My morning went down the drain (for reasons I’m not authorized to talk about) so I’m only getting to this now:
Francis Currey, American badass.
Here is his citation from the Congressional Medal of Honor Society’s website:
He was 94. His death leaves two surviving recipients of the Medal of Honor from WWII.
Marshall Efron, public television personality of the early 70s.
I’d heard the name, but really didn’t have any association with him: I was very young when “The Great American Dream Machine” was on the air, and I wasn’t much older when “Marshall Efron’s Illustrated, Simplified and Painless Sunday School” came around the first time. (The latter was supposedly re-run frequently, but I’ve never seen an episode.)
Ginger Baker, noted drummer.
Random thought: could Mr. Baker play “YYZ”?
Mr. Baker’s appearance behind the drum kit — flaming red hair, flailing arms, eyes bulging with enthusiasm or shut tight in concentration — made an indelible impression. So, unfortunately, did his well-publicized drug problems and his volatile personality.
Mr. Baker, who by his own count quit heroin 29 times, was candid about his drug and alcohol abuse in his autobiography, “Hellraiser,” published in Britain in 2009.
Got to give it to the man: he was persistent.
Lawrence put “Beware of Mr. Baker” on our big movie list. We actually want to watch this, but man! That is a hard movie to find: the DVD and Blu-Ray are “unavailable” from Amazon, and they do list it under “Prime Video” but it’s currently “unavailable” there as well. The movie’s website is apparently now owned by a domain squatter who uses it to advertise casinos, and we haven’t been able to check Netflix or Hulu (not being subscribers to either one).
Rip Taylor, comedian and game show guy.
Mr. Taylor was often confused with the character actor Rip Torn, who died in July.
This.
I kind of got overtaken by stuff over the weekend, so here’s your historical record obit for Diahann Carroll. Little mentioned in her obits, but well known to us common sewers connoisseurs: she was also in “The Star Wars Holiday Special“.
Bill Bidwill, owner of the Arizona (formerly St. Louis) Cardinals.
I’m wondering if we’re going to see an NFL team for sale soon, and if that’s going to result in a possible relocation. LA and Las Vegas are off the map…but with the St. Louis Rams gone, and a past history for the Cardinals there…?
John Rothman. Kind of an obscure figure, but interesting: he pioneered electronic access to the NYT archives.
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In 1972, Times staff members began testing the Information Bank as a research tool. It would soon augment the paper’s archives, known as the morgue, where file cabinets are packed with clippings dating to the 19th century. In Times Talk, the paper’s in-house newsletter, Mr. Rothman assured colleagues that “once the basic methods” of searching the Information Bank were mastered, “retrieving the information is quite simple.”
In late 1972, the first installation of the Information Bank outside The New York Times was made at the University of Pittsburgh’s Hillman Library. Within six months, its 14 customers included NBC, The Associated Press, the State Department, the C.I.A., the Library of Congress, Exxon and the Chase Manhattan Bank.
I’ve been running behind, so for this historical record: Jessye Norman.
NYT obit for Sid Haig, which is dated the 23rd but didn’t show up on their obit page until yesterday.
One I’ve been meaning to note all week: Mark von Hagen. You probably haven’t heard of him, but: he was the guy the NYT hired to determine if the paper should return Walter Duranty’s Pulitzer.
Professor von Hagen’s resulting eight-page report was highly critical of the coverage but made no recommendation about the prize. Only in interviews after the report was released did he suggest that the award be revoked because of what he described as Mr. Duranty’s “uncritical acceptance of the Soviet self-justification for its cruel and wasteful regime.” In his view, he said, Mr. Duranty had fallen “under Stalin’s spell.”
“He really was kind of a disgrace in the history of The New York Times,” Professor von Hagen was quoted as saying.
In the end, however, the Pulitzer board decided that it did not have enough grounds to annul the award, which was bestowed in 1932.
Captain Alfred Haynes, big damn hero, has passed away at 87.
Aviation buffs know this name well. For everyone else: Captain Haynes was the pilot of United Airlines Flight 232 on July 19, 1989. He was flying a DC-10 to Chicago from Denver.
About an hour into the flight, the engine mounted in the tail of the plane “exploded”. (It was later determined that a cracked fan disk had disintegrated.) Fragments of engine parts took out all three of the plane’s hydraulic systems. This was something that was never supposed to happen: the crew was actually in radio communication with United maintenance people who flat out could not believe the plane had lost all hydraulics (since the plane had three redundant systems). This was supposed to be impossible, and there were no procedures for dealing with this kind of emergency.
Without hydraulics, the pilots lost all normal control of the plane: they couldn’t move the flaps, elevators, or rudder. They couldn’t steer the plane or control ascent or descent. Captain Haynes and his crew (which included a DC-10 instructor pilot for United) figured out how to control the aircraft using only the engine throttles. They flew the plane for 44 minutes to Sioux City, Iowa, varying power to the engines to turn, climb and dive.
