What dead person, not a relative, do you most mourn?

In My Humble Opinion
1

Oddly enough this thread was inspired by this one on smart women, though the woman I’m about to tell you about is not the woman I mention in that thread. But someone mentioned a brilliant teacher, and that made me think of…

Dr. Margaret Sather. She was a professor of mine in college. Though she technically was a member of the English faculty, when I was there she most frequently taught Introduction to the Humanities. This freshman level course surveyed the visual arts, literature, architecture, painting, and so forth from the Bronze Age to the present.

Somehow Dr. Sather made this impossible class a wonder. She infused ever lecture with brilliance, wit, and insight. When I matriculated she was in her early sixties, and she was a tiny woman – five foot nothing in heels, with bones no heavier than a sparrow’s–who nevertheless had both climbed moutains and studied Eudora Welty, who had informed opinions on both hunting techniques and the Gulf War. She had a force about her, a mixture of dignity and humor that no words can possibly convey. What you learned in her class wasn’t so much the subject matter as it was critical thinking skills, appreciation of the past, and love of learning. Some liberal arts teachers try to force their students to have no opinions on art, literature, and history that do not dovetail with their own. Dr. Sather taught us to that we were entitled to our INFORMED opinions, and taught us how to create them for ourselves, whether we utlimately agreed with her or not.

And she was more than just a instructor. She was a guide, a mentor, a shoulder to cry on when you needed it, a foot to kick your ass when you needed that. My friend Elise once said that she had a mother–but Dr. Sather was like a mother who UNDERSTOOD her.

Dr. Sather retired when I was a senior because she had cancer. I was only one of dozens of her students who kept in contact with her after graduation. On that afternoon when I called her house to ask if I mgiht visit, when her son told me that she had just slipped into a coma and was not expected to survive the night, I burst into tears, and I was only the first one. They had to make open up a second room in the funeral home for mourners at her service because so many students and former students and colleagues had come. Her son, quite intelligently, video-taped the service, and for months people who had not been able to attend the service asked those of us who had for copies of the tape. Every time I move, the FIRST thing I pack is her dissertation on Eudora Welty; it’s the one book I want to make sure I never lose.

Anybody else have a story to share?

2

I have been very lucky that I’ve never lost anyone close to me so far in my life. No family and no non-family, yet close, person.

For me Spalding Gray’s suicide really hit me hard. I first saw Swimming to Cambodia when I was maybe 11 or 12. His work influenced me in so many ways. My senior thesis was a one man show. I studied him a lot. I was able to see him live 3 times (once was right after the car accident in Ireland that really jumbled him up and is the point that marks his slide back into depression). Each performance was was incredibly special to me.

When I first heard about his disappearence from the ferry, I pretty knew what happened, I think all of his fans did. So when it was finally ruled a suicide no one was surprised. We were all just sad.

3

For me, the day George Harrison died was a black day. :frowning: The world gets a little bit bleaker each time it loses a Beatle.

4

I cried when Mr. Rogers died. I still get sad thinking about it.

5

I was sad for days when Douglas Adams died. It seemed like he had so much more to say…

6

Either Jim Henson or Mr. Rogers. Can’t decide.

I think I may go with Jim Henson, though, because he didn’t live as long a life as Mr. Rogers was able to.

7

Jerry Orbach. I’m not sure why, but his death affected me deeply.

8

I was a kid when John Lennon died (8th grade), and it hit me really hard at the time. Really hard. I was thinking about it recently, because on my next birthday I will be 40, the age he was at the time. It made me realize how freakin’ young he was (I knew 40 was pretty young, but from an 8th-grade perspective, you just don’t realize HOW young.)

9

Johnny and June Carter Cash. Their lives were an inspiration, and they weren’t done yet. I’m sad every day to think Johnny Cash isn’t in the world.

10

Perhaps this is a little silly, but Chris Farley. My husband was watching a Best of SNL - Chris Farley DVD last night, and I felt sad thinking how this man must have led a very sad life (based on how he died).

11

I feel the same way. I really like “Law & Order” but plenty of stars die and I don’t really feel sad, other than in the I’m sorry for their families kind of way. But somehow, his death seems more tragic.

12

Because he had the unparalleled range necessary to successfully portray a crusty NYC detective and a singing candelabra.

