Let’s get right to it. God save the Queen. I know this is odd coming from me but I was a big fan of the Queen and actually am taken by this whole monarchy thing. We should adopt something like that here. A sort of neutral big-shot who world leaders can confide in knowing that whatever is said will not be leaked to the press instantaneously but will discreetly be mentioned to those in power. Think I’m kidding? Check out this Politico article https://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2014/01/america-needs-a-king-101691/. Washington apparently had his shot but turned it down. Not sure who we should coronate, though. Johnny Carson might have made a good king. Not sure Elon Musk is King material but unlike Washington, I doubt he’d turn it down.
The death of Queen Elizabeth was, as someone noted, like the disappearance of something we believed to be permanent. I mean 70 years is quite a run. Most of us have never known anyone but the Queen. The thought that she took the role at 25 and dedicated herself to it in a rather insular life is quite amazing. At first it sounds like a good gig but I am sure one gets tired quickly of all the pomp and circumstance. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. I can only imagine someone like me being made the head (even if only symbolically) of an empire. The budget, the perks, the keg parties at Balmoral castle. They might have changed the name to Nomorals Castle.
Logistically the death of the Queen was quite an undertaking that had been planned for years. (yes, three paragraphs. That’s a record here). I mean, there are a lot of moving parts when someone as important as a Queen bites the dust. Before the press found out, there were world leaders that had to be notified. She is the head of state for 15 countries. Imagine Pierre Trudeau learning about it from Fox News? Bad form. Then there is the transition to the new, now King (Oh how I wish it were Kate that took the reins as I am totally enthralled by her and quite underwhelmed by my namesake) which took place immediately. The code for her death was “London Bridge is Down” and once that phrase was transmitted to the key folks, the whole plan was launched. Quite fascinating. As a nod to the times, the first announcement of her death was on the Royal Family’s Twitter feed. Her likeness appears on all the money in England and now it will be Charles. On coins, the Queen’s likeness was right facing but it has been the tradition to reverse it for each successive monarch so the likeness of Charles will face left. Not sure that it has any political significance but time will tell. A vast array of products, think Walker’s Shortbread and Gordon’s Gin, have the legend “By appointment of Her Majesty the Queen” and that will now have to change. Details, details. They, of course, had to change the National Anthem from “God Save the Queen” to “God Save the King.” Not sure if Johnny Rotten and the boys will regroup for a remix. They could save a lot of time with something gender neutral; say “God Save Him/Her/They.” But hey, for 70 years she pulled it off. Sure, there were some rocky times but with a stiff upper lip she became a symbol of thriving perseverance that people could look up to. And she had a quiet sense of humor which can be seen in this vignette:
I don’t know about you all but in my life, she was a constant and I am sad to see her go but happy, even in death, she left in a rather dignified manner.
How do you follow the Queen? I thought about just dedicating the entire piece to her but others have gone as well and, in the end, we’re all equal so I’m following up Her Majesty with Herbert Kohler, who died at 83. He too ran a dynasty; one dealing in bathrooms. At times I have been involved in conversations about what time in history I would like to have lived. For me, I would not have wanted to live in any period before indoor plumbing. I mean, seriously, does anyone wish they lived in an era of chamber pots and the like? In my life the bidet toilet has been life altering (seriously, check out the Toto Washlet). It is such a shame that someone as great as Thomas Crapper, the father of indoor plumbing (he didn’t really invent the toilet after all but is certainly synonymous with it), has had his name so thoroughly maligned. The only other person I can point to whose name had been as pejoratively dragged through history (or something else) is Dr. Samuel Mudd, who treated John Wilkes Booth. In any event, my point is that modern day plumbing is not something I would want to live without. Mr. Kohler, for some 43 years, headed Kohler company which manufactured, toilets, bathtubs, and various bathroom fixtures. Proving that it’s good to be rich, he rebelled against the family business at first and rarely talked to his dad. He dropped out of Yale and wrote poetry, acted and did anything other than merely use bathroom fixtures. Then he grew up, realized that life really is about how much money you can make, and returned to Yale and entered the family business. Nice luxury to have. In any event, his diversion only helped the company because his obsession with design rivaled that of Steve Jobs according to a colleague. Kohler had his diversions as well and built a luxury hotel with a hunting and fishing reserve. That experience got him involved in the golf course business. In the end, though, it was toilets that sustained him and even though I prefer the Toto bidet, to the Kohler, he has fared better than Mr. Crapper. Nobody sits on his thrones and takes a Kohler.
