The Wall

People Who Died -- July, 2026

We’re through July and even though it is going too fast, save for the Mets, I’d say it has been a great Summer. Hopefully August will hold up its part of the bargain, and we can all get a boatload of vitamin D. Those that follow in this dreck, may not agree with it being a great Summer, but hopefully they are heartened by the shoutout.

As I get older, I get more phobias. I suffer from acrophobia, a fear of heights. I never had it as a kid or adult. With the onset of old age, it crept up on me and watching videos of those two Russian lovebirds who climbed the Empire State Building to proclaim their desire for one another, and get engaged, made my stomach turn. Not because I am not a hopeless romantic, but because the damned heights that they attained made me physically sick. I also now suffer from claustrophobia. It used to be that taking a ride on an MRI machine was a piece of cake, even with the clanging. Now, it takes two valiums (last time four, but that’s a story for another day) to get me calm enough to be transported into that tunnel. All that makes me wonder how I would have lived had I had to be in an iron lung. I would have taken an iron gun and shot myself in my not so iron head. Not this month’s hero Martha Lillard, the last living person to use an iron lung to stay alive, who finally got out of the thing, but not in the way she would have hoped, by dying at 78. Ms. Lillard contracted polio when she was five and spent most of the rest of her life inside the old iron lung. She was quoted as saying, when she was first placed in it, “It feels wonderful, really, if you’re not breathing well.” I guess that’s the case. She was told that she would not live past 20 and perhaps that’s why she adapted so well. She proved them all wrong, by some 58 years. I would have asked for a special lung so that I could have crouched into the fetal position and cried my life away, but Ms. Lillard was cut from better, more optimistic, and enthusiastic, cloth. According to her sister, “she had the enthusiasm and drive to continue living and make the most of her life.” Due to the ingenuity of her family, she did quite a lot in the old iron lung. Her father had a custom trailer that would transport her and would find motels with doors wide enough to accommodate an iron lung so that their family could take vacations. Polio was one of the most feared diseases before a vaccine was perfected. It affected mostly children, and iron lungs saved tens of thousands from death. With our DHS Secretary, you all might forget about your quest for Space-X stock and start thinking about a new iron lung startup, given his vaccine stance. In March of 2024, I wrote about Paul Alexander, who got a law degree while living mostly in an iron lung. Like, Mr. Alexander, Ms. Lillard could spend some time outside the device but not for too long. These things are so antiquated that parts were hard to come by and like Edsels, you had to find old ones and cannibalize them for parts to keep the last few contraptions going. She had a partner of 20 years who just this year got a visa and emigrated from Egypt and married Ms. Lillard. Except for the fact that the Administration will probably now deport him, it’s a love story not unlike the Russian roofers (which is what they call them), who climbed the Empire State Building.

I was a big “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman” fan, and an even bigger fan of its spinoff “Fernwood Tonight,” starring Martin Mull. “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman,” starred Louise Lasser, who died this month at 87. The show, centered in the fictional town of Fernwood, Ohio, was a spoof on soap operas. Even the name was a riff on the repetitiveness of the content of soaps. Mary was put through a lot, including bizarre deaths like the time the Rev. Jimmy Joe Jeeter was electrocuted in his bathtub, and when coach Leroy Fedders drowned in a vat of chicken soup. She left the show after two years and it was rebranded “Fernwood Forever,” but without Lasser as the engine, the show sputtered. Mary herself suffered a nervous breakdown on a television talk show. All of it was a hoot with Ms. Lasser’s deadpan, comedic genius. That said, she herself had to deal with traumatic death in her life. At a young age, she stopped her mother from committing suicide, an act her mother said she would never forgive her for. Her mother divorced Ms. Lasser’s father, and then successfully pulled off the suicide. Later in life, her father, too, committed suicide. She grew up in New York and went to the Fieldston School in the Bronx. That would be Riverdale to the rest of us. She then attended Brandeis. Ms. Lasser had fame before the Norman Lear show. She had met Woody Allen on a blind date (she was with the other guy, not Woody) and ultimately married him. That is a pairing I can see. She had roles in the Allen films “Play it Again Sam,” “Bananas,” and “Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask),” where she played a woman who could only reach orgasm in public. She also had a cameo, long after her divorce from Allen, as his secretary, in his movie “Stardust Memories.” Lasser continued to act in movies, had a recurring role in the television series “St. Elsewhere,” and taught acting, but it will always be “Mary Hartman” that defines her. Of the character, Lasser has stated, “she was like a survivor that lived in a world that might not be worth surviving in.” We’re getting there.

