The Wall

People who died - November

Hope you all had good Thanksgivings and you didn’t wish too many of your guests to wind up like the folks who left us in November.  I write this with elevated tryptophan (spelled that right the first time) levels so I will try and keep the energy at a decent height.  Was just notified by my phone as I write this that Stephen Sondheim died but I’ll get to him in a bit.  I note that, as predicted, the NYT finally got around to eulogizing Ron Tutt, the drummer for Elvis.  Taking care of business.  Also, under the heading of “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” the New Yorker has set about to mimic this blog.  They recently announced that in a new column, “Afterword,” Susan Orlean will “be telling the stories of people, places, and things we’ve lost.” I thought I was already doing that.  Anyway, here is the link to the full description and decide for yourself. https://link.newyorker.com/view/60480ed128abc018e13acd08fcb5s.8xo3/c783fe4e I’m sure they will gussy it up in New Yorker-speak to make it far more literary than this piece of low-brow dreck but it is theft just the same.   I’d sue and make my fortune but that damned idea/expression dichotomy gets in the way. The example they always use is Romeo and Juliet being the same idea as West Side Story, but to me that more explains how whatever you do you can’t escape Steven Sondheim.  But we’ll get to him later.  Anyway, no need for the New Yorker when you all have me.  Now, down to work.

I grew up in New York.  We ate Hero sandwiches (not submarines) that we bought at delis.  We accompanied those hero’s with a soda, not pop.  Well, none of those deli owners became billionaires so while I still prefer a hero made from scratch on half a loaf of Italian bread plucked from the shelf in the store window, I should have had the foresight of Peter Buck (no not the guitarist for REM) who died this month at 90.  Buck grew up in Maine and loved the Italian style sandwiches that were made at a shop called Amato’s in South Portland and remembered the lines to buy them and the fancy jewelry that the shop-owners wore.  When the son of a friend came to him for advice on how to help finance his college, Buck, then a physicist who worked on designing nuclear submarines, lent Fred DeLuca $1,000 and they became partners in a sandwich shop in Bridgeport, Connecticut, called Pete’s Submarines, named so for Mr. Buck.  However, when listeners to advertisements for the shop kept mis-hearing the name as Pizza Marines, they changed it to simply, Subway.  With an aggressive franchising program, the rest became sandwich history.  Mr. Buck was worth some $1.7 Billion from the $5.00 foot-longs when he died.  Though quite wealthy, and one of the Country’s largest landowners, he lived quietly in Danbury, Connecticut driving a seventeen-year-old car and eating at least five Subway sandwiches per week.  Probably would still be with us if he ate at Chipotle instead.  There was apparently no comment on his passing from Jared who remains a guest of the federal prison system and is currently in Englewood, Colorado.  Mr. Deluca left us in 2015 at the age of 67.

Aaron Feuerstein is a true hero who died at 95.  He ran a textile mill, Malden Mills, in Massachusetts that suffered a catastrophic fire.  Rather than do what may companies would have done, which is to lay everyone off to fend for themselves on state unemployment assistance, he kept them employed while he spent millions to rebuild the plant to reemploy them.  Ultimately, however, saddled with debt from the rebuild, the company filed for bankruptcy six years after the fire and Mr. Feuerstein was eventually pushed out in the restructuring.  The company, unfortunately, did not last long without him.  None of that detracts from his devotion to his 1,400 employees.  His beneficence should be remembered this holiday season.       

Okay, on to Mr. Sondheim.  There will be plenty written about him elsewhere due to his fame which for many is a bar from being featured on this blog but when you write the lyrics to West Side Story, you can’t be overlooked even here.  I will note that the picture of him in the New York Times looks eerily like Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull.  I have to admit to not being a fan of musical theater which is where Mr. Sondheim toiled.  I think it is because the nuns forced me to watch “The Sound of Music” as a child and unlike many of my friends, Liesl didn’t do much for me.  Sondheim was raised largely by his mother of whom the New York Times wrote “treated him precisely as she had her husband: flirting with him sexually on the one hand, belittling him on the other.”  On the eve of her having open heart surgery she wrote to her son: “The only regret I have in life is giving you birth.”   Mother of the year material I would say.  While Sondheim is rightfully revered for his work, he was not especially loved by the producers because his plays were never real money-makers in the Lion King sense of the word.  More perhaps a Tom Waits or Randy Newman of his trade.  Critically acclaimed but not universally revered by the masses.  A giant nonetheless who will leave us a little less musical.   

Terence Wilson of the Band UB40 died at 64.   While “Red, Red Wine,” a Neil Diamond song, was probably their biggest hit, I put him in here for the cover of Elvis’ “I Can’t Stop Falling in Love with you.”  The band, which got its name from the UB40 unemployment form in the UK, formed when most of them were out of work.  The band, made up of rather novice musicians, eschewed punk which was big at the time for a more reggae feel which clicked with the public.  Wilson left the band and was followed by two other members who formed a separate UB40 so as I noted in one of the earlier blogs, when you buy tickets to see a band, do some research or you may be seeing a band with only the original bass player who was wise enough to get the rights to the name.  Of Mr. Wilson’s rise from unemployment to rock star, he said “it was like winning the lottery every week.”   No doubt.  But that’s yet another band.    