On to what was once another almost indispensable part of life for many women – the scrunchie (with ie thank you. Not a y). Rommy (y thank you, not ie) Hunt Revson the inventor it the fashion accessory, died at 78. Ms. Revson, who started as a nightclub singer married the Revlon heir, John Revson but as so many marriages go, it went down the crapper (sorry Thomas). Probably due to a lousy pre-nup she found herself in need of a way to keep up with the style to which she had come accustomed and seized on a manner of tethering hair without doing damage to it. She bought a used sewing machine, learned to use it and came up with a simple device she named after her dog scunci. She patented what came to be known as the Scrunchie and the ponytail was forever altered – at least in the 80’s and 90’s. Cosmo Kramer was wholly taken with it as can be seen here:
According to her New York Times obit, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg told the Wall Street Journal that her own collection was “not as large as my collar and glove collection but scrunchies are catching up.” Rigt there that shows a fine life.
From Scrunchies to cheap wine. Fred Franzia, the father of Two Buck Chuck has popped his last cork (or unscrewed his last bottle cap as the case may be) at 79. When asked once how he could sell wine for cheaper than some companies sell water, he replied simply” “they are charging too much for water.” His ability to buy bulk wine from distressed vintners who either had surplus product or were going out of business `and bottle it cheaply, made him a lightning rod from criticism in the wine industry. Franzia purchased the Charles Shaw name from a company that was in bankruptcy, teamed up with Trader Joe’s and started selling wine at $1.99 per bottle. TJ’s has sold over a billion bottles of the swill that drank far better than its price point. Many in the wine biz felt he was denigrating the industry by pricing so low but that was sour grapes (pun intended). As one Napa person once said, “He was in the cheap beverage with alcohol business. Napa is in the fine wine business.” What he did in my book was take a lot of the snobbery out of the game and had lots more people enjoying the product who probably now are buying Austin Hope at Costco. Mr. Franzia’s grandparents started the Franzia winery and eventually sold it to Coca Cola Company. Coke sold the winery to the Wine Group and now Franzia is one of the most recognizable box wines in the Country. Thus, if anyone had reason to gripe, it would have been Mr. Franzia.
While I am on drinking, Maurice Kanbar, who invented Skyy (two Y’s so he could trademark the name), which he claimed did not give you a headache (due to the lack of congeners) died at 93. He actually died in August but the Times, which I rely on heavily to report these things, only noted it on the last day of this month so he is a last-minute addition to this. I’m a scotch and not a vodka guy so he is here because he was a true inventor, Not for is vodka, which I have never had. His first invention was a device that removed fuzz balls from wool sweaters. He claimed for a while to have invented the multiplex theatre concept but backed off when others proved to have done it earlier than he. He also invented a sheath for used hypodermic needles, a cryogenic cataract remover, a swizzle stick that turned into a magnifying glass, and wanted to bring a healthy bagel, called a Wagel, to market but never did. It was the vodka, that he claimed didn’t give you a hangover, though, where he made his fortune. He sold Skyy to the Compari group for $207 million. That can by a lot of screwdrivers.
Okay, nurse Ratched died, it’s now okay to go to a hospital. Actually, it was Louise Fletcher, who won an Academy Award for playing the role of the out-of-control nurse, who died at 88. There may still be some nurse Ratched’s lurking in the halls of some hospitals today but generally I have huge respect for nurses. Banging those pots in New York and all to herald the work of medical workers, especially nurses during the worst of Covid, which, by the way is over according to the President. I know, that was not a sentence but it sort of worked. The American Film Institute named Nurse Ratched the second most villainous female character in film, surpassed only by the Wicked Witch of the West. Ms. Fletcher was not well-known prior to her role in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and perhaps due to the Oscar curse, never reached Oscar-type glory again, although she appeared in many films and like many a big-screen actor, moved to the small screen. Her Oscar acceptance speech was notable because she used American sign language to thank her deaf parents for teaching her to have a dream. Great move.
