Deaths that mean so much ...

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The death and state funeral of Winston Churchill in January 1965 was a key moment in British history: it signalled the end of the "shadow of the war" period and, combined with the election of the Wilson government three months earlier, provided the break with the past needed to kickstart "the 60s" as we understand them. There is an opinion that The Who wouldn't have felt culturally and psychologically free to record and release "Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere" (the effective blueprint for the kind of society Britain has been steadily becoming ever since) had Churchill still been alive when they made it, later in 1965, and I can understand that. The death of the Queen Mother will be similarly "end-of-an-era" for Britain: the last breaking of the link with the days of empire, the first state funeral since Churchill, a definitive farewell to a vanished world and, almost certainly, the last time the BBC ever acts like the national "official" broadcaster it was in the 1950s.

On the other end of the scale you have deaths that are perceived as universally resonant for particular generations: Hendrix, Curtis, Cobain, yada yada yada.

But what of the deaths of people outside your own family, and that you'd probably never met, but that are resonant or will be resonant to YOU ONLY, or at least to those who share your elective affinity: the people whose passing made / will make you feel like something has definitively ENDED, something has GONE? Doesn't even have to be something you were yourself, or felt part of, just something meaningful to you. In other words: your personal Churchills or Cobains, the deaths that marked a psychological watershed.

― Robin Carmody, Monday, 4 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

A corny answer but I think when the last World War I veteran finally dies we'll have lost something irretrievably 'to history'. The interviews with them in the Guardian last year were very moving, not just for the stories beng told but for the sense of distance which itself crept over that era a long time ago.

― Tom, Monday, 4 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

Said this elsewhere, I think, but Jim Henson, Dr. Seuss and Charles Schulz. Childhood's end, indeed.

― Ned Raggett, Monday, 4 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I watched Churchill's funeral procession from St Dunstans-In-The- West, the Fleet St church my uncle was Verger of. It took hours to pass.

Do/would the deaths of Henson, Seuss and Schulz really have resonance, when the industries that follow them just continue?

I'm sorry I didn't answer the question.

― David, Monday, 4 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I usually find it very difficult to make these kinds of cultural (historical or generational)identifications to the extent that I think people find it quite cold how little I care when the well-known die. But I do live a little bit under the shadow of anticipating Kurt Vonnegut's death; when he was ill last year I really felt jangled up. I think he represents a tornado-force of exasperated and care-worn but truly shiny humanism that has its roots in an older America (in my head) and which he wears with more and more dignity as he gets older. I've been reading his stuff since I stumbled into the 'V' section of the local library as a kid (pretty much after I'd exhausted the large (this was in Leeds)'W-for- Waterhouse' section ), and I hold his imagination and funniness really dear, entirely independent of how well his critical stock's doing.

― Ellie, Monday, 4 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

when the industries that follow them just continue?

I think of it in these terms -- Jim Carrey as the Grinch is not the Grinch I grew up with.

― Ned Raggett, Monday, 4 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

David, on the day of the funeral did you wear carefully-polished much- mended leather shoes?

(injoke)

― Robin Carmody, Monday, 4 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I was sad when Martha Mitchell died. She was the Auntie Mame of the Nixon-era, I felt really sympathetic towards her.

― Arthur, Monday, 4 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

I was sad when Gene Siskel died. I probably found myself agreeing more of the time with Ebert, but it just seemed so wrong to break up that team. And Roeper is just annoying as hell.

Schulz was my childhood hero, and it's still kind of a jolt to realize he's gone.

― Justyn Dillingham, Tuesday, 5 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

"David, on the day of the funeral did you wear carefully-polished much- mended leather shoes?"

No, probably normally-polished never- mended ones. The much-mended shoes didn't come until much later. I wonder if any schools have their own cobbler now.

― David, Tuesday, 5 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

in 1997 Wilhem De Kooning and Allen Ginsberg died w/i a week of each other , that broke my heart

― anthony, Tuesday, 5 March 2002 01:00 (twenty-three years ago)

eleven years pass...

http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/savannah/obituary.aspx?n=william-mccullough&pid=166950349#fbLoggedOut

http://mi-cache.legacy.com/legacy/images/Cobrands/Savannah/Photos//photo_015934_7738461_1_8071736_20130915.jpg William Freddie McCullough - BLOOMINGDALE - The man. The myth. The legend. Men wanted to be him and women wanted to be with him. William Freddie McCullough died on September 11, 2013. Freddie loved deep fried Southern food smothered in Cane Syrup, fishing at Santee Cooper Lake, Little Debbie Cakes, Two and a Half Men, beautiful women, Reeses Cups and Jim Beam. Not necessarily in that order. He hated vegetables and hypocrites. Not necessarily in that order. He was a master craftsman who single -handedly built his beautiful house from the ground up. Freddie was also great at growing fruit trees, grilling chicken and ribs, popping wheelies on his Harley at 50 mph, making everyone feel appreciated and hitting Coke bottles at thirty yards with his 45. When it came to floor covering, Freddie was one of the best in the business. And he loved doing it. Freddie loved to tell stories. And you could be sure 50% of every story was true. You just never knew which 50%. Marshall Matt Dillon, Ben Cartwright and Charlie Harper were his TV heroes. And he was the hero for his six children: Mark, Shain, Clint, Brandice, Ashley and Thomas. Freddie adored the ladies. And they adored him. There isn't enough space here to list all of the women from Freddie's past. There isn't enough space in the Bloomingdale phone book. A few of the more colorful ones were Momma Margie, Crazy Pam, Big Tittie Wanda, Spacy Stacy and Sweet Melissa (he explained that nickname had nothing to do with her attitude). He attracted more women than a shoe sale at Macy's. He got married when he was 18, but it didn't last. Freddie was no quitter, however, so he gave it a shot two more times. It didn't work out with any of the wives, but he managed to stay friends with them and their parents. In between his many adventures, Freddie appeared in several films including The Ordeal of Dr. Mudd, A Time for Miracles, The Conspirator, Double Wide Blues and Pretty Fishes. When Freddie took off for that pool party in the sky, he left behind his sons Mark McCullough, Shain McCullough and his wife Amy, Clint McCullough and his wife Desiree, and Thomas McCullough and his wife Candice; and his daughters Brandice Chambers and her husband Michael, Ashley Cooler and her husband Justin; his brothers Jimmie and Eddie McCullough; and his girlfriend Lisa Hopkins; and seven delightful grandkids. Freddie was killed when he rushed into a burning orphanage to save a group of adorable children. Or maybe not. We all know how he liked to tell stories. Savannah Morning News September 14, 2013 Please sign our Obituary Guest Book at savannahnow.com/obituaries. - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/savannah/obituary.aspx?n=william-mccullough&pid=166950349#fbLoggedOut

― #fomo that's the motto (Hurting 2), Wednesday, 18 September 2013 22:18 (twelve years ago)

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