Alright, who, when they were alone driving the car when it came on the radio, hasn’t belted out “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” at the top of their lungs? The woman who so skillfully sang that, and other tunes, Bonnie Tyler, died this month at 75. Frankly, when I heard she died, “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” was the only song that I could remember she sang. I always thought the tune to be Meat Lofian and come to find out, it was written and produced by Jim Steinman, who wrote and produced all the material on Meat Loaf’s Bat Out of Hell. He actually wrote the song for Meat Loaf but gave it to Tyler when she asked him to produce a record for her. The guy knows how to tap a cliche. Turns out Tyler had a number of hits, including, “It’s a Heartache.” She had a great, Rod Stewart-like, Kim Carnesian, raspy voice. Born in Wales as Gaynor Hopkins, the daughter of a coalminer (maybe there is a song there?) she has changed her name more times than a convicted felon. Early in her career she changed her name to Sherene Davis so as not to be confused with the folk singer Mary Hopkins of “Those Were the Days” fame. When Ronnie Scott (yes, the Ronnie Scott of Ronnie Scott’s) managed her, he had her change it to Bonnie Tyler, which stuck. Her career started out on the wrong foot when she joined a local talent competition and came in second to an accordionist. And it wasn’t even Lawrence Welk. Anyway, she overcame that and on her second album hit big with “It’s A Heartache.” The interesting thing about “It’s a Heartache.” is that both Juice Newton and Ronnie Spector, great vocalists in their own right, put out versions before Tyler that went nowhere. A few years later, she hit even bigger with “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” which earned her two Grammy nominations and went to number one all over the world. Hard to compete with success like that but she also had hits with “Take Me Back” and “Holding Out for A Hero,” which was on the soundtrack for the movie Footloose. “Once upon a time I was falling in love, now I’m only falling apart.”

Glen Hansard, a Grammy nominated musician, front man of the Irish band The Frames, actor, and Academy award winner, died this month in a motorcycle accident in Dublin at 56. Hansard started busking in Dublin as a kid, formed the band The Frames when he was about 20 and the band gained fame in Ireland. Hansard accompanied a friend to an audition for the movie The Commitments. Since he played the guitar and had red hair, he was asked to read a few lines and got the gig for a role in the film. The best line of the film for me was where two of the girls were talking about one of the guys in the band, and the one girl says about him: “He’s a dick;” and the other says, “aah, but he’s a dick with a job.” One of his bandmates in The Frames asked him to star in a movie, Once, about a street musician who falls in love with a Czech pianist. His much younger co-star, Marketa Irglova, and he fell in love in real life although it didn’t last too long. However, they won an Oscar for the song “Falling Slowly,” featured in the film. He was a musician first and his 2015 album Didn’t He Ramble, was nominated for a Grammy for Best Folk Album. He opened for Pearl Jam and EV (that’s Eddie Vedder, not to be confused with EVH the guitar virtuoso), when Vedder toured in support of his album Ukulele Songs. He was also involved with EV’s side project, the Earthlings. He performed at times with Bono, Ed Sheeran, and Bruce Springsteen. His performance at Shane McGowan’s funeral (Here), was a tour de force and where I really learned of him. I am sure Shane appreciated it. He was a favorite at the Christmas Eve Busk in Dublin where many musicians show up each year to raise money for people at risk of becoming homeless. Hearing of his death, Bono wrote: “he was such an angelic presence. Not otherworldly. In fact, very present this presence. A smiling rascal if you needed him to be, this most musical and mischievous archangel of Ballymun; no airs, plenty of graces…” For this obit I’ll give Mr. Hansard the last word here:

Victor Willis, the lead singer of the Village People and author of the tunes “YMCA,” and “Macho Man,” died this month at 74. In the group, he dressed as a cop. For whatever reason, YMCA has been utilized by everyone from the New York Yankees grounds crew, to the President of the United States. Some might say they are similar, but to me it certainly is an odd pairing. While they were never my cup of tea, the Village people were mega stars and the tune is played everywhere for every occasion, complete with that stupid gyrating to contort one’s body into letters that never look as they should. Whatever, it’s all good fun. There was a fair amount of litigation regarding the copyright but in the end, a court ruled that the copyright to YMCA and other VP tunes were owned by Willis and Jacques Morali. The Village people had a big gay following which makes one wonder about the Presidential connection (even Trump tries to contort his body into the letters when the tune comes on). I frankly thought the members were gay, only to find out that Willis was married to Phylicia Rashad making me extremely jealous. Perhaps I can pen something about the YWCA. After a fight, Willis left the group but eventually returned and performed with them. They, perhaps uncharacteristically, appeared at Trump’s second inauguration. Willis has, over the years, waffled from saying Trump cannot use the tune to performing at the inauguration. Willis took pains to make it clear that performing at the inauguration was not an endorsement, making it more of a money grab. “They have everything for young men to enjoy; you can hang out with all the boys; it’s fun to play at the YMCA.”