Mine would have to be Joe Strummer. I cried when I heard he died.

13

My boss at the art store I worked at for eight years (beginning when I was 19) was both my friend and a father figure. (My actual father is thankfully still alive)
His weight got the better of him when he died unexpectedly of a sleep apnia-induced stroke. I’ll always miss him.

14

Ed McBain (Evan Hunter)

15

Sheridan Simon, physics professor at Guilford College in Greensboro, NC, some-time ScFi writer, and serious writer, and designer of planets for fun and profit. You can see some of the planets he designed here .

I never took a class with him. I didn’t even meet him until my senior year. He was one of those professors who was loved by his students, and the only one I can remember who ate lunch in the cafeteria with us. I met him through some of his students at lunch one day, we became instant friends, and after college corresponded regularly and visited when we could, until he died of cancer. He was a funny, charming, brilliant man, and I keep his birthday on my calendar and his address in my contacts because I can’t bear to delete them. I have every letter he ever wrote to me.

I often wish that he had lived long enough to meet my husband and make my children laugh. He was one of the most gifted people I have ever known.

16

Damn it, now I made myself cry.

17

Shit. Joe’s mine, too. Thing is, I read this post at the same time I was listening to Death Is A Star. Damnit. Now I’m going to bawl, and I have to be at work in ten minutes. sniff

18

Douglas Adams. In a world facing increasing environmental problems, he was turning into a serious environmental spokesman and bringing a brainy young fanbase with him. A loss we could ill afford.

Sailboat

19

My friend Gary. I met him in the late 80s. My youngest brother came back from a national softball tournament raving about a guy he had met. He played a recording for me that the guy had made at a karaoke-type recording studio, Gary singing Springsteen’s Glory Days. I thought he was a pretty good singer, but my brother told me that I had to see Gary sing as well as hear him to fully appreciate him. He was right.

My brother talked Gary into joining his softball team, where he replaced my brother at shortstop, moving my brother to third. I went to a few games and became friendly with Gary. I quickly found that he was a kindred spirit musically. We had lots of obscure musical loves in common, and we eventually agreed that we needed to get something going musically. I play guitar and another brother plays drums. I recruited a bass player and we set a date to jam at Gary’s art studio in the Charles Village section of Baltimore. The day of the jam, Gary called me to ask if I knew any Elvis tunes. I said sure, lots, and named a few. I asked him why and he said we might be playing on the radio that night.

Gary’s studio looked like Peewee’s Playhouse. Toys, weird props from advertising photo shoots, bizarre souvenirs, it’s hard to describe, but it was a weird and fun place to be. That first night, Gary explained that he was a regular guest on a local radio show hosted by Dan Rodricks, and that he had written alternative words to I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You, and we were going to perform it over the phone on live radio. We did.

I played music with Gary for a couple of years. It was fun and frustrating. He was unreliable, frequently cancelling rehearsals at the last minute and showing up late for gigs. In 1992 Gary and I parted ways musically as I moved on to a more commercial band. We remained friends.

Gary was a great softball player, a nationally known commercial artist (most people in the US have seen his work on product packaging), the father of four children, a mesmerizing front man/singer, a gifted actor working in regional theatre, a stand-up comedian, a radio personality, and a wonderful and sometimes exasperating friend. He could do too many things well, it seemed, and he had a hard time recognizing that choosing to do one thing often involves eliminating the opportunity to do another. Gary tried to do everything.

In the late 90s, he left his wife and children to live with an 18 year old girl who had played opposite him in Little Shop of Horrors. He eventually moved back home, trying to reconcile with his wife, but then moved out again to live alone.

In September of 2000 he killed himself in his car with a hose in the exhaust.

20

An acquaintance of mine was in a bar with Farley the night that he died. He and some friends were partying in the back and noticed Farley at the bar by himself. They assumed he was just waiting for some people to show up. They didn’t want to bother him. A few hours later they noticed farley was still at the bar by himself and was now really sloppy drunk. Now they really didn’t want to bother him.
Apparently Farley left the bar and went home and ODed.
I heard the news that he died about 15 minutes after making a date with a girl I had had huge crush in high school… I was bopping along singing the old punk song “I have a date” and then the news came on the radio… I was crushed.