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Category Archives: memorials

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

There are few who impact humanity in such a way that the world is literally changed by their contributions. Einstein, the Wright Brothers, Henry Ford — they all pale in comparison to the impact that Steve Jobs has had on society, world wide.

Jobs and Apple have certainly been a game changer and will continue to shape the way we live and learn well into this new millenium. But, Jobs’ contribution was not just iTunes, iPods, iPhones and iPads; he also exemplified the entreprenurial spirit and showed that vision coupled with determination brings innovation — and you don’t need a PhD to achieve it.

His commencement address to Stanford leaves a wonderful message for all of us…

Find what you love and DO IT! No matter how crazy, unconventional, out of the norm, or against other’s wishes…do what you love, love what you do.

Funny, but it seems that the apple is the one fruit that has a dramatic effect on the world…
* Eve’s bite of the first
* Newton’s noggin’ with the second
* Birth of The Beatles with the third
* and, the wonderful world of Steve Jobs with the fourth

Seems fitting…

 
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Posted by on October 6, 2011 in apple, inspiration, iPhone, ipod, iTunes, memorials

 

A Moment of Silence

9/11.

Synonymous with tragedy, evil, sacrifice, loss, love and hope.

10 years ago, I was working at a large bank in Memphis and driving into the parking lot when I first “heard”. Never thought that we’d have that Pearl Harbor “moment” in my lifetime, but here it was and of course, I remember.

I actually spent my Sunday on the water in the boat with my husband and it was a glorious day. I just couldn’t watch the whole funeral again. However, this morning I saw this…

For me, THIS was the PERFECT tribute. Funny how a song written nearly 50 years ago in the wake of a different tragedy could so amply provide comfort all these years later and be so relevant. That’s what music is, no? A talisman that provides clarity of the emotion that allows people from all walks of life to experience the intention of the writer at the moment of hearing it.

Extrememly fitting that New Yorker Paul Simon delivered the most inspiring moment of “The Rememberance.” Carrie Fisher must be proud.

 
 

The Help

Last fall, my sister-in-law and BFF recommended a book that her book club was reading titled, The Help by Kathryn Stockett. She thought that I would enjoy it because of my relationship with Rose, the lady that basically raised me and was so important to our family.

It was the first book I downloaded to my Kindle app on my new iPad. As I began to read the story about early 1960′s Jackson, Mississippi and the struggles of black maids working for white families, pangs of familiarity began to churn in my gut. It wasn’t so much the dreadfulness of Civil Rights’ indignities of the day — I am all too familiar with the effects of those days — as it was the stories of the women who were charged with white parents’ most precious possession (their children), but were not allowed to use the restroom inside the lily white homes of these Southern hypocrites.

I was captivated by the historical context and of course, by the personal story of Skeeter Phelan, who sets out to write a book about stories of “the help” — both good and bad. Yes, there were some good stories about relationships between the races, even though very few see the light of day. I read it in two days and was touched in a way I hadn’t been since I read The Horse Whisperer many years ago.

Perhaps the story resonated so deeply with me because of Rose. Throughout my childhood and early adulthood, Rose was a constant except for the year or so that she and my mother had a falling out…but more on that later.

My parents were married in May, 1952 and my father moved into my grandparents’ home with my mother so they could save up to build a house of their own. They had my sister nine months after they were married and starting building their house “in the country” about six miles from “town”. My father owned a plant nursery with his father right around the corner from their new homestead. Once the house was finished, they prepared to move their small family into the home that they would occupy for the next 40 years.

My parents were not rich folks, but it had been decided that my mother would need “help” as she only had the use of her right arm, her left arm paralyzed from polio when she was two. Additionally, they had just found out that their daughter was deaf. My father employed alot of field hands at the nursery and was particularly close to his foreman, nicknamed Shawee (which, incidentally, means racoon in french). Shawee’s wife, Rose, also worked at the nursery. They had a growing family and some of the older kids helped out at the nursery in the summer. My father arranged a meeting between my mother and Rose to see if she would be a good fit to “help” my mother in the house. They immediately hit it off and Rose became a fixture in our house and synonymous with our family for the rest of her life.

A short while later, my brother was born and became Rose’s child. He called her “Mamma Rose” and followed her everywhere. He spent most of his days with Rose as my mother was taking my sister to speech therapy and classes each day, trying to prepare her for school. Rose’s kids often spent time with our family and were fantastic playmates.

