Princess Diana–especially when they showed a film clip of her and her two boys throwing themselves into a joyous group embrace when she returned from some trip.
Don Knotts. He was such a great comedian–I loved Barney Fife–and it just hit me hard when I learned of his death.
Layne Staley died?!
I wept openly early one morning when I turned on the radio to get ready for work. The first thing the announcer said was “So long and thanks for all the laughs. We say goodbye to Douglas Adams.”
I still can’t listen to Jean-Michel Jarre’s “Fifth Rendez-vous (Ron’s Piece)” without tearing up.
A burger shop I frequent has an autographed photo of the Challenger astronauts on the wall. I sometimes wonder how much it would be worth, but I know they would never consider selling it.
James Doohan, Madelleine L’Engle, Luciano Pavoratti, Andre Norton, Steve Irwin, Martyn Bennett.
I was sad when I found out Mel Blanc died, but didn’t cry until I saw a print ad from Warner Brothers in which Bugs Bunny and other characters he voiced stood sadly facing a microphone with a spotlight shining on it. The only word in the ad was “Speechless.”
I was too divorced from my feelings to cry between the ages of about 7 and 27, but John Lennon died right in the middle of that range. At the time I got very anxious and confused and it all seemed surreal to me, and I ended up attending a memorial gathering in Lincoln Park in Chicago, which I guess was about as close to crying as I could come.
Now, after years of therapy, I start sobbing for all sorts of reasons, some of which I can identify, some I can’t. These past few days have been relatively constant, low-grade weeping. Some of it is because of Heath Ledger’s death, not necessarily because I was a big fan, but because it’s sad that someone dies so young, especially leaving a young daughter. (Coincidentally, whenever I see A Knight’s Tale, it always makes me cry). But I’ve also been thinking about my half-brother, who drank himself into a coma and died at 27. How can people die so young?
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I think most of the weeping this week has actually been good weeping.
<<Cutting a long story short>>
I didn’t meet anyone in my family until I was already an adult living on the opposite side of the country from them. Recently, a long-lost cousin has made her way to LA, and I’ve been slowly getting to know her over the past six months. For the first time in my life, I live near an actual relative and can visit with her and her family on non-holiday, non-funereal occasions. I went to see Enchanted with her and her sons last weekend, and it was just so normal. Hanging out, playing with her kids, going for pizza and a movie … these are completely new things for me, and I’m feeling pretty grateful, but a little sad that I’m getting such a late start.
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John Lennon’s death got to me - I still remember the feeling of shock when I watched the news report. He couldn’t die, he was a Beatle.
It came at the end of eighteen months where our family lost the last three of my grandparents and a close family friend. When John was killed, it was the last straw and I cried for weeks.
John Ritter. I wasn’t a fan of Three’s Company, but I thought he was a great and underrated actor in dramatic roles. My daughter was just old enough to really enjoy the Clifford series and I was pleased that she was in safe hands (no scandals expected there). In every interview or article, he came across as a really decent guy who loved his family.
Douglas Adams. I hope they put a towel in the coffin with him.
Erma Bombeck. Classy, funny woman.
Sir Edmund Hilary. As with the others, the world was richer with him in it.
It wasn’t full-on crying, but I definitely teared up when I saw the video for Hurt after Johnny Cash had died.
That I get. One of my favorite authors died (early) a year or two ago and I am sad that I will not get the pleasure of any more of his works.
Lewis Grizzard was also a loss.
A lot have been mentioned, to the "died too young and too unexpectedly, I’ll add Steve Barton. He was a theatrical triple threat–he could sing, dance, and act. And he did it in both English & German!
I had met Spalding Grey, and we realized we were distantly related–my maternal grandmother was a Spalding, and we’re the only branch of the family that spells the name without the “u.” I was really sad when he died.
Wilson Pickett. I knew the man, and got a call from a family member before his death was announced. A wonderful, crazy guy.
I don’t cry, really, but one celebrity’s death that still gets to me is that of John Belushi. Okay, and Phil Hartman, too, and Lennon.
Belushi’s still in my head, though, doing that Joe Cocker impression.
I am not a huge fan of the Dead, but I did like a lot of their earlier stuff. When Jerry died I wasn’t initially that upset. But then I happened to catch Bruce Hornsby play at some big (open air) festival (maybe the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ?). He played a piano-only version of “I Know You Rider” as his tribute to Jerry. Not only did that get me teared up, but I decided I would like to have that song played at my funeral as well.
That was me. I had just finished reading her autobiography, It’s Always Something which was very upbeat and hopeful with regard to her prognosis. Two months later she was dead.
Karen Carpenter’s death has continued to touch me some twenty-five years later but I didn’t really start to become saddened until I gained a deeper appreciation for her talent. It was then that I realized what an extreme loss her death was to the music world.
I cried openly at work when I heard Jim Henson had died. The Muppets were a huge, happy part of my childhood and I never really could believe it. He died of “the flu”, if I recall correctly, but I don’t remember if that was the actual cause or used as a catch all term or what.
I can’t think of any others- many made me sad, but Jim Henson’s death just made me cry and cry.
He died from bacterial pneumonia. Most people with healty immune systems can fight it off easily. I know I’ve had it a couple of times in my life with no ill effects.
I thought I remembered something different. Wikipedia says:
I grieved real seriously when J.R.R. Tolkien died. I even wore a black armband for him.
Indeed. But it wasn’t until I saw Mike Luckovich’s tribute cartoon showing Lewis strolling up to the Pearly Gates, portable typewriter in hand and his faithful black lab Catfish (who had predeceased him) there to greet him, that the waterworks started. Damn! I still tear up when I think of that cartoon!
Click here and scroll down about 3/4 of the way to read the column Grizzard wrote when Catfish died. Can’t find a link to the cartoon.
Joe Strummer and Hunter Thompson.
Also, I was a kid when Elvis died and didn’t really understand, but I took the tour of Graceland on my 30th birthday. And when we got to the end of the tour, and confronted Elvis’s grave, I shed a few tears. I was surprised.
**Ivylass **and Labdad, thanks for that, there’s a couple of his book at the library so I’ll check him out. I enjoyed the story of Catfish, thanks for the link.