Jon & Kate? Brad & Jen? Brad & Angie? Lindsay & Paris? Madonna & herself? Puhlease. I don't have any brain cells programmed to care. My reactions to the well-publicized deaths this past week were pretty low key: The deaths of Ed McMahon (was he still alive?), Farrah Fawcett (I'm so sorry for Ryan O'Neal, but at least she's okay now), and Michael Jackson (shocked, but not surprised) are not momentous events of my life, just blips on my radar screen.
I knew there would be threads about Fawcett's and Jackson's deaths on the message boards; I knew there would be press coverage; I knew there would be lots of nostalgia. But I was unprepared for the extreme responses from those who adore Michael Jackson and his music and those who despise the other aspect of his very public life. And I was shocked when all the newscasts were all about him, when even the cable news shows dedicated to politics were all about his death -- even though there was NO NEWS, just footage of people gathering outside the hospital.
I just don't get it. And I never have.
- I remember where I was when Elvis died: scooping cones at an ice cream parlor in Dallas. People heard the news on the radio and started crying; customers could barely choke out their orders. I didn't get it. I was 16 and had not yet developed an appreciation for his music, and he'd become something of a overweight, oversequined joke -- besides he was OLD (you know -- he was 42, the same age as my mother).
- I remember where I was when John Lennon was killed: studying for midterms my junior year at Northwestern. I can see one of my housemates coming down the stairs to tell us the news; I can hear another groan and say, Ugh, now the radio stations are going to play nothing but Beatles for a week. I was upset; I loved the Beatles; but I felt no compulsion to grab a candle and join the throngs on the campus green for an impromptu memorial.
- I remember picking up the Sunday newspaper and seeing the headline that Princess Diana had been killed in a car crash: Oh, my! I was thoroughly surprised and puzzled when I got to church and saw people in tears. Why are these people crying? What happened? Who died? Diana? They're reacting like this to her death? I was amazed by the public response to her death, by the mountains of flowers, notes, gifts left outside Buckingham Palace, by people (Americans!) driving several hundred miles to leave tokens outside the British Embassy in Washington, D.C. I was riveted to the news reports of the huge public outpouring of emotion, because it was all so foreign to me; I couldn't understand it.
I remember being amazed by Michael Jackson when I was a girl -- he was just 2 years older than I and there he was on TV! Wow! I liked his music, but I never bought any of his albums, never watched the videos, never memorized the choreography to Thriller. As his off-stage persona started to ... ummm ... change, I simply turned away in disgust.
And now he's dead. Okay. So what?
I understand that public figures represent something important in our lives. They become symbols for something much greater than ourselves, personifications of our private yearnings. I've read a few people's explanations that Michael Jackson's music was a significant part of their youth: His death underscores the loss of that part of their lives, or the death of their spouse with whom they shared his music. I understand that.
But the rest of it -- the 24/7 obsession, the fervent postings, the nonstop coverage, the intensity of emotion -- I just don't get it.
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5 comments:
I don't get it either and the real questionable behavior of his later years, for me, killed even the slight interest I had in his music.
I cried when Lennon died. But I was just seventeen and drama is like a highly contagious virus when you are that age. I really did love his music. Even though I missed the whole Beatle thing, the lyrics touched a chord in me when I discovered them at age 16. My dad came into our bedroom to tell me. He knew I listened to the Beatles though he didn't pretend to appreciate the music himself, he'd heard the news on Monday Night Football from Howard Cosell. It was actually sweet of him to think of me in a way.
I didn't get the Diana worship or the hysteria over her death. It was not a personal tragedy for anyone but her family.
Same with 911. I understood the historical significance and political ramifications, but at the time I didn't know personally anyone who'd been touched by the tragedy or any of the actual victims.
Elvis? I was at the county fair running the midway with my cousins while my parents and aunt were watching Billy "Crash" Craddock, who announced it from the stage. They told us later. Elvis was a fat old man in a jumpsuit and it meant nothing but the surrounding hoopla was enough to make his death a memory.
I wrote a 50 Something's piece about Jackson and the misguided worship but death is such a tried and true path to personal redemption in our culture that I annoyed quite a few of the commenters with my "disrespect". (How unlike me.)
But isn't respect something that a persona actively earns? We all die. It's not special. It shouldn't confer absolution in and of itself.
Jackson's contribution to the soundtrack of my life is slight but that's because I choose to look behind the self-promotion and money driven media hype.
People of the board are freakin? Chalk it up to transference or a catalyst. Or just the whole teenage drama thing. Being widowed is like being back in high school in terms of the emotional flopping like a fish that goes on.
Nice piece.
I am with you - no news but his death - it is just crazy - I love annie's comment too. Oh well some people's kids :) Too much hooplah for me.
It's front page down under too. I was really annoyed at the announcement of his death on our morning news on Friday stating that his sudden death at such a young age was shocking.
Shocking? Really? These same journalists had been reporting his alleged drug taking and health ills for years.
He had not produced new music for decades so his death is hardly a loss to the music world. The only loss is to the bank balances of those he employed.
My fit, non-drug taking, community contributing husband's death was far more shocking.
But that's just the perspective of the widow of a man born in the same year as Michael Jackson, who shared the same first name, and who died without warning 4 years ago.
I was really quite surprise at the vehemence with which the widdas defended their idol Jackson. It wasn't enough to say, "He meant a lot to me, and I'm sorry he's gone." Claws were out, and anything less than a candle, a novena, and heartfelt tears made one a "hater." Very strange.
I wonder if people feel so disconnected from traditional support systems--family, church, friends they can trust--that someone everyone knows becomes a surrogate for that, and all the celebrity's other fans become your siblings. When I hear of a celebrity's death, especially when it's someone I enjoyed, my usual response is "Aw...that's too bad."
My other theory, at least in regards to the response at the board, is that this is displaced (and maybe misplaced) grief that people may not have managed to move through for their own loved one. In a society where grief is so quickly pushed out of sight and out of mind by anyone not grieving (and many who are), an opportunity, and at least temporary societal acceptance, of expressing deep grief with people who are feeling the same way may be too rare and needed to pass up. And if that's true, I guess I can't blame them, even if I don't understand it.
I agree with you 100%.
The irony of the death of Princess Diana is that Mother Theresa died the day of Diana's funeral, and her death was mentioned almost in passing. In my opinion, Mother Theresa was a person whos death actually deserved a lot of notice, but it was almost as if she had chosen to die when she did in order to remain as humble in death as she had been in life.
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