Rose had nick names for everyone, particularly her kids. Pictured above is Gros Bay Bay (meaning Big Baby in French). There was also Tougi, Tee-an, Sis, and Teeny. The twins would come later…but, more of that later. She also was instrumental in assigning my brother’s moniker as she called him a “chip” off the old block. Since he was a Jr., the name stuck — Chip, or Chippo as she preferred.

Nine years after my brother….surprise, surprise, my mother was pregnant. My sister was off at school in Baton Rouge and came home most weekends, but the house had basically been my brother’s domain with Rose attending to his every need. Rose indicated that this new baby would be a girl and decided upon Suzy-Q as an appropriate name. Rose’s youngest son, Teeny, was a toddler, but she hadn’t had a little girl to spoil in a long time. So, when I was born in the fall of ’64, Rose was in her glory. Many nights, she and one of her daughters would spend the night and baby sit, dressing me up like a little doll and of course, spoiling me rotten.

We loved that lady. I mean truly loved her. Then, when I was about five, Rose was gone. I don’t remember anyone saying why or what happened, I only knew that she was gone and another lady was there to “help”. She was nice enough, but she was no Rose. I missed Rose so much, but I didn’t know where she was. Then, almost magically, she returned when I was starting 2nd grade. It was like she never left. I was soooo happy to have her back. It appears that I had acted out pretty severely at the new lady and looking back, I’m sure I saw her as an impostor and wanted the real deal.

I would find out, years later, that Rose and my mother had a falling out around Rose taking up with a new man after she and Shawee divorced. Not that it was her business, but my mother was concerned for Rose and her children so she applied some kind of tough love and basically told her not to come back if she was going to continue living with the man. So Rose quit or Mamma fired her. After a few months, Rose’s older daughter, Sis, let Mamma know that Rose was pregnant, with twins. My mother was NOT happy and I’m sure she let it be known. She was pissed at Rose because she knew how hard her life was already and now she was supporting a man and two babies and dragging young Teeny through it all. To my mother’s credit, she finally came to her senses and asked Rose to come back. I don’t know if she felt sorry for Rose and wanted to help or if she really just missed her best friend, but I was happy as pigs in shit that Rose was BACK!!

My mother and Rose had an unusual relationship for black and white women in the South in the ’60s. But, then again, southwest Louisiana was a little different in terms of tolerance. Not that there wasn’t racism, but there were more accounts of close relationships between black and white families. My parents demanded our respect for Rose. If we talked back, we were punished just as if we had disrespected one of them. My mother trusted Rose with her most intimate secrets and as a true confidant. Rose knew and understood all our family dynamics and she was often the sounding board for problems, cheerleader for accomplishments and overall, just an objective observer of our lives.

I learned so much from her. Friendship, loyalty, humbleness, integrity, compassion, faith and love, not to mention how to cook the perfect round steak. Probably the most touching part of the story of The Help was the maid, Aibileen, trying to instill confidence into Mae Mobley, the toddler in her care and whose mother was a bit “detached”. Each morning when Aibi arrived and took the little girl from her crib or when she read her story books, she had Mae Mobley repeat: “You is kind, you is smart, you is important.”

Rose did the same kinds of things, making us feel good about ourselves and setting her expectations high for us, even though she was always right there and helping to pick up the pieces when we stumbled. Rose died the week of Thanksgiving, 1993 on the same day and hour that my brother’s daughter was born. It was such a bittersweet day in our family, but we knew that this new baby was likely kissed and blessed with Rose’s spirit. A few days later, I delivered the eulogy at her funeral…it was such an honor. Her headstone reads: “In Loving Memory from ALL her children” and lists her name as “Mama Rose”, a tribute from all of her children.

I tell this story because there’s so much talk about racism, bigotry and inequality, but little about love and mutual respect between the races. When little children find a caring, loving and trusted friend who instills self-confidence, the color of their skin or the differences in their cultures fade away. There is only love…and loyalty…and remembrance. So, when I read the book and found out that the movie was being made, I made a promise to watch the movie, alone with Rose. Since I couldn’t have her next to me, live and in person, I brought along this picture of her from my grandmother’s 90th birthday party and of course, her spirit. I laughed and I cried at familiar and compelling parts, knowing that Rose was laughing and crying right along with me.

