Dead Porn Star #1.

Taylor Summers
1980? - Feb. 29, 2004
Taylor Summers (born Natel King) was a Canadian-born model and porn actress who was reported missing on Feb. 29, 2004. I can honestly tell you that I don't remember seeing her, or even hearing about her, before I was looking for deaths on this day. She didn't make a huge impact, and most porn actresses don't. I don't think there was an abundance of screen work from her, and the IMDB has no listing of her in anything.

Most of the info I have on her comes from a "charity event" for her and another actress on Fetish Movies:

The ladies that participated and donated their time we thank you. We will be donating 100% of the profits of the DVD to the families of two adult actresses who have had their careers cut short by tragic circumstances. Adult film actress Taylor Summers disappeared after a photo shoot in Conshohocken, Pennsylvania, on February 29th. Her body was discovered by authorities three weeks later in nearby Whitemarsh Township. Shannon, a beautiful young woman just getting started in the business, suffered an epileptic seizure while cooking, catching her sweater on fire. Shannon was badly burned on over 40% of her body. By the time she was found and rushed to the hospital, her medical bills have gone up to $750,000. Her family is in dire need of help to cover the costs of Shannon's treatment.

And this, copied whole cloth from Porn Star Updates:

Taylor Summers, born Natel King, was a Canadian born porn star who mostly appeared in fetish porn shoots. In March of 2004 King’s nude body was found down a deep ravine in Whitemarsh, PA, a suburb of Philadelphia. She was found draped in black fabric secured with duct tape, bound with straps and a ball gag. Her body had multiple stab wounds to both her chest and hands indicating a struggle with her murderer.

Police quickly arrested and charged photographer Anthony Frederick, 47, and his assistant Jennifer Mitkus alleging that the murder occurred during a bondage shoot gone terribly wrong. Police speculated on the possibility that the murder might have been recorded and that King may have unknowingly been the subject of a snuff shoot.

In August of 2005, Frederick was found guilty and sentenced to 24-51 years in prison for the murder. At sentencing he issued a verbal apology to the King family during which King’s mother fled the courtroom in tears. Frederick claims the murder took place during an altercation over money immediately following the photo shoot although evidence suggests otherwise. King was 23 years old at the time of her death.

Again, I know nothing more than this, and I can only find one picture of her on the internet. Anyone curious about the title of this post, "Dead Porn Star #1", will find that there are many, many dead and (especially murdered) porn stars. You will see, as the days go by, that I am correct.

The Man Who Did Not Invent Las Vegas.

Bugsy Siegel
February 28, 1906 – June 20, 1947
You remember the 1991 Warren Beatty film Bugsy, right? Beatty, as Siegel, is driving through the desert with Annette Bening and Harvey Keitel in the 1940s when he has to take a leak. While leaking, Siegel decides to build a great expansive casino on that very spot. He draws up plans and builds the Flamingo, thereby inventing Las Vegas as we know it.

And that's correct...except the part that's utter crap.

Las Vegas was incorporated as a city in 1905, as you may be aware, and gambling was legalized long before Bugsy came to town. In fact, there were already casinos, mostly downtown on Fremont Street. The El Cortez was already there, as were the Golden Nugget, the Sal Sagev (now the Golden Gate), El Rancho Vegas, and the Last Frontier. In fact, the Flamingo was already there, though only partially constructed, when Siegel took over on behalf of his "business associates" in the Chicago Outfit.

Siegel and his associates had already made some money by buying the El Cortez for $600,000 and selling it for a $166,000 profit. This is not mentioned in the film...which, while a decent flick, is filled with lies.

How Siegel convinced Hollywood Reporter owner Billy Wilkerson (who was building the Flamingo) to let him take over isn't quite clear. The story is that the cost of building the hotel was getting out of control and Wilkerson was strapped for cash. But maybe, just maybe, Wilkerson also liked the idea having all his blood stay inside his body. I'm just sayin'.

But it is known that Siegel caused cost overruns on the Flamingo and it made the mob nervous. By the time it finally opened it cost several million dollars more than projected and, while a financial success, it was suspected that Bugsy and his girlfriend Virginia Hill were skimming money. Siegel was shot to death at Virginia's home in Los Angeles on June 20, 1947. She wasn't home. She later fled to Austria where she committed suicide in 1966. The end of the film Bugsy indicates that she returned the money she and Siegel skimmed, but this can't be proven and the mob doesn't give receipts.

The final shot of the film Bugsy shows footage of 1991-era Las Vegas and a note about how much money is spent there today as a result of "Bugsy Siegel's dream". I won't argue that Bugsy contributed to the founding of Las Vegas as we know it, but he invented nothing. The mob was already in Vegas, and I believe that it still would have all happened without him.