Phil Margo, a member of the Tokens when they recorded “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” died this month at 70.  Come on; who hasn’t belted that tune out at the top of their lungs while in the car alone.   “Wee heeheehee weeoh aweem away.”  You know you did.  That is really the lyric.  I looked it up.  Actually, Neil Sedaka was an original member of the Tokens but left the band before its greatest hit.  Like many bands of the time and later (see above), there was litigation over who owned the rights to the Tokens name and they also sued unsuccessfully for publishing credit (read royalties).  The plight of many a 50’s band.  Mr. Margo’s version of the Tokens (there were two) is said to have performed the National Anthem in every Major League ballpark, the first band to have done so. Mr. Margo sleeps tonight.

Not to overlook drummers, Graeme Edge, the drummer for the Moody Blues died at 80.  Aside from the drumming, he wrote the poetry that the band occasionally utilized.  Who can forget the verse at the end of their big hit, “Night’s in White Satin:” “Breathe deep the gathering gloom…”  Perhaps now he can find out “why do we never get an answer?”

Slide Hampton, a jazz trombonist (hence the name), died at 89.  He lived in Orange, New Jersey which was a stone’s throw from where I used to live.  Funny how that goes.  Would like to have run into him at the mall or something like I did one day at Macy’s when I shopped with Phil Rizzuto.   Anyway, he came from a musical family whose band lacked a trombone player so his father handed him the bone and he had to learn to play it.  Sort of Like Richard Williams having his kids play tennis except you can make a much better living with a tennis racquet if you are great than you can with a trombone.  Nevertheless, Slide played with Dizzy Gillespie, Dexter Gordon, Lionel Hampton (no relation) and Maynard Ferguson amongst others.  In his later years he taught at Harvard, Amherst and DePaul.  Not quite a Wimbledon champ but certainly greatness.

Also in Jazz we lost Pat Martino at 77.  He was an accomplished guitarist who had brain surgery which caused total amnesia.  When he awoke (which he didn’t do recently), aside from learning who he was, had to learn to play all over again.  Thus, he was twice the musician he could have been (I couldn’t resist that).  Of his music after the operation, he told the Edmonton Journal in Alberta, “It used to be to do everything I possibly could to become more successful in my craft and my career,” but “[t]oday, my intention is to completely enjoy the moment and everything it contains.”   Good advice for us all.  

Okay, Tom Calcagni is miffed that Eddie Van Halen has missed his spot in this blog.  He died before I started it but since I am a whore for readers, and since he clearly reads the thing, I am compelled to honor his wish.  I was never a big fan of the band, largely because I was no fan of David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar had his best years with Montrose.  Eddie’s playing however, was nonpareil.  And he did marry Valerie Bertinelli who, before she hit the Food Channel, was something to behold.  She just filed separation papers from her husband of 10 years so she may be back on the market.  The New York Times wrote of his playing: “Mr. Van Halen structured his solos the way Macy’s choreographs its Independence Day fireworks shows: shooting off rockets of sound that seemed to explode in a shower of light and color.”   I think his best playing was with Michael Jackson.  Although VH fans love “Eruption,” “Beat It” was his apex for me.  Okay.  I don’t think I’ll do this again.  

On to sports.  We lost Sam Huff.  Not shockingly, the cause of his death was dementia.  What is surprising was that he made it to 87.  He was the middle line backer for the New York Giants during their true glory period in the late 50’s and early 60’s, a long, long way from where they are today.  He was the ultimate badass back when badasses where really badasses.  The Giant’s traded him to the then Washington Redskins (can I say that anymore?) and he got his revenge when Washington kicked the Giants’ ass 72-41 in what he called “the one game I wanted most.”  He went on to be a radio announcer for Washington and he bred horses.  In an interview for the Pro Football Hall of Fame he said: “If you had the football, I was going to hit you, and when I hit you, I tried to hit you hard enough to hurt you.”  Badass.

In another sport where impact can play a big and ominous role, Bob Bondurant died at 88.  He ran the Bob Bondurant School of High-Performance Driving, which, as a kid, I wanted to attend far more than Harvard, or any other school for that matter.   His death certificate says he died of “suspected immune reaction related to vaccinations.”  Shockingly the anti-vaxers haven’t made him their poster-child.  An oft-victorious race car driver who parlayed his success into a first-rate driving school, he trained the likes of Paul Newman, James Garner and Tom Cruise for their driving roles as well as approximately 500,000 others, including law enforcement and military, who just wanted to learn to safely and competitively race a car.  Surprisingly, he came up with the idea for a school to teach safe driving after suffering in a crash at Watkins Glen where he fractured both his feet and broke an ankle.  Teaching is far safer than racing.