So, needless to say, I highly recommend going to see The Help. And, when you do, consider the relationships of those women with those children and what an integral part they were in forming these children and giving them such a strong foundation — some who grew up to be priests, teachers, businessmen, doctors, authors and others who are simply “good” people, in part, from the values and teachings of the “help”.

 

Charlie Louvin – Harmonizing in Heaven

1927 - 2011

Country Music Hall of Famer, Charlie Louvin, passed away yesterday at the age of 83 of pancreatic cancer.

While you may not recognize his name or that of his brother, Ira, as the Louvin Brothers, they brought close harmony into the mainstream in 1950s, subsequently influencing groups like The Everly Brothers, The Beach Boys and Gram Parsons/The Byrds. These groups, of course, have been sited influences to modern harmonic groups like Boyz 2 Men, The Backstreet Boys, Brandi Carlile and The Secret Sisters (one of my new favorites — but that’s another post). As a pioneer of harmony, Charlie Louvin stands as one of those who quietly make a lasting impact on music. While he and his brother may have been largely forgotten by the larger music industry, their impact is deep and lasting.

My professed love of harmony is well documented here, and I still love it so. So, thank you Charlie Louvin. Thank you for your talent and your influence on generations of musicians and singers. The thread of harmony through generations…

If I Could Only Win Your Love, The Louvin Brothers

All I Have to Do is Dream/Cathy’s Clown, The Everly Brothers

Don’t Worry Baby, The Beach Boys

Turn, Turn, Turn, The Byrds (Gram Parsons)

I Want it That Way, The BackStreet Boys

Have You Ever, Brandi Carlile

Tennessee Me, The Secret Sisters

 

R.I.P. Gerry Rafferty

1947 - 2011

Gone too young.  Gerry Rafferty taken by liver disease at 63.  Fare thee well, King of “Baker Street”.

 
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Posted by on January 4, 2011 in memorials, the seventies

 

Requiem for a Grandpa

Kennedy Funeral

I think it’s fair to say that my political leanings are far more to the right of Ted Kennedy’s, but having a strong sense of history I decided to watch the Senator’s final farewell on Saturday.  After all, the Kennedy calamaties are like a side of the road accident that you just can’t turn your face away from.  In the pundits’ commentary after the funeral mass and before the Arlington Cemetary burial, I learned a little about the liberal lion that every conservative loves to hate.

As a 6’2″, 200 lb. reciever out of Harvard in the early 1950′s, he was briefly recruited to play professional football for the Green Bay Packers.  Yeah, that would have been for the great Vince Lombardi.  He declined and joined the Army for a short stint…inauspicous and non-risky, but service nonetheless.  In late 1968, after burying yet another brother, Ted set out on a sail from Hyannisport with no particular harbor as a destination and did not return for eight weeks.  He was a great lover of music and loved after dinner sing alongs.  Over his 47 year career, more than 1,000 laws have his fingerprints with over 300 written by his own hand.  There is no U.S. Senator who has had more lasting effect on government than Ted Kennedy.  While I don’t agree with many of his programs, I have to respect the body of work of a dedicated public servant.

It is a true testament to the man that the most cherished job in DC for a staffer was to work for him.  That’s because you had to be the best of the best to work on Kennedy’s staff.  He required smart, confident people to work long, arduous hours, but as a Kennedy colleague you would be on top of every issue and basically have your ticket punched for bigger things if you so desired.

While Kennedy deserves respect for his hard work and dedication to his ideals to provide a better life for those with no voice, his foibles cannot be overlooked.  One has only to re-read Michael Kelly’s GQ piece from 1990 to be amply disgusted by Ted’s lavicious behavior through liquor and women.  If his name had been Edward Moore, would America and history have been so kind?

The Greek-like tragedy of the Kennedys is well documented and many Americans - conservative and liberal, Democrat and Republican – have followed the triumphs and trevails of this large, political family of priviledge.  I’m a lover of biographies…always have been.  As a youngster, I read everything available on John F. Kennedy and his brief, shining moment.  After absorbing all I could from JFK literati of the day, I moved on to Jackie and RFK, but probably the most prolific book that I’ve read on the subject of the Kennedys is, in fact, The Kennedys: An American Drama by Peter Collier. 

Written in an informative style and pulling no punches, the book explored the various generations of the Kennedys and how they came to be in America.  It explored their inauspicious migration from Ireland and the true political kingpin of the family, Rose’s father, Honey Fitzgerald.  In excruiating detail, the authors explored the hubris and audacity of Papa Joe Kennedy in women, business and politics and the dramatic accumulation of wealth through bootleg liquor, moving pictures, and advantageous real estate during The Great Depression.  Shrewd in both business and personal matters, Kennedy used every connection and acquaintence to build a monumental fortune.  One that would sustain a very large contingent for generations.