Bugsy Siegel was nothing more than a punk and a killer, his contributions to Las Vegas have been vastly overrated, and he dressed like a clown. The end.

Death, 2...Blondes with Giant Breasts, 0.

Angela Aames
Feb. 27, 1956 - Nov. 27, 1988
If you know me, and by now you surely do, then you know what I'm all about. Hell, the very first post in this blog was all about my perfect woman...Anna Nicole Smith. The blonder the bimbo and the bigger the boobs, the more willing I am to fall for her. And that's as it should be. God made beautiful women for us to stare at...and as long as they're showing it off, I'm there to watch. You're welcome.

And such is the case with Angela Aames. You'd have to be a pretty big b-movie nerd to have even heard of her, much less to have followed her career. Well, turns out I have, and I am. Born in South Dakota in 1956, Angela Aames came to Hollywood in the 1970s and began to appear in cheap b-movies. Being blonde and having large natural breasts was a bonus, of course...but in fact she was a gifted comedic actress. She trained at the Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute and Harvey Lembeck's Comedy Workshop before landing (largely naked) roles in the movies Fairy Tales and H.O.T.S.. It might not surprise you to know that I've tracked these down and have owned copies for years.

She later got more substantial roles in The Lost Empire and Bachelor Party and appeared on Night Court several times before landing a recurring role in The Dom DeLuise Show.

But as it sometimes goes with these things she was found dead at a friend's home on Nov. 27, 1988 from what the coroner would later determine to be a deterioration of the heart muscle, probably caused by a virus. She was beautiful and had a promising career and it's unfortunate that she died at the age of 32.

But, on the other hand, at least Phil Spector didn't kill her.

Up Front There Oughta Be a Man in Black.

Johnny Cash
Feb. 26, 1922 - Sep. 12, 2003
As little as I know about Johnny Cash, I can honestly tell you that he had a way of taking a song and making it his own. The finest example of this is his cover of the Nine Inch Nails song "Hurt", recorded late in his career. He took a good song and made it great....truly great. Johnny Cash, who was born on this day in 1922, had a long career in country music. Having been born and raised in Texas, I was obliged to listen to him on virtually a daily basis. It's very much in the same way that a Canadian is forced to listen to Rush, or a person from Alabama gets constant and repeated exposure to Lynyrd Skynyrd. Having heard him so much I am quite familiar with his work, even though I have never been a country music "fan" per se. I like some of his songs, sure, and he had a great (especially speaking) voice, but he never really was my thing. I did enjoy his work with Highwayman, though (the 1985 "supergroup" with Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, and Kris Kristofferson).

Johnny's wife, June Carter Cash, died from complications during heart valve surgery in May of 2003, and Johnny died from diabetes and other health issues on September 12, 2003. His home was purchased by Bee Gees vocalist Barry Gibb in 2006 but was destroyed by fire before he and his wife could move into it.

Three things you did not know about Johnny Cash:

1) Wrote a novel in 1986 called Man in White, about the Apostle Paul.
2) Narrated an audio book, Johnny Cash Reads The Complete New Testament, in 1990.
3) In 1991, sang vocals on a cover of his song "The Man in Black" for a Christian punk band called One Bad Pig.

Ya Doesn't Have to Call Me Johnson.

Catching up from yesterday's day off...


Michael Johnson
1939 - Feb. 24, 2001

Michael Johnson
1939 - Feb. 24, 2001
What are the odds? I mean, really. "Michael Johnson" is one of the more popular names in the internet movie database, apparently. And an actor named Michael Johnson, who was born in 1939, died on this day in 2001.

No, wait...make that two.

Two actors named Michael Johnson (with completely different IMDB resumes and lists of credits) died on this day, the same day, in 2001. And both were born in 1939, at an unknown date. One (Michael Johnson 1) was a British actor who appeared in and the other (Michael Johnson 2) was an actor who appeared in bit parts in E.R. and Walker, Texas Ranger. Are they the same person? Not according to the Internet Movie Database, they're not. It's bizarre, since MJ1's credits end in 1984, and MJ2's credits pick up in 1985. They carry on until his last appearance in 2000. I suspect that they're the same person...but it doesn't appear so to the IMDB, which is considered to be dang near infallible on such matters.

It's weird, I tell you.



