unseen and perhaps few noble traditions of pro sports is the mentoring of younger players. (In his case that included very young players like his daughter Gigi, who died with him.) The little retirement time he got before his shocking death in a helicopter crash showed unique promise. He was his generation’s Michael Jordan, but he had more ability to communicate through writing and other forms. 

 

Whitey Ford

Others sports figures who died this year were magic names in my childhood: Whitey Ford, ace Yankees pitcher (who I once saw pitch in the 1960 World Series at Forbes Field in Pittsburgh, though at that point I was desperately rooting against him) who I revered also because he was a southpaw like me. Other pitchers of the era also died this year: Johnny Antonelli, Don Larsen and Bob Gibson, as well as later star Tom Seaver. Al Kaline was another familiar face on my baseball cards, and I remember football running backs Paul Hornung and Gale Sayers.

 Of course there are also those who provided their moments to me as a reader, some of whom I will remember in a post to follow.