There are/were a lot of imperfect Kennedys.  Perhaps that is why the nation has identified with the family over the years.  Despite their immense wealth and priviledge, the Kennedys are accepted as “one of us” due to their overwhelming loss and calamity.  Most people’s barometer of fairness balances the Kennedy wealth and prosperity with their unfathomable tragedy.  If the loss of oldest brother, Joe, in WWII, and oldest sister Kathleen shortly after the war, were not devestating enough, the very public and horrific deaths of government servant brothers, John and Robert, ensured permanent and deep sorrow from America for this seemingly congenial, “All-American” family.

After all, didn’t hundreds of thousands of families understand the loss of a son to war?  Didn’t millions of families lose daughters to horrific accidents?  Didn’t millions of families have mentally difficient children?  Didn’t millions watch the assassinations of young, vibrant change agents with dread and indignation?  Yes, America’s love affair with the Kennedys is one born more of pity, than envy.  Additional tragedies and scandals of the next generation have added to that pity, but none greater than the epic loss of the treasured John-John — that sweet young boy with barely a recall of his fallen father who had grow up to be so smooth, so handsome, and with so much hope in a Kennedy redemption.

While “Uncle Ted” attempted to atone for past sins over the last 40 years, his real reckoning was only realized after meeting his second wife, Victoria.  I may be biased, but Cajun women have a way of straightening out troubled men.  When Ted met Victoria, his life was really in the shitter.  Having to publicly reveal details of drunkedness and debauchery in his nephew’s (William Kennedy Smith) Florida rape trial, it looked to be the beginning of the end for Ted Kennedy.  After Vicky, Ted seemed to settle into his patriarch role more comfortably and she appeared to wean him off of alcohol and the irresponsible behavior he used to act out his grief and self-failings. 

As I watched the ceremonies yesterday, I wasn’t particularly impressed by the President or past Presidents, nor the 57 Senators in attendance.  What really gave me a new appreciation was the Senator’s son, Teddy, Jr’s remarks.  His particularly poignant story of his father’s caring and determination with getting the younger Ted to climb up an icy hill on his new prosthetic leg as a 12 year old, showed the love and dedication of a father.  The other compelling  tribute was from his grandchildren

I completely understand what it is to be the grandchild of an imperfect grandfather.  The whispers, insults and disdain of a philanderer, of which you have no understanding.  To these children, Ted Kennedy was the grandfather that they sat on the porch with, sailed around Cape Cod with and who dotted unabashedly about them.  Their words were the most compelling and most humanizing of Ted Kennedy.  At the end of the day, Teddy was simply Grandpa.  Dad.  Uncle Ted.  Brother, son, father, grandfather.

And, despite significant failings and shortcomings, he was loved.  Not only by his family, but by his God.  The tenants of Catholicism are centered around forgiveness.  There are ample opportunities to be forgiven and it is likely that Ted Kennedy begged that forgiveness over his last 14 months.  His sins were grave, but no graver than the rest of us, for all sins are considered of similar consequence.  In his letter to the Pope earlier this summer, Ted Kennedy tried to explain his life.  He asked for prayer from The Holy See, while offering his own prayers for the Pope and the Church.

While there is a particular duplicity to the life of Ted Kennedy and many refuse to acknowledge the positive impact that Ted Kennedy has had on our country, the fact is that you can’t deny that this “baby brother” steered the helm of the Kennedy ship through its’ darkest, most tumultous waters with stoic determination, compassionate understanding, and loving support.  In the end, Ted Kennedy’s honed leadership skills were the most appropriately used where they made a bigger impact than legislation…a family’s legacy.

Rest in Peace.

  Waiting on an Angel, Ben Harper

 
6 Comments

Posted by on August 30, 2009 in memorials

 

On This Day…1977

elvis-st

No mention on the news.  No acknowledgement that I’ve seen today.  However, today is the 32nd anniversary of the death of Elvis. One place that never, ever forgets Elvis is his home town of Memphis.  Death Week festivities culminate with the “vigil”, each August 15th.  Having witnessed this firsthand during our six year stint in Memphis, I must say that seeing the thousands upon thousands standing silently with candles and moving through the gates of Graceland is quite touching.