James Coco
Mar. 21, 1930 - Feb. 25, 1987
James Coco was a Broadway and movie actor who was known for being overweight and prematurely bald. This lent him to a lot of comedic roles, and the Neil Simon play Last of the Red Hot Lovers was written specifically for him. He went on to win a Tony award for that role. He also appeared in the Neil Simon films Murder By Death, The Cheap Detective, and Only When I Laugh (for which he was nominated for an Oscar). In the last few years of his life, Coco took to dieting, and he lost an incredible amount of weight. He wrote a diet cookbook and had a recurring role on Who's the Boss?. It is my memory that Coco then put a lot of the weight back on, and he suddenly died of a heart attack at age 56. Bummer. He was a really funny guy.


Darren McGavin
May 7, 1922 - Feb. 25, 2006
Darren McGavin was a great actor with a long list of credits, but is best remembered for two roles: newspaper reporter Karl Kolchak in the 1970s horror TV series Kolchak: The Night Stalker and the father in the 1983 classic A Christmas Story. It all really depends on where you're from, and how old you are. It's blasphemy to members of my generation, but I never cared for A Christmas Story. I was, however, crazy about The Night Stalker, a mediocre and short-lived TV series based on a fantastic 1971 TV movie. If you've never seen it, it concerns a reporter on the trail of a vampire in Las Vegas. It is notable for being the highest rated TV movie of its time. The series that followed broke ground that made series like The X-Files possible, and McGavin himself later guest-starred in a memorable episode of that show. Died of natural causes at a fairly old age.

Death Takes a Holiday!

Back tomorrow!

Shakespeare? More Like Fakespeare!

Christopher Marlowe
Feb. 23, 1564 - May 30, 1593

Christopher Marlowe was a prolific English playwright who died in a bar fight at the age of 29. He is little remembered when you compare him to his more famous contemporary, William Shakespeare. So why bother remembering him at all?

That's because he was Shakespeare. Maybe.

More than a few scholars believe that it was Marlowe wrote most, if not all, of Shakespeare's plays. He was a marked man in a lot of trouble with the law for his writings and it's believed that he faked his death and continued to write plays, but recruited an uneducated actor to claim he wrote them.

There's actually a pretty strong case to be made that Marlowe faked his own death. The first Shakespeare plays began to suddenly appear only weeks after Marlowe's funeral, there was a great similarity in the writing styles, and then there's the matter of average word size. Both Shakespeare and Marlowe had an average word size of 4.2 letters, and many scholars point toward this as the best proof that both writers were the same individual.

But again, and this can not be stressed strongly enough: Shakespeare had absolutely no education. In no way could he have had the understanding of history and the monarchy that he did. He seems to have appeared from nowhere and been instantly possessed by the spirit of Marlowe, with all of his writing abilities and knowledge. This is why Queen Elizabeth, during the Essex Rebellion, suggested that Marlowe had been the author of Richard II.

Sadly, as with JFK and the Loch Ness Monster, no one will ever know for sure. The only thing that can be said is that it defies common sense that a poor, unschooled actor would suddenly gain the ability to become the most famous playwright in the history of the world. It's as if Carrot Top suddenly won Best Actor at the Academy Awards...not impossible, mind you, but highly unlikely.

I'm just sayin'.

The Magic Voice and the Golden Harp.

Alexander Scourby
Nov. 13, 1913 - Feb. 22, 1985

Again, I must stress that if you do only one thing and do it better than everyone else, you'll be famous. This is a philosophy I stole directly from Col. Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame, but I must add that he is dead and cannot, therefore, sue my ass.

One man who did sue and win from beyond the grave was Alexander Scourby.

Now, Scourby was an actor with an incredible voice, and is credited on the Internet Movie Database with having appeared in at 78 least projects. But none of these are what made him famous, nor was his abundant stage work (he appeared in at least four productions of Hamlet and played a different role in each). No, Alexander Scourby made his name by reading The Bible. The whole Bible, front to back.

He recorded the entire King James Bible in from 1941-44 for the American Foundation for the Blind, and these recordings became bestsellers when released to the general public as The Talking Bible in 1966. You might remember we used to listen to these things on vinyl discs called "records", and the entire set contained 169 of these funny round objects and ran 84.5 hours. It is now part of the Library of Congress' National Recording Registry.

Scourby re-recorded the entire Bible again in 1972-74 for the Episcopal Radio and TV Foundation. He agreed to a reduced fee if proceeds from the sales were to go to non-profit purposes, but filed a lawsuit when tapes were released commercially as the "Authorized Alexander Scourby's Latest Narration". This suit raged on for years, and Scourby died before it could be resolved in 1990. The verdict handed the rights to the 1970s recording to the deceased Scourby and drove the Episcopal Radio and TV Foundation out of business.

While Alexander Scourby is known to have read the entire Bible at least twice, he didn't seem to have any particular religious affiliation.

Bah, Godless Hollywood types!

God's Own Shock Jock.