I write about a lot of guitar players, bass and otherwise, singers, and even some drummers, but rarely do I write about saxophone players. Not sure if it’s because they die at a slower rate, or that nobody knows any of them, so they don’t hit this rag. This month we lost one of the greats. You won’t know his name (at least I didn’t), but you will know his sound because it is his sax licks that start the Henry Mancini theme for the movie “The Pink Panther.” Plas Johnson died this month at 84. When Mancini wrote the tune, he wrote it with Johnson in mind. The two of them worked together on the score for “Peter Gunn,” which album won the Grammy for best album of the year. Born in Louisiana to musicians (his father played the sax), he got his first axe at 12 and in his teens was playing Dixieland and Jazz in the clubs of New Orleans. Drafted into the Army, he played in the California military band. He moved to LA and became the Wrecking Crew’s sax player meaning you hear him on everything. He backed people like Barbara Streisand, Frank Zappa, Elton John, Carole King, Linda Ronstadt, Nicolette Larson, Nat Cole, Marvin Gaye, Ella Fitzgerald, B.B. King, and Frank Sinatra. He was on Pet Sounds (there you go Jimmy), and did the theme music for “The Monkees,” “Mannix” (a favorite of mine), and “The Odd Couple.” He was in the band for the Merv Griffin show for 15 years and put out over a dozen of his own albums. I mean, if you heard a saxophone on a record that wasn’t put out by Bruce, there’s a good chance you were listening to Plas Johnson. That is quite a testament to his playing. He said that they recorded the Pink Panther theme in only two takes, and when it was over, even the string players applauded, and according to Johnson, “they never applaud for anything.” I bet they are applauding him now.

I often write about songwriters and this month we lost Joe Melson at 91. Joe Melson, you say? Yes him. The guy who, with Roy Orbison, wrote “Only the Lonely, “Crying” and “Blue Bayou.” Satisfied now that he deserves to be here? In addition to writing songs with Orbison, he sang backup on many of them. Check out this version of their song “Running Scared” and notice the folks in the band. All told (although I think if should be all tolled), the Orbison/Melson collaboration produced over 200 tunes. It has been said that Orbison’s version of the Orbison/Melson tune “Only the Lonely,” influenced Elvis to record “It’s Now or Never.” “Yes, now you’re gone, and from this moment on, I’ll be crying, crying, crying.”

Down at Palisade’s Park. Every kid in the early sixties knew that tune because they knew the park it was about. Written by Chuck Barris of “The Gong Show” fame, it was performed by Freddy Boom Boom Cannon (not to be confused with Ernest Boom Boom Carter, who played drums on “Born To Run”) who died this month at 89. It was probably his largest hit, but not his first. That would be “Tallahassee Lassie,” recorded in 1959. Cannon was born in Massachusetts and began playing music at a fairly young age. He was in bands and made records that achieved some local fame. Leading the band Freddy Karmon and the Hurricanes, he had a big following in the Boston area. His mother wrote lyrics to a tune she called “Rock and Roll Baby.” Cannon brought it to his managers who had writers substantially rewrite the lyrics and he recorded a version which became “Tallahassee Lassie.” Several record companies passed on it but Dick Clarke, who owned a piece of a Philadelphia record company at the time, suggested a re-edit and some overdubs and the tune became a hit, peaking at No. 6 on the Billboard Hot 100, and selling over one million copies. Maybe I should lay the blame for my failure as a rock musician at the feet of my mom for never having written good lyrics, or any lyrics, for that matter, for me. Cannon was backed at times by members of the Four Seasons, until they themselves became stars, eclipsing Cannon’s fame. His second big hit “Way Down Yonder in New Orleans,” hit number three on the charts in both the States and the U.K. Cannon’s album, The Explosive Freddy Cannon, became the first Rock n’ Roll album to hit number one in the U.K. Sort of a mini–U.S. Invasion. But it was Palisades Park that he will always be remembered for in these parts. When it first came out, legendary disc jockey Murray the K, who was at WINS, refused to play the song for some reason. The owner of Palisades Park, Irving Rosenthal, saw the song as excellent publicity for his business and, as a big advertiser on the radio station, called the WINS general manager to discuss the situation and pretty much, by the time he hung up the phone, Murray the K was spinning the record. Not exactly payola, but you get the picture. Lest you think Mr. Cannon had no cred, a big fan was Alex Chilton of the Box Tops (“The Letter”), and later Big Star fame, who had Cannon’s portrait on the wall in his house in New Orleans. To me, that is big.