“Nothing in United’s training would have prepared the pilot for something like this,” John P. Ferg, a former director of flight operations for the airline, told The New York Times at the time. “By all laws of airmanship, he shouldn’t have gotten that close to the runway.”
Without the standard tools for slowing and steering the plane, Mr. Haynes approached Runway 22 of Sioux Gateway Airport going much too fast and descending at a much steeper angle than what was normal for a landing. As the plane tried to touch down, the right wing clipped the ground and the aircraft broke apart amid smoke and flame.
There were 296 people on the plane. 184 survived. 112 died.
Mr. Haynes would often say in later years that his thoughts were with those who did not survive — 111 that day and another a month later.
“It was very hard to get past the guilt of surviving,” he told New York magazine in 2009. “My job had been to get people from point A to point B safely, and I didn’t do it. I felt that I had killed them.”
Many of the accounts I’ve seen say that Captain Haynes resisted being called a hero. But:
Because of a promotion the airline was running, there were numerous children on the flight. One was Mr. [Spencer] Bailey, who was 3 at the time and today is a journalist and host, with Andrew Zuckerman, of the podcast Time Sensitive. He remembers nothing of the crash but learned about the efforts of the crew in later years.
“I would not be here, alive and typing this sentence, were it not for the actions of Captain Haynes and those who were in the cockpit with him,” he said by email. His mother, Frances, died in the crash, but his older brother Brandon survived.
“Brandon and I both know that day will always remain a part of us, but our lives continue onward, growing far beyond it,” Mr. Bailey said. “And for this fact, that we lived on and were able to grow up past July 19, 1989, we largely have Captain Haynes to thank.”
And:
I emphasized “and his crew” above for a reason. After he retired, Captain Haynes traveled around the country giving talks. I always wanted to see one of his presentations, but never did. (There’s an archived transcript of one here.) One of the things he emphasized was the importance of crew resource management (CRM) which was a relatively new concept at the time. (The FAA didn’t make CRM training mandatory until after the incident, but it was already part of United’s training.)
…
Great moment from the CVR transcript:
Sioux City Approach: United two thirty-two heavy, the wind’s currently three six zero at one one three sixty at eleven. You’re cleared to land on any runway …
Captain: [Laughter] Roger. [Laughter] You want to be particular and make it a runway, huh?
(That CVR transcript is also the final act of “Charlie Victor Romeo“.)
He was also a well regarded Little League ump, which makes me smile:
“If he weren’t an airline pilot, he could be a professional umpire,” Jim Chavez, a Little League district administrator, said in 1989, when Mr. Haynes was in the news because of the crash. “He knows the book. When Al calls a strike, you know it’s a strike.”
On Dan Haynes’s Facebook page, the many tributes to his father were as apt to mention the umpiring as they were the heroics.
“A legend in aviation for sure,” one reads, “but he was so much more. I’ll never forget seeing him at the Little League regionals in San Bernardino, where he was the master of ceremonies. He gave a great speech in front of thousands, and then went into a booth behind the outfield, put an apron on, and started selling corn on the cob to raise $ for LL.”
(Subject line hattip: adapted from something FotB RoadRich once said about a different pilot in a different context. Errors and omissions are mine alone: I welcome any additions and/or corrections anyone has to offer.)
Robert Hunter, lyricist for the Grateful Dead. Reason. Rolling Stone.
I have to be honest: I am not a DeadHead. Never have been. I’m not really the person to look to for an obit or an appreciation. But i do think he did some good work. How about a musical interlude?
(I actually really like the Indigo Girls cover of this, but I can’t find a good version on YouTube.)
(Obligatory.)
Dr. Robert McClelland. He was one of the surgeons who treated John F. Kennedy at Parkland.
Inside, as doctors began lifesaving measures, it was clear that Kennedy’s condition was grave. His face was swollen, his skin bluish-black and his eyes protuberant, suggesting great pressure on his brain, Dr. McClelland told the Warren Commission in 1964 during its investigation of the assassination.
The lead surgeon, Dr. Malcolm O. Perry II, asked Dr. McClelland to assist in an emergency tracheotomy, and Dr. McClelland inserted a retractor into the incision that Dr. Perry had made in Kennedy’s neck to help accommodate a breathing tube.
Dr. McClelland’s position at the head of the gurney on which Kennedy lay gave him a close look at the severe wound at the back of the president’s head that had been caused by a second bullet.
The “posterior portion of the skull had been extremely blasted,” he told the commission. About a third of the president’s brain tissue was gone, he said.
Ironically, Dr. McClelland also treated Lee Harvey Oswald after he was shot.
