Two icons from my childhood are dead and I feel strangely unaffected.
First, let’s discuss the one with the bad plastic surgery and bizarre behavior. Oh, I guess I should be more specific.
Farrah Fawcett’s famous poster came out in 1976, my sophomore year in high school, so you can bet I was no stranger to it. Most of my friends had Farrah’s poster in their bedrooms and I admired it many times. But my own wall was adorned with Raquel Welch’s “10,000 Years B.C.” poster.
Sure, Farrah was hot — but kind of ditzy and plastic for my taste back in those “Charlie’s Angels” days. She eventually became a better actress – but her off-screen behavior was ditzier than ever. I just never really connected with her even though she was a native Texan.
Michael Jackson was closer to my age; we were born a year apart. A 45-rpm copy of the Jackson Five’s “ABC” was in my record stack as a kid and I watched his television performances on “Ed Sullivan” with my parents. Later, in my 20s, I wasn’t much of a dancer but his “Thriller” songs during the disco days could get me on my feet.
And I’ll never forget his live performance of “Man in the Mirror” at the 1988 Grammy Awards. That was magic.
But again there was a disconnect. The plastic surgeries and odd behavior and obsession with little boys… . I couldn’t relate.
Oh, well, I wish both Farrah and Michael happy days in the afterlife, if there is one.