Back when cable news was in its infancy and didn’t attempt to sway political thought in the Country, Bernard Shaw, who died this month at 82, steadfastly reported the news without editorial comments. In fact, when both CBS and ABC news incorrectly reported that James Brady had died in the attempted Reagan assassination, Shaw refused to follow suit because the network lacked a primary source on the report. That wouldn’t happen today. Today Brady would have been pronounced dead by all. Shaw was in Baghdad when the first Gulf War began and I distinctly remember his reporting from his hotel room. He was also the debate moderator who asked Michael Dukakis, then a presidential candidate, if he would favor the death penalty for a person who hypothetically raped and murdered his wife. When Dukakis dispassionately answered no, even his wife Kitty was outraged. Any hope the candidate had of winning evaporated with that answer. Shaw was one of the first black news anchors. He idolized Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite and unlike what they might think about most of the anchors of today, both of those guys would congratulate Shaw for a career well-done.
I have never been particularly in with the in-crowd but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the music of Ramsey Lewis and his trio. Mr. Lewis died this month at 87. He was a jazz musician who had an accidental pop hit. Like George Benson, when that happens, many in jazz circles look down their noses at you which is odd because it’s not as if they were trying to be Eddie Van Halen or something (there you go Tom). Both men were jazz greats as well as short-term pop-stars. When Lewis was still in high school, he joined a seven-piece jazz group. When four of the seven were drafted, they were left with piano, bass and drums, hence the Ramsey Lewis Trio. The band recorded a live album in 1965 which included “The In Crowd,” which had been a minor hit for Dobie Grey (of “Drift Away” fame) earlier in the year. In a rare instance of an instrumental becoming a hit, the tune rose to number five on the Billboard Hot 100 which was higher than the Dobie Grey version hit. While the trio had another minor hit with the McCoys song (featuring Rick Derringer) “Hang On Sloopy,” Lewis remained a jazz musician over the years putting our scores of records. He was named a Jazz Master by the National Endowment of the Arts which is the most prestigious award that can be bestowed on a jazz musician. Thus, he was back in the in crowd which is where he always belonged.
If you can remember who Friend and Lover is, then you are better than me at trivia. They did the song “Reach Out of the Darkness,” with the opening line, not at all applicable today: “I think it’s so groovy to know, that people are finally getting together.” Well one half of that duo, and the author of the song, Jim Post, died at 82. He never replicated the success of that tune but pretty much lived off it for the balance of his life. Nice work if you can get it. Jazz saxophone great Pharoah Sanders died at 82. I’m not too much for jazz but if it was your thing, you’d have to love him. Born Farrell Sanders, it was Sun Ra who got him to change his first name to Pharoah. Lastly on the topic of musical folks who don’t get a full paragraph, John Hartman, one of the founders and the drummer of the Doobie Brothers, died at 72. I’d like to hear some funky dixieland.
A couple of sports stars died this month. I love the Iditarod. The last great race. I know the animal rights people will get on me but those dogs love to run and the mushers treat the dogs better than themselves. This month, Lance Mackey petted his last Husky at 52. While the marathon pays homage to the run of Philippides, the Greek messenger who ran 26 or so miles without stopping to alert the Greek authorities that Persia had lost the battle of Marathon (he ran naked and died after delivering the news); the Iditarod commemorates the delivery of diphtheria medicine from Anchorage to Nome where the disease was ravaging the population. Norwegian musher Gunnar Kaason and his lead dog Balto made it to Nome with the serum. Unlike Philippides, Kasson and Balto lived to tell their tale and a statue of Balto resides in New York’s Central Park for all the pigeons to shit on. Kaason was also fully clothed given that he was operating in the Alaskan winter. Anyway, back to Mr. Mackey who came from a family of mushers he won the race four straight years, from 2007 to 2010. This, after recovering from throat cancer. Unlike the snobbery in the wine industry, Mackey’s feats in mushing were so great that a member of the Iditarod Hall of Fame Selection Committee told Outside Magazine, “he could start breeding cats tomorrow and still belong in the Hall of Fame.” Quite a statement.