My Elvis love has been well-documented in several posts, here, here, and here.  As I reflect on the death of Les Paul and his dramatic impact on modern music and Rock & Roll, in particular, I can’t help but also think about Elvis’ significant influence.  These people made HUGE changes to their worlds.  Makes me wonder….just where are this generations change agents?  Miley Cyrus?  The Jonas Brothers?  Where are the new “originals”?

In this age, where non-conformity is the norm, it is hard to appreciate just how odd and different Elvis was.  Coming out in the Deep South, where good, upstanding citizens listened to clean cut white boys in the vein of Pat Boone, Elvis’ loud clothes, swiveling hips, provacative dance moves, and strong R&B leanings were not exactly embraced by the adults of the South (or otherwise).  But, the kids got it and they LOVED it.

America loves an original, and Elvis was definitely original.  In the thirty odd years since his death, I’ve often thought about what Elvis would have done, had he lived.  Would he have joined the fitness revolution and slimmed down?  Would he have realized that overuse of prescription drugs IS drug abuse and checked himself in to Betty Ford?  Would he have made a big comeback?  And, just WHAT would he look like at 74?  Well, wonder no more…

ElvisPresleyAgeProgression 

Oh, to go back to when Elvis was Young & Beautiful….

 
 

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The Original Guitar Hero

les%20paul

Les Paul, 1915 - 2009

A real revoluntionary of the music business is gone.

Les Paul, inventor of the electric, amplified guitar and picker extraordinnaire passed away today from complications of pneumonia at the age of 94.  Born in 1915 with a love of music, Les Paul began playing harmonica and guitar on the street, while still in his childhood.  When a listener critiqued the volume of his guitar playing, Les was determined to find a way to increase the sound.  While gainfully employed as a musician throughout his teens and early adulthood, Les continued to tinker until he created “The Log” — a 4″ X 4″ with amplified strings with a guitar body attached for asthetics.  

As early as 1939, Les Paul brought his “invention” to Gibson Guitar company where he was summarily laughed off the property.  However, they eventually worked with Paul to create the legendary solid-body design that caries his signature and name.  Probably one of the most famous Les Paul models is “Lucille”, B.B. King’s infamous instrument.

bb king lucille 

Generations of guitarists have chosen the signature Les Paul Gibson as their axe of choice, including guitar greats Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, Elvis Presley, Keith Richards, Pete Townsend, Jeff Beck, Jimmy Page, John Mayer, Mark Knopfler and Les Paul’s close buddy, the late, great Chet Atkins.  Chet’s half-brother, Jim, was a member of the Les Paul Trio, who famously played throughout the 50s and 60s.  Both Les and Chet have been major influences in the evolution of the guitar as a forefront instrument.  They were good friends with a strong, mutual respect for each other.

  The Birth of the Blues, Les Paul & Chet Atkins

Amazingly, Les Paul could not read music.  However, his superb ear and creativity provided ingenuity in playing that basically made the guitar speak.  He brought personality to guitar.  He also brought it to the recording studio.  Using his wife, Mary Ford’s pure voice, Les Paul began over-dubbing and multi-track recording, revolutionizing how recordings were made and producing rich sound that resonates deeply within.

 

There are so many facets to Les Paul and the genius of his 94 years.  I strongly encourage you to look him up on YouTube and Google and watch the documentaries and performances about this icon who literally changed the face of modern music. 

Perhaps Guitar Hero will add a Les Paul version to honor the Original Guitar Hero.  (They may need to add a looping accessory….)

 

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The Trust is Broken

1916 - 2009

1916 - 2009

This is the face I saw every day, growing up.  Next to my father, Walter Cronkite, was the most prevalent male role model in my life for the first 14 or 15 years.  Every night at 5:30pm, Walt would deliver the news while my Mother was cooking dinner.  Most nights, my much older brother and sister were off somewhere doing their teenager thing, leaving my Dad and I to take in the world happenings of the day.  My father was not an extremely demanding parent, but he did encourage us to read the newspaper and to watch the evening news so that we understood the issues of our time.  It’s something that has proven to be invaluable in work and life, in general.