A. Alverez, “British poet, critic and essayist” who had an unusual relationship with Sylvia Plath before she died. He also wrote about suicide and about the World Series of Poker: I’m pretty sure I’ve read The Biggest Game in Town, but I don’t know where my copy is right now.
I have one more obit to post, but that will go up later: I’m running out of time before work starts, and I want to do it right. Look for that one around mid-morning or posslbly lunch. Hint: this person was a big damn hero.
We watched the original “Night Stalker” Saturday night.
(Hi, Pat!)
That KL Studio Classics blu-ray is pretty awesome: the remaster is sharp and amazingly vivid. (I didn’t see “Night Stalker” when it was originally aired: I was (mumble mumble) years old and my parents wouldn’t let me watch it. This is actually the first time I’ve seen it, but my basis for comparison is the DVD of the TV series and the MeTV rebroadcasts: both seem a little muddy. If KL does a remaster of the series, I am there, man. And I plan to pick up the “Night Strangler” sooner rather than later now.)
The blu-ray also includes some good extras, including an interview with the director, John Llewellyn Moxey (who passed away in April of this year, at 94. I don’t recall seeing his obit reported.)
Anyway, Mr. Moxey was a prolific TV director: his credits include ten episodes of “Mannix”…
…including “End Game“, one of several episodes involving an old Army buddy of Mannix that’s out to get him…(“End Game” is a pretty tense and solid episode: it seems to show up a lot on the top ten episode lists I’ve seen.)
…and “A Ticket to the Eclipse“, another episode featuring an old Army buddy of Mannix that’s out to get him…
…and this time, the old Army buddy is played by none other than Darren McGavin his own self.
Just one of those curious connections that pop up sometimes. (Mr. Moxey seems to imply in his interview that he and Mr. McGavin didn’t know each other well, but they (and their wives) became close friends during the “Night Stalker” filming. Which is odd, because “A Ticket to the Eclipse” aired September 19, 1970, while “Night Stalker” aired January 11, 1972. So “Ticket” was probably filmed at least a year before “Night Stalker”. But, you know, maybe it took filming on location in Las Vegas to make them friends.)
(Lawrence: “Everyone in this movie looks hot.”)
Christopher Rouse, Pulitzer prize winning contemporary composer. I confess that I don’t know very much about his work, but he was a favorite of several close friends of mine.
(Edited to add: NYT obit.)
Davo Karnicar, a man who skied down Everest. He wasn’t “The Man Who Skied Down Everest” in the documentary (that was Yūichirō Miura, who is still alive at 86), but he skied non-stop from the summit to base camp – a 12,000 foot descent in four hours and 40 minutes. (Mr. Miura only descended 4,000 feet.)
His brother Andrej lost eight toes to frostbite during their descent on Annapurna in 1995. A year later, Davo lost two fingers to frostbite during a storm that killed eight climbers — a disaster detailed by Jon Krakauer in his book “Into Thin Air.”
And in 1997, Karnicar’s brother Luka and four other members of his rescue team died when a safety line connected to a helicopter broke during a training exercise.
…
According to the NYT obit, Mr. Karnicar was killed in a tree cutting accident at his home.
John L. Keenan, chief of detectives with the NYPD. He was most famous for leading the manhunt for the “Son of Sam”. There’s also an interesting historical side note:
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When Chief Keenan was honored at a retirement party at Antun’s restaurant in Queens in the summer of 1978, Mr. Salinger came down from his home in rural New Hampshire, where he zealously guarded his privacy, to join in the tribute.
Departing from the focus on police work, which had attracted some 300 officers to the party, Mr. Salinger told the crowd that Chief Keenan had been “a great comfort,” especially in a foxhole.
Andy Green out as manager of the San Diego Padres. 274-366 over basically four years, during which the team never finished above .500. And they lost at least 90 games in the first three seasons. (They’re 69-85 right now.) ESPN.
Obit: Barron Hilton, son of Conrad Hilton, grandfather of Paris, and last survivor of the original AFL team owners. Sadly, the team he owned was the worthless Los Angeles (at the time) Chargers, but that was hardly his fault.
Marko Feingold. He was Austria’s oldest survivor of the Holocaust, and died at 106.
New York Post at its very best pic.twitter.com/ZSNNXSvFMh
— Rich Lowry (@RichLowry) September 21, 2019
(Hattip on the Feingold and Green stories to Lawrence. Hattip on the de Blasio obit to Mike the Musicologist.)
Betty Corwin. I hadn’t heard of her until I read the NYT obit, but it seems like she was one of nature’s noblewomen.
Ms. Corwin founded the New York Public Library Theater on Film and Tape Archive.
The still-growing archive — which at last count held 8,127 recordings, including artist interviews and theater-related films and television programs — has long been a rich resource for artists, students and researchers.