I am not much of a risk-taker. Drinking expired milk is about as daring as I get. And as for mountaineering, climbing a flight or two of stairs without supplemental oxygen is my alpine limit. Of course, I own a ton of REI and North Face gear but it generally just sits in my closet and taken out only when I want to impress friends with my faux expedition skills. This was not the case for Hilaree Nelson, an alpinist and big-mountain skier who died this month at 49. While it is all I can do to get down a hill that has nary a bump and is groomed to corduroy, Ms. Nelson lost her life in an avalanche after she and her life and climbing partner summited Manaslu in Nepal and were skiing down from the summit. Hardly a groomer. In mountaineering, Ms. Nelson was as good as it gets. Of her, Conrad Anker, one of the greatest climbers there is, said that while Ms. Nelson was considered a pioneer in women’s action sports, “she was equal to men.” She was a professional ski mountaineer for more than 20 years, was named the National Geographic Adventurer of the Year in 2018 and was the Captain of the North Face Athletic Team since 2018. Being who I am, I can never understand the mindset of folks like Ms. Nelson who risk their lives even when they have young kids. That said, I think they are a special breed and Colin O’Brady perhaps summed up how they feel best when he said as a climber, he actually was super afraid of dying; but in actuality, he was more afraid of not living. Hilaree Nelson certainly lived.
When I was a kid, baseball teams, not driven by statistical metrics, played small ball. They played pepper on the sidelines before games, bunted and stole bases. Maury Wills, who played for the L.A. Dodgers, was the premier base steeler of the game. Before Lou Brock and Ricky Henderson there was Wills who died at 87. At five-foot, ten, he stole 104 bases in 1962, eclipsing the record of 96 set by Ty Cobb back in 1915. His speed helped the Dodgers to win four League and three World Championships in the early 60’s. In 1962 he was the National League MVP. Surprisingly, and perhaps do to his rather short playing career (he spent eight years in the minors), he is 20th on the all-time stolen base list. But when he ran, he ran. One of 12 kids, in high school he played quarterback on offense; safety on defense; and he was the special teams’ kicker for the football team. On the baseball team he was the pitcher but in the minor leagues he was converted to an infielder, ultimately playing short stop. He managed for a short stint (82 games) in Seattle where he was suspended for two games for having the groundskeepers extend the batters box a foot closer to the pitcher’s mound. I think I would have tried to go in the other direction. He struggled with cocaine addiction but kicked it and was the Dodger’s baserunning instructor in the 1980’s. Wills knew if the team was doing well according to the cleanliness of his uniform. He told Sports Illustrated: “If it isn’t dirty, I haven’t scored two runs. I haven’t done my job.”
John Stearns, a bad-assed catcher for the Mets from 1975 to 1984, died of cancer at 71. I usually don’t put causes of death in these things but what was amazing about Stearns is, sick as he was, he was at the Met’s Old-Timer’s weekend a few weeks ago. The reports were that he was very sick but no one knew just how sick. According to Met’s president Sandy Alderson, “He literally willed himself to attend [the event] so he could visit friends and old teammates.” He even took a few swings in the batting cage for old times’ sake. In his day, Sterns was tough as nails (sorry Lenny), once breaking Dave Parker’s collarbone in a home plate collision, something that would never happen today with the mamby-pamby no-blocking-the-plate rule. Like Wills in high school, Stearns played both football and baseball in college and was drafted by the Buffalo Bills and the Philadelphia Phillies. Given how I feel about the Phillies, I would have gone with the Bills. Stearns came to the Mets in the Tug McGraw trade. Stearns made the All-Star teams in 77, 79, 80 and 82. Also like Wills, he could run which was odd for a catcher. He stole 91 bases in his career. Once in a game, two spectators ran onto the field and for a time successfully eluded security. Having had enough, Stearns tackled one of the guys so the team could get back to the game. Bad Mofo.
While boxing is too violent for me now, in the days of Ali, Frazier, Holmes, Norton and Patterson, I was a fan. Ernie Shavers, who died this month at 78, was one of the hardest punchers there was at that time. Shavers won 74 bouts in his career, 68 by knockout. He only lost 14 times (one draw) but failed to ever win a title. One of his title losses was a unanimous decision to Muhamad Ali. Shavers was such an underdog there was no betting line on the fight. While neither fighter was knocked down, Shavers rocked Ali a few times and both fighters were visibly shaky at the end of the fight. Ali said he was as exhausted after that fight as he was in Manila. Shavers lost another title fight by technical knockout to Larry Holmes, also a big hitter. Shaver’s knocked Holmes to the canvas in the 7th round but like with Ali, was unable to finish him off and lost. Moving from violence to the Lord (a linear career move), after boxing he was ordained a Christian minister. I guess both positions attempt to bring people to their knees.
