Three very different celebrities this week. A unifying factor (for me, not for them) is their association with my 1970's.
Ed McMahon:: I associated him with security. Growing up, we typically lived in small frame houses. Not very well insulated for sound. I know that all was right in my world, everyone was home and safe and finished with the day when I heard Ed's voice boom heerrrrrreeee's Johnny! at that point I could roll over and go to sleep, tv light flickering under the bedroom door. Fast forward a couple of decades, and I entertained notions of him showing up at my door. *Somebody* had to win the Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes, righ?
Farrah: as a young teeny bop, my friends and I would walk down to the Mall. The main activity was giggling with the people you knew. But we also spent time going through the stores like Spencer's, Woolworth and JC Penney's. Every where you turned, there was Farrah. Big unreal gorgeous grin. Red swimsuit. Omigod, is that her nipple? She left Charlie's Angels early in the show's run. I admired the diversity of roles that she took. She didn't want to be "just another pretty face". she died fighting, and transcended the cancer.
Michael Jackson: Off the Wall came out in 1979. Funk made acceptable for lil white girls, at least in the south. Crowds of us would dance to Don't Stop until You Get Enough. Off the Wall. I did not buy this album (you know, round thin black discs. They had'em then ) I didn't need to buy it. He was everywhere. By the time Thriller came out, I was Miz Too Cool and off into Austin's Punk scene. Obviously anything that Micheal put out didn't *matter*. Over the last couple of decades, I watched his trainwreck ride to freaky pathetic possible pervert with the a feeling of detached revulsion.
huh. Now they are dead.
Bad week to be a 70's icon I guess.
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