December is a big month. So big, it seems, that everyone wanted to end it all before the beginning of 2022. I always thought your parents wanted you to be born before the end of the year so they would get the tax deduction. This month I am seeing a greater exit. Makes me wonder what they knew and how we will fare in the New Year. I apologize for the length of this thing up front but there were too many people to cover. Some who would have made it in slower months found themselves on the cutting room, er, cemetery floor. Well, regardless, I hope you all have a happy, healthy and safe New Year and in 2022 reach the heights some of our dearly departed have hit.
Sports took a hit this month. John Madden actually transcended sports and was an American treasure who embodied the best that we can be. A superstar in three endeavors, albeit all stemming from what has transcended baseball to become, while perhaps not America’s pastime, America’s obsession. To paraphrase someone, the Catholic Church used to own Sundays but nowadays, Sundays belong to the NFL. Quite an impressive boast but one that cannot be dismissed. Anyway, Madden is known to everyone but often for different reasons. He was the best at being a color commentator for NFL games. He changed the role forever and was better at it than anyone who ever did it, or ever will do it. He was the Johnny Carson of sports commentators and that is the highest praise I can heap on someone. He loved describing football and life and his exuberance for it was contagious. I believe this clip really sums up who he was as a commentator who appealed to the inner-child in all of us:
That broadcasting career often overshadows what was a Hall of Fame coaching career. He coached the Oakland Raiders for ten years and amassed the greatest winning percentage of all coaches who coached more than 100 games. His .759 winning percentage (103-32-7) earned his entry into the Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio and will probably never be broken. He left coaching because it was ruining his health and doctors told him that if he continued it would kill him. Of course, we should not forget he was coaching for Al Davis so it was a rather perilous existence. To yet a younger generation, and generations to come, he will be known for Madden Football, one of the most successful video games to be marketed. But more than all those things, he was a regular guy who connected with everyone from the world powerful to the service people who make this country work. With an aversion to flying, borne of claustrophobia, he travelled across America first on Amtrack and then on the Madden-cruiser, stopping in small town America to touch base and truly get the pulse of the common man to whom he gave voice. According to his longtime producer, Fred Gaudelli, who travelled with him for several years: “When you pulled up somewhere in that bus, it was like Air Force One arrived.” That would be true except Madden’s approval ratings were far higher than any President I am aware of. And Madden gave us the turducken and, if only for that, he should be remembered. So-long to an icon.
I interrupt sports because in going to check on a Madden-fact I was informed that Betty White has died at 99. I thought this would never happen. Had she made it to January 17th she would have had a date with Willard Scott were he still around. Earlier this year we lost Ed Asner and now the Mary Tyle Moore Show is truly gone. Ms. White’s television career spanned a Guinness record seven decades. Her breakthrough role was in the Mary Tyler Moore Show where her character was more Mae West compared to Mary’s Doris Day. Once when asked how she was feeling she said that she didn’t sleep a wink the night before and was feeling just great because of it. She also had a big role on the Golden Girls which I didn’t watch but where, like the MTM show, she outlived all the other characters. She had a career resurgence with Saturday Night Live and because of her longevity has become part of the American psyche. A long and productive career. If you were in the supermarket this month, you maybe saw the National Examiner, a true tabloid rag, that on its front page announced: “Betty White Turns 100.” That may, in and of itself, have caused her death. In any event, if I were Keith Richards, I’d start to worry.
Back to sports. Al Unser of the storied Indy race-car family died at 82. It was a tough year for the Unser’s as earlier this year his brother Bobby took life’s checkered flag at 87 as did Bobby’s son Bob Unser Jr. at 65. Thankfully, for you fans of the endless left-hand turn, there are still plenty of Unsers in the game. Al, though, was one of the best having won the Indy 500 four times, a feat only accomplished by three others in the history of the brickyard. To show how competitive he was, in 1985, he was vying for driver of the year against his own son and it came down to the Indy Beatrice Challenge between the oldest driver to go for the prize against the youngest, his son. Towards the end of the race, he pulled up next to his son and then roared ahead, besting the kid and ultimately winning the title by one point. Afterwards he was quoted as saying of his son: “If he wins it, he’s going to have to earn it.” No millennial coddling there. Competition was what it was about for all the Unsers and Al was the best of them.