Dr. Gene Scott
Aug. 14, 1929 - Feb. 21, 2005

I was probably in my early-mid 20s when I experienced this, so it had to be the early 1990s, late at night, on some cable channel that probably doesn't even exist anymore. There was this old guy sitting in a chair, screaming at viewers to send him money. Then suddenly there would be videotape of some horses. And this videotape would go on and on, and the old guy would come on again and scream some more. Then the horses again. And it seemed to go on for hours.

This was Dr. Gene Scott, who died from a stroke three years ago today.

It's amazing to watch someone who is the best at what they do. It doesn't even matter what they're doing...it's just incredible to watch them work. This was the thing about Gene Scott. Some called him a con artist, but if he was, he was a very good con artist, and that makes all the difference.

When he wasn't ranting about Atlantis, government conspiracies, or UFOs, Gene Scott was preaching the Bible, often from the original Greek texts. He would sit and take apart every symbol, every sentence, every paragraph, everything. He knew it back and forth, and would use chalkboards and dry eraser boards to make his points.

He was married three times, the last time to Melissa Pastore, previously known as porn actress and producer Barbie Bridges. She studied with Scott for years and upon his death took over his church and currently appears on TV doing lectures in front of dry eraser boards. She does as he did, translating the Bible in fifty different ways that would have made him proud. Turns out she's a natural at this. Go figure.

You can still see and hear Gene Scott's message on the internet. Thousands of hours of his teachings and rantings are still out there, so it's like he never really left us. It's reassuring...because in the age of videotape, the internet, and YouTube, nothing is truly lost any more. And this is important, because future generations need Dr. Gene Scott...just as they need living legends such as Ron Jeremy, Jerry Springer, and Larry King. American masters, each and every one.

Because, as I said, and as Gene Scott's life proved...it's not so much what you do, as long as you do it well.

It Never Got Weird Enough.

Hunter S. Thompson
July 18, 1937 - Feb. 20, 2005

In this entry, I'll rely on Wikipedia a bit more than usual. I think that's because the subject at hand, Hunter S. Thompson, is at best an enigma. He was at once a public celebrity and a recluse. It was as if he had the ability to vanish at will and reappear only when he felt like it, to perhaps write a column or story.

Hunter S. Thompson was a great writer. His writing was powerful, truthful, and fearless. He was also an anti-social, paranoid, drug-taking, unpredictable loose cannon. But perhaps that came with the territory when you wholly and completely invented a style of journalism and influenced generations of budding writers.

A long time before I really knew anything about Hunter Thompson, I liked him. I liked the idea of him, even before I ever read a word he wrote. Traveling around, getting into adventures, pissing people off, and then writing about it...that's the Real American Dream. And you never even really knew if what you were reading actually happened, or he just made it up in his head. It didn't matter, because it still made the point. I wish I had gotten into his work when I was a teen, back when I was reading J.D. Salinger and Kurt Vonnegut, because it would have made even more of an impression on me.

If you believe Hunter Thompson's Wikipedia entry, he killed himself three years ago today. Or maybe he didn't.

Thompson died at his self-described "fortified compound" known as "Owl Farm" in Woody Creek, Colorado, at 5:42 p.m. on February 20, 2005, from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.

Thompson's son (Juan), daughter-in-law (Jennifer Winkel Thompson) and grandson (Will Thompson) were visiting for the weekend at the time of his suicide. Will and Jennifer were in the adjacent room when they heard the gunshot. Mistaking the shot for the sound of a book falling, they continued with their activities for a few minutes before checking on him. Thompson was sitting at his typewriter with the word "counselor" written in the center of the page.

Paul William Roberts in his Globe and Mail article of Saturday, February 26, 2005 wrote the following:

Hunter telephoned me on Feb. 19, the night before his death. He sounded scared. It wasn't always easy to understand what he said, particularly over the phone, he mumbled, yet when there was something he really wanted you to understand, you did. He'd been working on a story about the World Trade Center attacks and had stumbled across what he felt was hard evidence showing the towers had been brought down not by the airplanes that flew into them but by explosive charges set off in their foundations. Now he thought someone was out to stop him publishing it: "They're gonna make it look like suicide," he said. "I know how these bastards think . . ."

They reported to the press that they do not believe his suicide was out of desperation, but was a well-thought out act resulting from Thompson's many painful medical conditions. Thompson's wife, Anita, who was at a gym at the time of her husband's death, was on the phone with him when he ended his life.