I’m not sure why, but our daily newspaper always came in the afternoon.  My father usually picked up the paper when he returned from work, precisely at 5:05 pm (his nursery business was around the corner).  Then, he went straight to the den, kicked off his shoes, put his feet up on the stool, and cracked open the newspaper.  I’d enter after finishing homework, turn on the enormous RCA console TV and flip the big manual knob to Channel 10, which was CBS in our town, to catch the sports and weather from the local news.  You see, I was the remote control to switch between the four channels we had access to.  I had just the right wrist action to fly between 10 and 3, around to 7 with a short stop at 15.  It took a special talent and an understanding of the optimum UHF antenna position, but after years of practice I had it down pat.

At promptly 5:30 pm, the reliable and familiar “Good Evening” from the most trusted man in America.  He then would dispense whatever vile and unconscienable acts mankind was committing on each other that day.  While I know that every generation has absorbed “news” that is astonishing and unbelievable, growing up in the late ’60s and ’70s was an endless diet of war, pestilence and death.  I’m talking assassinations, riots, protests, war fronts, burning bodies, cracked heads, hateful words, corruption, lies, murder, and general mayhem.  In short, it was NOT the best of times.

But, there were also fantastic, new “discoveries”….the space program, microwaves, trans-atlantic Concorde flights, The Beatles, cassette tapes, and unleaded gas.  Both good and bad, Walter Cronkite brought it all to us, with integrity, honesty and wit.

Unlike the biased and entertainment focused news from the likes of Katie, Brian, and assorted cable “anchors”, Cronkite’s news was gospel.  And, while there may have been some manipulation of the news, most journalists were searching for the “story”, to right wrongs, to change the world.  It was a serious time for serious news and Mr. Cronkite let us know the happenings of the day with appropriate seriousness.  While I don’t long for the crazy, volatile times of those days, I do long for the time when there was at least a perception of truth and trust in the news of today.  In Cronkite’s passing, perhaps today’s media will undertake a little introspection into just how shallow and superficial their news has become.  In the 24/7, sensational reality news of the new millenium, “news” people have lost the ideals of true journalism that Cronkite so aptly displayed in his tenure over some of America’s darkest days.  It is a credit to Cronkite’s integrity that no-one really knew, until well after his retirement, that he was a Democrat.  It was a testament to his objectivity and commitment to impartiality.  With all of the accolades sure to follow his passing, those delivering the news would be wise to follow more of his example. 

When CBS forced Cronkite into retirement in 1981 to replace him with a younger, shinier Dan Rather, it subsequently sold its soul and eventually lost its hold on night time news.  Rather’s obvious left bias would be his undoing, leaving him woefully short of Cronkite’s legacy and class.

As a child of the ’70s, I tip my proverbial hat to Walter Cronkite on a career and life well lived.  Perhaps the most appropriate homage to the end of Uncle Walt’s personal broadcast are his own iconic words:

And, that’s the way it is….July 18th, 2009

Musically, the one song that kept coming to my mind is John Mayer’s Waiting on the World to Change…

…when they own the information, oh, they can bend it all they want…..

 
3 Comments

Posted by on July 19, 2009 in John Mayer, memorials, the seventies, TV

 

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The Circus That Wasn’t

It had all the makings of a cheap, promotional opportunity at the expense of a tragic, much aligned icon, but…the Michael Jackson memorial was actually very well thought out and done.  Word is that his baby brother, Randy, took the reins and finalized the plans and format for the memorial.  Hat’s off, Randy.

mjmemorial

 While there were awkward moments, like John Mayer’s instrumental Human Nature, Brooke Shields’ obvious out-of-placeness, and Al Sharpton’s declaration that “there was nothing strange about your Daddy”, all in all the memorial was in good taste and an appropriate send-off for the King of Pop.

Queen Latifah was eloquent, Jennifer Hudson was once again, brilliant and the great Smokey Robinson was touching, but the speaker who captured Michael Jackson the best, was the one and only founder of Motown, Berry Gordy:

Berry’s declaration that Jackson was “the greatest entertainer that ever lived” is difficult to dispute, even though you have to throw up an asterick to ackowledge that he was also the weirdest entertainer that ever lived. 

I’m very conflicted on the whole Michael Jackson over exposure and pedestal topping, in light of the very serious questions around his behavior and thoughts around sharing his love with young boys and the questions around drug use, appearance alterations, and just generally abnormal life — even for a celebrity.  However, one moment put into perspective that this odd, lonely, questionable character was a beloved Daddy who is no longer there.

In the end…the very end, the “event” was brought into stark perspective….by a grieving eleven-year old daughter.

R.I.P.

 

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