LaMarr Hoyt, who Dave Anderson of the New York Times described as looking like “a Sunday softball pitcher who belongs in a beer commercial, rather than a Cy Young Award candidate” on the mound, died at 66. By the way, he won that Cy Young award. La Marr himself admitted that he learned to get everything he could out of his not overflowing reservoir of talent telling the Times: “I couldn’t ever blow hitters away, but I could put a ball where I wanted, a fourth of an inch, a sixteenth of an inch, and I could make the ball move. I knew how to attack the corners of the plate.” Plagued by injuries, he used and then abused painkillers, fought his addiction for years, spent time in jail and eventually found his way. Tony LaRussa, who managed him with the White Sox (Chicago’s other team) said of him “He had average stuff but amazing command and tremendous confidence, and he never showed fear." To those of us who in life have “average stuff,” he showed us how can be our best.
Bishop Desmond Tutu died at 90. No surprise that he waited for F.W. de Klerk to go before he called it a life. And what a life it was. Perhaps more than anyone he can lay claim to ending apartheid in South Africa. He may not have been the biggest name, but he was the most steadfast and the person behind the big names. He was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984 "for his role as a unifying leader figure in the non-violent campaign to resolve the problem of apartheid in South Africa." While he suffered through the worst of the South African apartheid, he never permitted himself to hate his enemies even though he once said that hearing a police siren still made him fear that the authorities were coming to get him. The world sorely needs more of him even as we lose such a caring soul.
While I am at it, Bob Dole died at, I think, 146. No, he actually was 98. Am I the only one who mixes him up with Walter Mondale? Dole was the consummate public servant. He was so severely injured in WW II that he was at first left for dead. He spent over three years in a hospital recovering from seven surgeries which dashed his hopes of being a surgeon himself. Thus, he did what every failed doctor did, he went to law school. To add insult to his many injuries, he then became a politician. He was in the Senate for more than twenty years and was one of the few in his generation to support Trump in 2016. Given that he was such an ardent Nixon supporter, the Trump leap wasn’t so great. He received the Vice-Presidential nomination in 1976 and the Presidential nomination in 96, losing both times. The last time he was seen in public was at George H.W. Bush’s wake where he was lifted from his wheelchair to salute the President. It showed his respect for the office and the Country that he made such an effort for one final salute.
Now for balance I move to Harry Reid, who Johnny Rocco, that being Johnny A and Pat Rocco, reprieving the pairing that brought many of us one of the best sandwiches ever made, lobbied hard to have Reid included. He is here largely due to his rags-to-riches story which is impressive. This is in juxtaposition to E.O. Wilson, who some of you, most ardently Davidson, lobbied for, who just didn’t cut it for me. I never liked insects, what can I say. But I digress. Reid, who died at 82, was born in the mining town of Searchlight, Nevada. His dad, an itinerant miner, shot himself to death. Reid grew up in a house with a tin roof that lacked water or electricity. His mom did laundry for a brothel to support the family. What was odd about this was that Reid later sought passage of laws closing those brothels down which begged the question: what would has mother have had to do lacking the laundress job? Perhaps join the gals. Anyway, he was a middleweight boxer and attended a high school 40 miles from his home that he hitchhiked to because he had relatives in the Henderson area, where ultimately, he died. That may trump the walking to school three miles, uphill each way story and I am not sure I bite off on it. In any event, all that is pretty impressive and helped form someone who became formidable at making his point and gaining power. He was probably as important as anyone in getting the Affordable Care Act passed. Given how much political blood has been spilled on both sides of the aisle because of it, his feat is rather impressive no matter where you fall out on the issue. It exemplifies the power he wielded and the manner in which he wielded it. Frankly, writing about all these political types is far more boring than say, writing about John Madden, so I’ll leave this at that. He was a true American success story.
Stu Rasmussen is more my type of politician. The Mayor of Silverton, Oregon, Mr. (or should I say Ms.) Rasmussen died at 73. He was the first openly transgender Mayor in America. He was a man who used masculine pronouns but identified as a woman. His death was announced by his wife, Victoria Sage. It was more than his gender that was confusing. He was a member of both the ACLU and the NRA. He was socially progressive yet fiscally responsible. Sort of like me in a dress. He proved that who you were didn’t matter but what you did, did. About his gender choice, the current mayor of Silverton said that “nobody really cared…. Everyone knew him so that part of him didn’t get a reaction.” When he first ran for mayor, he ousted an eight-term incumbent, while, according to the New York Times, “drawing international headlines for taking to the hustings in high heels and a low-cut blouse.” After his election, members of the Westboro Baptist Church, who were known for their anti-gay protesting at military funerals showed up in town to protest Mr. Rasmussen’s election. They were, however, severely outnumbered by over 200 Silverton townspeople, including some men who donned dresses for the occasion, carrying signs that said “Jesus Loves Stu,” and “Stu Rocks.” That is the America I believe in. One has to love Stu for being himself (or herself as the case me be) and the town for supporting its mayor.