What family and police describe as a suicide note was delivered to his wife four days before his death and later published by Rolling Stone Magazine. Entitled "Football Season Is Over",it read:

"No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt"

Artist and friend Ralph Steadman wrote:

"...He told me 25 years ago that he would feel real trapped if he didn't know that he could commit suicide at any moment. I don't know if that is brave or stupid or what, but it was inevitable. I think that the truth of what rings through all his writing is that he meant what he said. If that is entertainment to you, well, that's OK. If you think that it enlightened you, well, that's even better. If you wonder if he's gone to Heaven or Hell — rest assured he will check out them both, find out which one Richard Milhous Nixon went to — and go there. He could never stand being bored. But there must be Football too — and Peacocks..."

On August 20, 2005, in a private ceremony, Thompson's ashes were fired from a cannon atop a 153-foot tower of his own design (in the shape of a double-thumbed fist clutching a peyote button) to the tune of Bob Dylan's "Mr. Tambourine Man", known to be the song most respected by the late writer. Red, white, blue, and green fireworks were launched along with his ashes. As the city of Aspen would not allow the cannon to remain for more than a month, the cannon has been dismantled and put into storage until a suitable permanent location can be found. According to widow Anita Thompson, the actor Johnny Depp, a close friend of Thompson (and portrayer of Raoul Duke, Thompson's fictional alter ego, in the movie adaptation of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas), financed the funeral. Depp told the Associated Press, "All I'm doing is trying to make sure his last wish comes true. I just want to send my pal out the way he wants to go out."

Other famous attendees at the funeral included U.S. Senator John Kerry and former U.S. Senator George McGovern; 60 Minutes correspondent Ed Bradley; actors Bill Murray (who portrayed Hunter S. Thompson in the movie Where the Buffalo Roam), Sean Penn, and Josh Hartnett; singers Lyle Lovett and John Oates, the poet Trip Lucid; and numerous other friends. An estimated 280 people attended the funeral.

Sorry. Borrowed heavily from Wikipedia there. It's good to have a free source of semi-reliable information available when words escape you.

The best words to describe him come from Thompson himself, taken his novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas:

"Too weird to live, too rare to die."

Too Tough to Die.

Lee Marvin
Feb. 19, 1924 - Aug. 29, 1987

Lee Marvin was tough. He ate nails for breakfast, and spit thumbtacks. He had a head full of hate and a heart full of snakes and he once shot a man just for snoring. Something like that.

Or, perhaps not.

But he was one of Hollywood's toughest tough guys, and he did serve as a sniper in World War II in the 4th Marine Division. He was wounded in the Battle of Saipan, and most of his platoon was killed in the battle. He was awarded the Purple Heart and given a medical discharge. Marvin turned to acting and began a career playing tough guy roles, and graduated to leading man status. Ultimately he won the 1965 Academy Award for Best Actor for Cat Ballou and had a hit song ("Wandrin' Star" from 1969's Paint Your Wagon).

Like Oliver Reed, he also turned down the role of Quint in Jaws, but later apparently regretted it. But consider this: Robert Shaw, who took the role, died of a heart attack. Oliver Reed died of a heart attack. And Lee Marvin died of a heart attack. Jaws kills.

Though he never intended to, Lee Marvin made a lasting contribution to the American legal system. Ever hear of "palimony"? That was his baby. From the web site of the California Family Law Institute:

"The first palimony suit was brought by a girlfriend of the actor Lee Marvin, Michelle Triola, back in 1977. The lawsuit stated that Lee Marvin had promised to support Michelle Triola for the rest of her life. Then she alledged that she had given up a promising singing and acting career to be Lee Marvin's constant companion, traveling partner, and to assist him. Lee Marvin was married to Mrs. Lee Marvin at the time. The suit went to trial. It established the principal that "live-in-lovers" can sue on supposed oral contracts also called "pillow-talk" contracts. Ms. Triola never received a single dollar from Lee Marvin. She was not able to establish all the requisite requirements. On appellant remand The California Supreme Court sent it back to the Trial Tourt. The trial court then attempted to give Ms. Triola $150,000 in rehabilitation money. That too went to the California Supreme Court. The California Supreme Court ruled that no rehabilitation could be ordered."

You see? You learn something new every day. Well, I learn something new every day. That's because not only am I a complete idiot, I forget everything I know and have to re-learn it the next day. But I do know not to promise to support some wench for the rest of her life...and I can circumvent any payments to said wench by having absolutely no money whatsoever. Thanks, Lee Marvin!

The Man With the Flanders Moustache.

Dale Earnhardt
April 29, 1951 – February 18, 2001

The night of February 18, 2001, I finished up my fast-food job and walked into a Rainbow Foods store in Saint Paul, Minnesota. I was confronted by a life-size cardboard display of a smiling man with a cookie. That cookie was an Oreo, and that man was NASCAR driver Dale Earnhardt, who had died only hours before in a crash at that afternoon's Daytona 500. I thought it odd, that the display was still standing...and I wondered how long it would continue to do so.