A not so well-known drummer, Rodney Holmes, died this month six weeks shy of his 60^th birthday. Dreaded cancer. He played with the likes of Santana (he played on the tune “Smooth” from the Supernatural album), the Brecker Brothers, Special EFX, Wayne Shorter, Al Jarreau, and Steve Lukather, to name a few. He played on several Grammy-nominated records. I wasn’t very familiar with him myself, but none other than Dave Weckl, as good a drummer as there is on the planet, praised his work and when that happens, you make this rag.

When you’re a kid and you love a team, you love them unconditionally. They can break your heart, they can play horrendous ball, they can totally suck, but you come back every day with hope; hope that this will be the game of a lifetime. Now that I am older, I get easily disgusted with the Mets and can’t tolerate their horrendous play. I curse them and turn off the television in disgust; all things I would never have done as a wide-eyed twelve-year-old. Oh, to be young and uncynical again. I loved the Mets unconditionally as a kid, and one of the players included in that love was Ron Hunt, who died this month at 85. I didn’t love him because he was a great hitter. He wasn’t. I didn’t love him because he was a great fielder. He was only passable. I loved him because when he got up to the plate, there was a good chance he would get hit by a pitch and make it to first base; something few Mets ever did back then (and perhaps now). During his career, he was hit by pitches 243 times. It was a record that is now held by Craig Biggio who was hit 285 times, but Biggio played in nearly twice as many games in his career as Hunt. Hunt also owns the single season record of getting hit 50 times while a Montreal Expo. Hunt was actually a better player than I give him credit for. He batted .303 in 1964 for the Mets, was the first Met to hit a homer at Shea Stadium, and got a hit in the 1964 All-Star game that was played in Shea. He was a fearless baserunner and could turn a decent double play. He is most known, though, for getting hit. According to an interview he gave, he would wear a loose-fitting uniform, choke up on the bat and get right over the plate where many a ball would graze him. A concession to age, as he got older, he would wear a rubber undershirt to soften the blow. Win, lose, or draw, though, when he was on my team, I loved him regardless of the level of play. At my age, now, I find it hard to love my team given the level of play. I miss my youth and the ball players I idolized.

We all know the big search engines, Google, Bing, DuckDuckGo, and the like. Frankly for me, it’s Google or nothing. A good twenty years before the modern search engine, there was Dialog, created by Roger Summit, who was so obscure, the New York Times didn’t learn about his death until this month. He was 95. Even though he died in June, I’ll put him here. Dialog was truly the first computerized search engine. He got the idea for a search engine when his colleagues at Lockheed Missiles and Space Company complained that it was easier to re-research and rewrite something than it was to locate earlier works in the database. He led a team that got Dialog, the name he gave his search engine, up and running to the point where the researchers at the company could find documents in minutes that had taken them hours or days to locate, if they could find them at all. When they ran tests on the prototype of the engine, the only one who complained was the librarian who said that the demand was so great she had to shorten her break time. Although he perfected a great computer breakthrough, he never reached the heights of Google. Dialog was spun off as its own company in 1982, with Summit as its President. It was eventually sold it to Knight-Ridder. Summit and Dialog were way ahead of their time which probably cost him a few billion.

Oh, and Lindsay Graham died this month at 71. What were the odds on Polymarket that Mitch McConnell would outlive him? I like to remember Graham as a principled conservative who understood the need to make deals by reaching across the aisle and forging not only relationships, but good legislation. He was powerful and cast a big shadow. He headed, at various times, the Judiciary Committee and the Budget Committee, both powerful positions in our government. I like to think that for some reason he lost his way, but I know others view it more as finding his stride. That’s politics. I’ll just leave this as he worked tirelessly for the causes he believed in.

Finally, New Jersey lost a great criminal defense attorney as Peter Willis has gone to that grand holding cell in the sky. The great “character” attorneys are quite literally becoming a dying breed. Peter was a “character,” and a great defense attorney to boot. He and his type are already missed.

Enjoy what is left of the Lazy, hazy, crazy, days of Summer.