When Audra McDonald was preparing to perform in “Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune” on Broadway this summer, she went to the library to watch the archive’s 1988 recording of the original Manhattan Theater Club production, starring Kathy Bates. The week that Mike Nichols died in 2014, he had an appointment to look at “Master Class,” a version of which he was planning to direct for HBO.
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Sander Vanocur, noted TV journalist.
Amazing bit of reporting by Cokie Roberts that has stuck with me: Her discovery of a letter from Louisa Adams detailing how members of Congress left behind *40 pregnant mistresses* after the extra-long session of 1820, necessitating more orphanage space–> https://t.co/CW4XxBRhNQ pic.twitter.com/iIoWce5LN2
— Steven Dennis (@StevenTDennis) September 17, 2019
Phyllis Newman, actress.
Ms. Newman won a Tony in 1962 as best featured actress in a musical for “Subways Are for Sleeping,” whose book and lyrics were written by her husband, Adolph Green, and his regular collaborator, Betty Comden. In the show, Ms. Newman played a long-term resident of the Brunswick Arms who, to stave off eviction, has shut herself in her room, a role that required Ms. Newman to spend the play in an unusual costume.
“Her line is that she is sick,” Howard Taubman wrote of the character in his review in The New York Times, “and to prove it she wears a towel wrapped around her excellently appointed torso. The only addition to her costume all evening is a pair of black gloves.”
Both my mother and the paper of record tell me that she was also a fixture on a lot of 70s game shows and talk shows, but I don’t remember that.
Cokie Roberts obit will probably be tomorrow, to give the dust time to settle.
Ric Ocasek, co-founder of The Cars and a good Cleveland boy.
Anne Rivers Siddons, novelist. She was one of those writers I’d heard of, and about, but I’ve never read any of her books.
T. Boone Pickens. Oklahoma State football hardest hit.
Diet Eman has passed away at 99.
Ms. Eman, at 20, was living with her parents and bicycling to work at the Twentsche Bank in The Hague when, in May 1940, the Germans, hours after Hitler had vowed to respect Dutch neutrality, invaded the Netherlands. Her sister’s fiancé was killed on the first of five days of fighting. (A brother died later in a Japanese prison camp.)
Some of her neighbors, fellow churchgoers, argued that for whatever reason, God in his wisdom must have willed the German invasion. But Ms. Eman — herself so deeply religious that she would leave assassinations, sabotage and, for the most part, even lying to others — could find no justification for such evil.
She and her boyfriend, Hein Seitsma, joined a Resistance group (coincidentally called HEIN, an acronym translated as “Help each other in need”). They began by spreading news received on clandestine radios from the British Broadcasting Corporation, then smuggling downed Allied pilots to England, either by boat across the North Sea or more circuitously through Portugal.
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A plea for help by Herman van Zuidan, a Jewish co-worker of Ms. Eman’s at the bank, prompted her Resistance group to focus on stealing food and gas ration cards, forging identity papers and sheltering hundreds of fugitive Jews.
She said of the German occupiers, “It was beyond their comprehension that we would risk so much for the Jews.”
Ms. Eman delivered supplies and moral support to one apartment in The Hague that in late 1942 housed 27 Jews in hiding. The walls were paper thin. Crying babies and even toilet flushing risked raising the suspicions of neighbors, who knew only that a woman had been living there alone.
Ms. Eman was captured at one point and briefly imprisoned in a concentration camp: she managed to convince the Germans she was an innocent housemaid who knew nothing. Her fiance was also captured and was killed at Dachau.
It has been a bad week for photographers.
Robert Frank, noted for “The Americans”.
“The Americans” challenged the presiding midcentury formula for photojournalism, defined by sharp, well-lighted, classically composed pictures, whether of the battlefront, the homespun American heartland or movie stars at leisure. Mr. Frank’s photographs — of lone individuals, teenage couples, groups at funerals and odd spoors of cultural life — were cinematic, immediate, off-kilter and grainy, like early television transmissions of the period. They would secure his place in photography’s pantheon. The cultural critic Janet Malcolm called him the “Manet of the new photography.”
But recognition was by no means immediate. The pictures were initially considered warped, smudgy, bitter. Popular Photography magazine complained about their “meaningless blur, grain, muddy exposures, drunken horizons, and general sloppiness.” Mr. Frank, the magazine said, was “a joyless man who hates the country of his adoption.”
Neil Montanus. He worked in several different areas of photography, including underwater and microscopic. But he was perhaps most famous as one of Kodak’s leading “Colorama” photographers: he took 55 out of the 565 photos, which were displayed in Manhattan’s Grand Central Terminal between 1950 and 1990.
I kind of wish “On Taking Pictures” was still doing new shows, as I figure Jeffery Saddoris and Bill Wadman would have a lot to say about these two.
Finally: Daniel Johnston, singer/songwriter and Austin icon. Don’t have much to say: for me, he fell into the same category as Roky Erickson.