If I had been in a grocery store in Alabama, the Oreo cookie display might have been covered by flowers and cards, or it might have been removed completely by weeping fans. As it was, I was in a midwest state that cared not for racing...and yet, my crazy assistant manager had made a note in the daily sales log that went (and I'm paraphrasing, but she was just nutty enough to say this word-for-word):

"Sales slow today because of crash of Dale Earnhardt. We are saddened by this, and we'll miss you, #3."

I never understood auto racing. I mean, good on you all for finding something you love and making a living at it, but I never thought that putting your foot on the accelerator and moving the steering wheel one direction or another was a sport. It never rang true, and it still doesn't.

Want to know if what you're doing is a sport? If a 90-year-old man can do it, it's not a sport. Get in car, turn key, push gas, turn wheel. Not a sport.

I'm just sayin'.

Deadpan Dan is a Dead Man, Man.

Dan O'Herlihy
May 1, 1919 - Feb. 17, 2005
A great character actor who played many roles from the '40s right up until the late 1990s, and who died three years ago today. You don't know the name, not really, but you know the roles he played. He was Grig in The Last Starfighter, Andrew Packer in Twin Peaks, the evil Cochran in Halloween III, and "The Old Man" in RoboCop...in which he uttered the famous line (to Ronny Cox) "You're fired!"

"...Eight more days 'til Halloween, Silver Shamrock!"

Three Dead People...In 100 Words Or Less

No real unifying theme today, except I'm talking about dead people. That count? These are short, short essays...each a very non-typical 100 words or less...

Sonny Bono
Feb. 16, 1935 – Jan. 5, 1998
It's amazing that Sonny Bono lived as long as he did, because he began his career working as a promotion man for insane music producer/murderer Phil Spector. He married and created the Frankenstein monster that is Cher and later went on to pursue a career in politics. He was introduced to Scientology by Mimi Rogers, the giant-breasted nutcase ex-wife of Tom Cruise. Sonny was killed in a so-called "skiing accident" on January 5, 1998. But just between me and you, it was either the Democrats or Scientologists that whacked him.

Margaux Hemingway
Feb. 16, 1954 – July 1, 1996
Margaux Hemingway was the granddaughter of famous novelist Ernest Hemingway and the sister of actress Mariel Hemingway. She was named after the wine her parents were drinking the night she was conceived. In honor of this she became an alcoholic, and when she finally quit drinking she changed the spelling of her name to Margot. Although a hot and fabulous babe, she had a long history of drug abuse and depression. This destroyed her modeling and acting careers and she committed suicide at the age of 42 by an overdose of phenobarbital. Bummer, huh?

Harry Goz
Feb. 16, 1932 – Sept. 6, 2003
Harry Goz was a respected Broadway theater actor and voice artist. This is all well and good, but everything pales in comparison to the fact that he was the voice of the Captain Murphy on the Cartoon Network's Sealab 2021. This was a great show...but after he died of cancer it lost its magic and was quickly cancelled. His son Michael Goz did the voice of new Captain "Tornado" Shanks and replaced him on the show. They're available on DVD now, so you have no excuse.

One Out of Three Ain't Dead

Cesar Romero
Feb. 15, 1907 – Jan. 1, 1994

Heath Ledger
Apr. 4, 1979 – Jan. 22, 2008

I must admit I didn't see the most recent Batman movie, Batman Begins, and I probably won't see this year's upcoming Batman The Dark Knight. While I did like Tim Burton's 1989 Batman, the awful sequels left me flat. Same with Superman, really. But that's not really the point.

The new Batman sequel caused a lot of buzz when Brokeback Mountain star Heath Ledger was cast as the Joker and then even more talk when he died suddenly last month, sparking rumors of a "Joker curse". Well let's clear this up...there is no curse. Heath Ledger died of an overdose of prescription drugs (accidental or intentional) and Cesar Romero (the Joker from the 1960s Batman TV show who was born 101 years ago today) died because he was old. Period.

If there is a Joker curse, it hasn't affected Jack Nicholson, who played the part the 1989 version. He declined to take a salary but instead took a cut of the film's merchandising, thereby earning many times what he otherwise would have. Since then, he's continued to make (mostly unwatchable) movies, including 1994's Hoffa and 2007's The Bucket List. No one seems to remember that Nicholson publicly bemoaned the fact that no one had asked the 70-year-old actor to reprise his Joker role in the new film. He was the worst thing about the 1989 film because he was too old for the part then. Geez.