Lee Elder, the first black man to be invited to play the Masters – and that wasn’t until 1975 – died at 87.  Before that Augusta was happy to admit blacks; except they were all hourly employees.  There was no prohibition in the Augusta bylaws prohibiting blacks, they just didn’t get invited. Fancy that.  They admitted their first back member in 1990.  It was worse for women who weren’t allowed in until 2012 that Condy Rice and Darla Moore were permitted as members.  No word on when the first transgender player will be permitted.  Or perhaps they have and just don’t know yet. Anyway, back to Mr. Elder.  He received death threats prior to the tournament and had to rent two houses and shuttle back and forth for his safety.  Many of the club’s employees were black and on the Friday before the final, they left their posts and lined the 18th fairway in a show of solidarity. Mr. Elder went on to play five more Masters tournaments paving the way for the likes of Tiger Woods.  Mr. Elder was in the house in 1997 when Woods captured his first of his five green jackets even though they only give you another if your size has changed.  Elder was also invited by Gary Player to play in South Africa in 1971 in that Country’s first integrated gold tournament since the inception of apartheid.  We owe guys like him a debt.         

Ed Lucas, a baseball writer, died at 82.  What was amazing about him was that he was blind from the time he was 12 due to getting hit in the face with a baseball while pitching.  That probably would have been enough to sour me on the game, but not Mr. Lucas.  He focused more on interviews with players than accounts of the game, although he claimed to be able to sense where a ball was hit by hearing the crack of the bat.  Sounds like a lot of umpires to me.  The stories of the players’ kindness towards him speaks of their greatness as well as his.  One day at Yankee Stadium Lucas was in the press box listening to the play-by-play on a transistor radio (remember those?) and Joe DiMaggio was sitting next to him.  DiMaggio told him to shut off the radio and delivered the play-by-play of the game to Lucas himself.   Once at Shea Stadium, he met Ron Swaboda, then a rookie, who asked him how he became blind.  According to Lucas’ autobiography, after hearing the story Swaboda asked him if anyone had ever given him a tour of a major leave stadium.  What followed according to Lucas was “I spent the next 45 minutes walking with Ron as he helped me better visualize Shea by running my hand along the outfield wall, touching the bases, and traveling the length of the warning track.”   George Steinbrenner gave him permission to be married at Yankee Stadium and then picked up the tab for the 350 people who attended the celebratory dinner afterward.  Good sports.

Joanna Cameron died at 63.  I had never heard of her but I am sure, after learning a bit, that I saw her plenty.  Aside from being probably the first woman superhero on television, beating Linda Carter’s Wonder Woman by two months she had appeared in more television commercials than anyone.  During an appearance on the Merv Griffin Show (second mention in two months), he said that if you strung all of her commercials together, it would comprise 150 hours of television.  That may be an overstatement but she is in the Guinness Book of World Records for being in the most advertising.  T.V. Guide reported that “she certainly has a face that can sell a product.”  As for being Isis, the first female Superhero, she opined “If you have to be typecast, take superhero.”  Good advice for all of us.     

Moving to politics, F.W. deClerk died at 85.  deClerk had long supported apartheid but as President of South Africa, ended the practice, for which he and Nelson Mandela received the Nobel Peace Prize.  Even though ending the practice, many believe d that he was not a supporter of racial equality but saw the change as a necessary business decision.  Nevertheless, it set the stage for Nelson Mandella to become President and set South Africa on a course towards equality.  For that he gets noticed here.   

While I am on the equality and superhero kick, Bettina Plevin died at 75.  She began her career at Proskauer Rose in 1974 and was named a partner in 1980, a rapid rise in a large firm that shattered some glass as she went through the historically rigid ceiling for women.  She was driven and competitive and changed some of the rules at the Firm to make it realistic (I wouldn’t say easier) for women to succeed and make partner.  I also love that she represented Bob Guccione, then the editor at Penthouse when he was sued for requiring a woman who worked for him to sleep with two business associates as a condition of employment.  That was apparently a problem and the woman was awarded $4 Million in damages.  On appeal, Ms. Plevin argued that the law was to right the wrong, not punish the wrongdoer and the Court agreed, lowering the damage award to a rather affordable $60,000, making the deed almost worth it for Guccione.   I mean, the woman wasn’t working for the Little Sisters of the Poor, for God’s sake, she was working at Penthouse.   Anyway, Ms. Plevin did what she did best and that was to zealously represent the client while paving the way for women at biglaw. 

And finally, my uncle Ted died.  Hey, it’s my blog so I get to do this sort of thing.  He made it to 100 so if times were different, Willard Scott might have interviewed him.  As we know, however, Willard, like my uncle Ted, is dead.  What was amazing about him, aside from being a nice guy, was that while home on leave from the Navy and headed to California, he met a woman who his sister introduced him to.  Although he knew her for less than a week, he told her when he got to the West Coast, he would send her a train ticket to come out.  He did and she did and they were married in like a week or so.  The marriage produced three kids and lasted over 50 years until aunt Helen’s death.  And they say I’m not a sucker for a love story.     

See you all next month, unless I qualify to be included here.   Then again, I wouldn’t meet the criteria.