When we think great CEO’s, we think Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Jack Welch, maybe even Elon Musk (not so much for me) – guys who ran amazing and sophisticated companies. By comparison, the concept of putting air into plastic to be used for packaging seems rather basic and boring. Sealed Air is one of those “why-didn’t-I-think-of-that” companies. Many of us don’t know T.J. Dermot Dunphy, the CEO of Sealed Air from 1971 to 2000 but he was the CEO who shareholders covet. During his time at the helm, Sealed Air’s stock appreciated 32,000%. That is not one of my many typos. I’ll write it again, 32,000%. He ran the company not like he owned it, but for the shareholders who actually did. That meant no employment contracts for top management, no corporate jets (remember that Jeff Immelt who followed Welch at GE used to have two jets fly wherever he went just in case…), or even first-class flights for management, no golden parachutes or staggered Board terms. Just hard work. He believed that “values and attitudes such as respect for the individual, honesty and fair dealing were building blocks of a well-functioning company.” Shocking. He was also big into philanthropy in a hands-on local way. Mr. Dunphy, his wife and some Sealed Air employees adopted a sixth-grade class of a Paterson, New Jersey school agreeing to help the students through high school and college. He also funded the start-up of a supermarket in Jersey City where no company would enter the market (this was not the Jersey City of today, mind you) and attempted to run it. He knew nothing about the grocery business and after a few years of losing money he donated the operation to a Cuban family who had a track record in the food business and they ran it successfully serving the community. He died at Morristown Memorial Hospital which is pretty much around the corner from my house. I should have gone and chatted (except I didn’t know who he was) with him because it would have been a true, life experience. They need to build more of him.
And then there was one. Mike Nesmith is the one Monkee who got the gig because he played an instrument. He is not our stepping stone any longer having succumbed to heart failure at 78. It was only a few months ago that he and Mickey Dolenz completed the final farewell tour of the made-for TV band. While I have to admit that I was never a believer, they had their impact. That was most likely caused by Nesmith’s fighting with the producers of the show for some credibility for the band and his desire to retain some modicum of musical self-respect. The original television show was written, produced and largely performed by the songwriting team of Boyce and Hart (they wrote “Last train to Clarksville” amongst others). The most memorable lunch of my life was with Tommy Boyce. A colleague at the firm I was with asked me if I wanted to go to lunch with him and Tommy Boyce. I remember asking Tommy Boyce, Tommy Boyce? It was not a lunch that disappointed. Boyce was nuts and the restaurant we were at became a stage for his manic antics. One of the benefits of working at a firm with an entertainment practice. Back to Nesmith, though, he was a pioneer of music videos and wrote music throughout his life. Perhaps his first hit was “Different Drum” (written before the Monkees) which Linda Ronstadt made famous. Just this year, Mickey Dolenz released an album “Dolenz Sings Nesmith” (homage to “Nilsson Sings Newman”) which was produced by Nesmith’s son Christian. And the beat goes on. I know… Sonny and Cher.
Sticking with music, Wanda Young of the Marvelettes died at 78. Of course you remember the Marvelettes. “Please Mr. Postman.” How could you forget? Lesser known, perhaps, J.D. Crowe, a world class banjo player, died at 84.
Signs, signs everywhere the signs goes the song. Well, the sign for Les Emmerson, the writer of the song, now says dead at 77. Even though he was double-vaccinated, he succumbed to Covid due largely to “underlying medical problems,” according to reports. While many people know the Tesla version of the song, it was actually Les’ band, the Five Man Electrical Band that first brought the song to our attention. He claimed the inspiration for the song came from a trip along Route 66 that was just loaded with signs telling him to “do this, do that.” He need take no direction any longer.
I love New Orleans and aside from the food and drink, it is really the music that is the heart and soul of what I call Disneyland for Drunks. The heart and soul of that heart and soul is Preservation Hall which has carried on the jazz traditions of the City for years and years. The woman, who along with her husband Alan (who died in 1987), who operated Preservation Hall, Sandra Jaffe, died at 83. She was on her honeymoon with her new husband when they stopped in the Crescent City and visited an art studio that had a jazz combo playing. When the owner told them that he was moving and they could rent the space for $400 per month they immediately agreed to lease it and the rest is Preservation Hall history. In an era of strict southern segregation, Preservation Hall was integrated. Mrs. Jaffe was once arrested for violating the segregation laws and according to her New York Times obituary, “the judge banged his gavel and said, ‘In New Orleans, we don’t like to mix our coffee and cream.’” According to her son, Ben, “she burst out laughing and said, ‘That’s funny — the most popular thing in New Orleans is café au lait.’” A no bullshit woman for sure. The Preservation Hall Jazz Bands spawned by the club, have acted for years as worldwide ambassadors of the New Orleans sound for year. In 2006, President George W. Bush awarded the National Medal of Arts to the Preservation Hall Jazz Band for “displaying the unbreakable spirit of New Orleans and sharing the joy of New Orleans jazz with us all.” Mrs. Jaffe and her son graciously accepted the award. People like her, who preserve important traditions, are national treasures.