To make matters worse, Nicholson gave an interview after Ledger's death in which he said he knew that the young actor had a problem. I'm not sure how Jack knew this, unless he was stalking him. I wonder if he called the director and asked if they needed an actor to fill the role of the Joker. What? Too soon?

In all of this, Cesar Romero's frantic portrayal of the first Joker is largely ignored. He was a good actor and didn't seem too old to be the Joker, even though he was in his 60s when he got the part. He refused to shave his moustache for the role, so if you look closely it's just covered by white makeup. And, not that it makes any difference, but I only discovered that Cesar Romero was gay moments ago. Today I guess it wouldn't be as big of a deal, but under the old Hollywood system, being an open homosexual could ruin your career.

But the most interesting tidbit I learned about Cesar Romero is this, quoted directly from his Wikipedia entry:

Romero believed in 'liberation theology,' a political system combining Marxism with Christianity, which purports that, despite the fact that Karl Marx called religion 'the opiate of the masses,' religion and communism are still compatible. Romero was very Christian yet still believed in a utopian society whose belief is that Christ's kingdom would be very similar to Marx's envisionment of communism, and held to this belief until his death.

You learn the most interesting things about people from their Wikipedia entries. I can only wonder how much you see there is true. I'd check Jack Nicholson's entry, but I don't really care that much.

A Hoffa You Can't Refuse

Jimmy Hoffa
Feb. 14, 1913 – July 30, 1975 (Allegedly)

You know, nothing says Valentine's Day like hired union goons. While some folks deliver candy and flowers on this day, still others deliver shakedowns and beatings. This is as it should be...circle of life and all that. Such a man was Teamster boss Jimmy Hoffa.

Look. I'll be honest with you. I know nothing about Jimmy Hoffa, and I really don't care. The fact that people have spent the last 33 years looking for him and haven't found a thing is the interesting part.

When Jimmy Hoffa got in that car on July 30, 1975, he probably didn't know that he would vanish off the face of the earth. If he had, then getting into that car would be a goofy thing to do. I mean, he saw The Godfather, right? That's what happened to Carlo. But of course Carlo had it coming. He infiltrated the family and got Sonny killed. Most people agree that Jimmy Hoffa also had it coming...he was most certainly not a shiny happy person. He was born 94 years ago on this very day...and, while no body has ever been found, we can all be relatively certain that he's not blowing out any candles today.

Hoffa worked his way to the top, became a major union leader, etc, etc. That part of the story isn't that fascinating to me. What is interesting is how he formed alliances with organized crime and had people beaten and (probably) knocked off. He had a personal war going with Attorney General Robert Kennedy, and they apparently ended up at the same party at some point and had an arm-wrestling contest (Hoffa said he won).

I'm intrigued by Hoffa's probable connection to the JFK assassination. If you're familiar with Oliver Stone's movie JFK, you know that New Orleans D.A. Jim Garrison dismissed the possibility of mob involvement in the assassination. This is because Garrison himself was a degenerate gambler and owed a lot of money to New Orleans mob boss Carlos Marcello. Don't even get me started on the whole JFK thing...just know that Hoffa was mobbed up through his union connections and the mob and the anti-Castro Cubans all hated Kennedy. Hell, everybody hated Kennedy.

But I digress.

Point is, Hoffa pissed some people off and he got whacked. And nobody seems to know what happened, and there never was any blood or a body or anything. He disappeared real good. It's as if he was sucked up into an alien spacecraft...but if so, the anal probing was probably not that strange for a guy who did as much prison time as he did.

I think it's important that they never find out what happened to Hoffa. I think mysteries like this (and D.B. Cooper and Amelia Earhardt) will never and should never be solved. These mysteries are an important part of our national culture...so don't screw with it.

So happy birthday, Jimmy. And, to the rest of you, have a happy Valentine's Day. Or we'll have your legs broken.

The Oliver Reed Memorial Drinking Binge and Hurl-Off

Oliver Reed
Feb. 13, 1937 – May 2,1999

"Richard Burton was hitting the bottle with Jimmy Hurt the night before his death. He knew it was going to kill him, but he did not stop. I don't have a drink problem. But if that was the case and doctors told me I would have to stop, I'd like to think I would be brave enough to drink myself into the grave."

Before we begin, I'll state the obvious: Oliver Reed was not the greatest actor who ever lived. He wasn't bad, mind you, but I didn't particularly care for his acting. He was hammy and artsy and pretentious. But he had an incredible reputation for partying and drinking and fighting...and he literally drank himself to death. I respect this sort of dedication, and (in the absence of a deceased starlet with breasts larger than her head) this is enough for Oliver Reed to be today's Dead Person of the Day.

