RIP Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett
Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett both died within 5 miles of each other yesterday – Thursday, June 25, 2009 – in West Los Angeles. The only other time that I can remember two such celebrities dying within such a short period of time was in late August, 1997, when both Mother Teresa (in India) and Princess Diana (in Paris) died. Farah died in Santa Monica at St. John’s Hospital after suffering from colorectal cancer, and MJ had cardiac arrest in Westwood and was pronounced dead at UCLA Medical Center in Westwood. Had UCLA Medical Center been more stringent in their medical records security, Farah might have been at the same hospital. But after a UCLA employee disclosed details of Farah’s medical records to tabloids during her illness, she understandably changed physicians and medical facilities.
Los Angeles traffic, always horrible on Thursday afternoons, was worse than usual. Local fans and tourists who were visiting Los Angeles flocked to the house that Michael rented near UCLA and swarmed in the area around the university hospital. Freeways nearby were jammed. Although recent Michael Jackson news has almost always been sad or cringe-worthy, news of his death dominated the day on radio, television, and the Internet. He was already being mourned as an innovator and a legend in pop music and culture. Farah’s fame was more modest in comparison. Her run on “Charlie’s Angels” and fame in the 1970s made her iconic, and her dramatic roles since then had been meatier but more low-key.
Many of my Generation X contemporaries were remembering and mourning on Facebook and in real gathering places. CNN’s Anderson Cooper related a story of being 10 years old and in Studio 54, and seeing Michael Jackson dance.
My emotions ran high during that last week of August 1997, not because I had formed such an attachment to the idea of either Princess Di or Mother Teresa. It was because I was getting married that week. The night of my bachelorette party was the night Princess Di died, and my friends and I were at a nightclub in West Hollywood. A gay male exotic dancer had just finished dancing for me with his crotch at my eye level when the news broke that Diana had died. Being in a trendy gay bar at the moment of Princess Di’s death was somehow so fitting. She was a glamorous and fashionable woman who loved pop music and would have fit in well with the crowd. Because I was getting married, I must have been searching for the events that would provide the backdrop for my milestone.
But somehow the news this week hasn’t hit me yet. I was not a follower of either Farah or Michael, and I am in a less zeitgeist-y and more mundane place in life than I was in 1997. But it also occurs to me that the media following the story 24-7 with every angle and every reaction makes the news have less of an impact.