Joan Didion, a writer who I am sure Ben McFall would know much better than I, died at 87. A writer of short stories, novels, plays and screenplays, her heroes were never winners and her stories not the most uplifting According to her New York Times obituary (unfortunately not written by Margalit Fox), her novels were often filled with “violence, dread [and the] sickening sense that the world was spinning out of control.” The one thing she wrote that I saw was the screenplay to the Barbara Streisand/Kris Kristofferson version of “A Star Is Born,” and I loved it. Of course, it was probably the least literary thing she did. Go figure.
As a group, I find Holocaust survivors to be the most interesting people I ever read about. Their indomitable spirit and resiliency are true testaments to the human grit. They have suffered so much but so rarely exhibit anger (sort of like Bishop Tutu that way). Just an unbending determination to make their lives meaningful, perhaps for those they lost. Henry Orenstein is one such person. He died at 98, also at a hospital not far from my house (St. Barnabas) and I didn’t get to speak with him either. My time has been wasted. Mr. Orenstein started and ran the Topper company (along with an uncle) which hawked toys such as the Suzy Homemaker toy appliances that many girls cut their cooking teeth on. Such toys would never be sanctioned in today’s era unless they were more gender neutral. In a connection I didn’t have to reach for, Mr. Orenstein Sponsored Al Unser’s 1970 Indy winning car (for which Unser received a $30,000 bonus) in order to promote Topper’s “Johnny Lightening” series of cars which competed (and ultimately lost to) Hot Wheels. But Mr. Orenstein’s bigger success came when he saw one of the first transformer toys which was a car that could transform into a plane. Seeing the possibilities, he brokered a deal between Hasbro and the Japanese maker of the toy and today we have transformers such as the Devastator (retail $497.99) which is a warrior that can turn itself into a host of construction vehicles. And when I was a kid, I thought G.I. Joe was as good as it gets. Mr. Orenstein, however was not done. He became a big seven-card stud player which to you non-card players (like me) involves three cards that are face-up, and the other four face-down. The televised poker tournaments lacked the true excitement of the game because viewers could not see the value of the face-down cards. Mr. Orenstein developed and patented a table with small cameras at each player’s station that captured the face-down cards thus letting the television viewers in on the game. He sold the idea to the World Poker Tour and ultimately NBC who used it in many poker series. He also won the World Series of Poker - Seven Card Stud Tournament in 1996. All of this success came after an unfathomable (except it happened) beginning to life. Born in Poland, the Nazi’s executed his parents and put him and his brothers on a train to the Budzyn concentration camp. He was shipped to other camps and ten days into a death march, he was liberated by Allied troops. One of his brothers died and his sister who was at the Stutthof Concentration Camp was also killed. After two years in a displaced person camp, he made his way to New York. Of America, he said: “I think I have proved that this is still the land of opportunity.” Simply tragic and amazing at the same time. From such a tragic beginning he made his fortune on games and toys. How fitting.
Finally, Ben McFall, who according to the New York Times, was “the longest tenured bookseller in the history of New York’s most storied bookstore,” the Strand, died at 73. Mr. McFall, a graduate of Olivet college in Michigan, interviewed for a job at the Strand in 1978 and Fred Bass, the then owner of the store, hired him on the spot. He worked there ever since. His knowledge of fiction was encyclopedic and his ability to locate a particular book among the thousands in his section, as well as recall the reading habits of many of his customers, was nothing short of amazing. In an era of employees working for the highest bidder regardless of whether they enjoy what they do, someone who loved his job, sought no other higher position, and was as good at it as Mr. McFall, is truly amazing. In the many incredible Strand stories, his is perhaps the most noteworthy.
Well, that’s a wrap for the year. If you still like this, let your more bizarre friends know about it. The more the merrier. Be well.
Charlie, thanks for sharing. Ironically, I’ll never forget when my children were about 12 & 13 years old, we were on vacation in the Bahamas. While my wife and I were checking in our girls were sitting and speaking to an older gentleman. While we carefully watched them on the bench speaking with him, they finally came over to us. I asked who they were speaking with and they said John Madden. I said are you sure that was his name and my one daughter said to me, “dad he asked me if I knew who we were talking to and I said no….. he said to me I’m John Madden…. Just tell your parents and they will know”. Sure enough it was John who they sat and spoke with for about 15-20 minutes while we were checking in. He sat and told them so many stories. Very low key but always a gentleman. RIP John.