Edged in Blue

Last night, the death of Michael Jackson dominated the news.  The last person whose death was like an atomic bomb on culture was Frank Sinatra.  Before him, it was John Lennon, and before him, Elvis.  Quite likely, the next one will be Paul McCartney, assuming he’s the last surviving Beatle.

I’m not going to lie.  Michael Jackson in his later years became a punchline.  But when Thriller came out during my sophomore year in high school, it was one of those moments that crystallize your life at a given moment.  Jackson, along with Prince, Van Halen, and Duran Duran, created the soundtrack to my late teens.  Watching Jackson in the past couple of years made it obvious he wasn’t well, his death was still a shock.

It’s not been a good week for icons of my childhood.  Another loss was one of Charlie’s Angels (before the godawful movies).

Farrah Fawcett died the same day as Michael Jackson.  Her death did not come as a surprise.  She even talked about it coming in the days before she passed away.  Yes, I had that poster on my wall.  But what was impressive was after Charlie’s Angels when she began getting meatier roles, like The Burning Bed and The Beate Klarsfeld Story.  She had her ups and downs like most celebs, but she’d come a long way from being Lee Majors’ supermodel wife.

And then the day before, we lost one of two men who likely were in the room when I was conceived.  And my wife.  And my brother.  After all, how many kids were conceived during Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show between 1962 and 1992?*

Ed McMahon was Johnny’s sidekick for decades.  And I made a point of watching Carson’s finale, which was McMahon’s finale.  Ed was like a goofy great uncle you see every family reunion and Thanksgiving.  A little odd, but funny and warm.  He also hosted Star Search, giving us Sinbad and Christina Aguilera.  McMahon got his start as a boardwalk huckster working for the same company that gave Billy Mays his start.  So just think, if Ed never met Johnny, he might have retired on hawking an early version of Mighty Putty.

It’s been a sad week.  But one that brought back a lot of memories.

*I really don’t want to think about sex during Leno.  That’s just gross.  Sorry, Jay.