A pair of guys who found themselves in prosecutorial roles died this month, Ken Starr at 76 and Earl Silbert at 86. Silbert was a prosecutor on the Watergate break-in and Starr famously found the stain on the dress of Monica Lewinsky. Silbert, along with two assistants, successfully prosecuted all five of the miscreants who broke into the Democratic National Committee headquarters in the Watergate complex apartment as well as E. Howard Hunt and G. Gordon Liddy. I wonder if it had something to do with the fact that neither guy liked his own first name enough to use it, yet felt compelled to use the initial, that made them criminals. Silbert first prosecuted the case without regard to its larger implications and was criticized by Judge John Sirica for not being more aggressive. For his part, Silbert was focused on the job at hand and believed that there was room for further prosecutions once the convictions were secured. That said, at first, he certainly did not believe Nixon was implicated. However, by the time he turned the case over to Archibald Cox, the Special Prosecutor (after Cox was fired by Nixon I saw what is to this day my favorite bumper sticker which read: “Impeach the Cox-Sacker”), he listed 27 individuals as co-conspirators including Nixon. Starr, on the other hand, did not deal with subjects as weighty as Watergate unless perhaps you were a cigar smoker. Years later, Starr said that he regretted taking on the Lewinsky aspect of the investigation but saw no practical alternative. Whitewater aside, Starr had an interesting legal career. He was the Solicitor General and a federal appellate court judge, considered to be headed to the Supreme Court, before he became a lightning rod as the Special Prosecutor. He went on to represent Trump in his first impeachment trial (remember there were two) as well as Jeffrey Epstein in his Florida woes. Repugnant as you may view Epstein, you have to marvel at the deal Starr was able to strike in Florida. Starr wound up as the Dean of Pepperdine University School of Law. An amazingly interesting career.
Regular readers of this blog know that I am enthralled by the indomitable spirit of nazi (don’t care to capitalize it) death camp survivors. The horrors they lived through are unspeakable and perhaps that is why they themselves rarely do talk about their experiences. They live their lives to the fullest, however, and never seem to wallow in the self-pity they would be permitted to wallow in if they so chose. Like the explorers Colin O’Brady talked about, they too, having so closely faced death, are perhaps more afraid of not living. Sisters Ilse Nathan (98) and Ruth Siegler (95), having both survived the camps, died within 11 days of one another. They were together with their father at the Birkenau concentration camp in Poland when he gave them a Hebrew Blessing just before he was gassed. They never saw their mother, who they were separated from and their brother died in a camp in Germany shortly before the end of the war. Together, they survived, each covering for the other to ensure that their captors never believed they were not pulling their weight. Like countless others, towards the end of the war, they were sent on a death march and ultimately abandoned by their captors when the Russians were approaching. When rescued they each weighed about 80 pounds. Ruth had Typhus and Typhoid and recovered with her sister at her side. They both married German Holocaust survivors and relocated to America where ultimately, they lived close to one another in Birmingham, Alabama. Each would often say that she would not have survived without the other so their deaths, so close in time, at what some would call ripe old ages, was rather fitting. Each was not afraid to die because they were never afraid to live.
Finally, Joseph Hazelwood, the captain of the ill-fated Exxon Valdez, died at 75. When his ship ran aground in Prince William Sound, causing the release of ten million gallons of crude oil, besmirching 1500 miles of Alaskan coastline, Hazelwood was allegedly in his cups as the expression goes and not on the bridge. He was tried in Alaska for causing one of the greatest environmental tragedies in the Country but the jury acquitted him of operating the ship while drunk (sort of boating while intoxicated with a really big boat) but found him guilty of negligently discharging oil, a misdemeanor for which he was fined $50,000 and ordered to serve 1,000 hours of community service. He was represented by Chalos & Brown which pulled off a rather Herculean feat in that case. Today he would be charged with violating the Oil Pollution Act of 1990 but it didn’t exist as his actions (or inactions as the case may be) were the impetus for its creation and passage. Hazelwood accepted responsibility for the disaster and certainly today, every ship captain navigating Alaskan waters is keenly aware that they better be especially careful.
Another long entry but thanks for hanging in. Hit the subscribe button to ensure that you get this dreck each month and tell all those you don’t like to tune in and read it. Thanks.
Brilliant as usual Charlie. Brings back some great memories and I learn some new stuff every month. keep up the good work