I think the reason I never cared for him goes back to my childhood. Back in the days when there were such things as "late movies" on regular (not cable) TV, I caught a showing of Burnt Offerings and the last five minutes or so horrified me. I can't think of Oliver Reed without thinking of Karen Black in the old lady getup pushing him out the window and him landing face-first on the car windshield. I was probably 9 or 10 when I caught this...and while it's not really a scary (or good) movie, it made an impression.

But that's neither here nor there. Him singing in Tommy was just as horrifying, if you ask me. No, the reason I've developed a new appreciation for Oliver Reed is due to the stories of his manliness.

He turned down roles in Jaws and The Sting that later went to Robert Shaw because he just didn't feel like going to California. He was stabbed in the neck while filming The Three Musketeers (1973) and nearly died. But didn't. He got in a bar fight in 1963 and it took 36 stitches to repair the damage to his face. Went on a drinking spree with Steve McQueen and threw up on him. Very nearly replaced Sean Connery as James Bond, but his out-of-control drinking and partying put an end to it (he would have been fantastic, by the way). A legendary adventure has Reed and 36 rugby players drinking 60 gallons of beer, 32 bottles of Scotch, 17 bottles of gin, four crates of wine and one bottle of Babycham -- all in one night.

But the greatest Oliver Reed story is the last one. On a lunch break during the filming of Gladiator in Malta in 1999, Reed drank three bottles of Captain Morgan's Jamaica rum, eight bottles of German beer, several doubles of Famous Grouse whiskey, and beat five much younger Royal Navy sailors at arm-wrestling. Then he promptly dropped dead of a heart attack on the spot, completely avoiding the bar tab (about $900 U.S.). Fantastic.

"I have two ambitions in life: one is to drink every pub dry, the other is to sleep with every woman on earth."

This is a life philosophy I can get in line with. God bless you, Oliver Reed.

Abe-solutely Fabulous!

Abraham Lincoln
Feb. 12, 1809 – April 15, 1865

When you were a kid, you remember how you knew you were in real trouble? When you got called by your entire name. Right down to the stupid middle name and everything. You could go your entire life avoiding your middle name, never being called by it, and even denying you even had a middle name...but let them find out you smuggled the August 1981 issue of Playboy home, and man, you were done. Over. Sure, it was the same day your dog died, the same day that Harry Chapin died, but it was your thirteen-year-old ass that was on the line.

But I digress.

Point is, there are guys in history whose middle name you never would have known, except they really screwed up. Or rather, succeeded. Succeeded at being bad. Guys like Mark David Chapman, Lee Harvey Oswald, and John Wilkes Booth...two names good, three names bad.

Make no mistake. Although he was a brilliant, brilliant man, Abraham Lincoln (born 199 years ago today) couldn't get elected to anything these days. No one with a beard can compete in politics anymore. And under that beard, Abe was so hideous that he would make Neil Young look like Hugh Grant. Radio hadn't even been invented yet and he already had a face for it. But he unified his country and his assassination on April 14, 1865 made him a martyr. John Wilkes Booth, who shot Lincoln, actually did the President a favor and made him immortal.

Now don't get me wrong. By "immortal" I don't mean that Booth made Lincoln a Highlander. As you're well aware, there can be only one. Lincoln at best was considered a so-so President while alive...but death made him a figure of major historical importance. Nice going, John Wilkes Jerk.

The story should end there, and yet...I never did know when to let things be. The greatest thing that you never knew about Abe Lincoln isn't really about him at all. It's about his wife, the batshit crazy Mary Todd Lincoln. Her Wikipedia entry says nothing about the fact that she spent a lot of time being locked in the basement of the White House, bouncing off the walls. She would hear voices in public and hired maids to keep her company during the night because she was afraid of falling asleep. In 1875 she was committed by her son Robert to the laughing house. In many ways she was both the Marie Osmond and the Britney Spears of her time. True.

But, speaking of "Honest Abe" Lincoln, what exactly did he do to merit this nickname? Apparently honesty was a common trait amongst our founding fathers, with George Washington also being allegedly honest as the day is long. George W. was copping to cutting down cherry trees while Abe was nothing more than a promising strain of DNA (which certainly existed, though nobody knew about it yet). I have yet to find any reason to believe Lincoln was more honest than anyone else of his era. Besides, it was the middle of the Civil War, and people ate dirt all the time. What the hell did they have to be dishonest about?!? They were keeping it real like a mofo.

Here's an interesting thing to note, and this one actually has something to do with Abe Lincoln. Numerous gangstas and hip-hop types speak of "Dead Presidents" in reference to money. This is all well and fine, but just keep in mind that the only treasury notes currently in circulation are the $1, $5, $10, $20, $50, and $100 bills. The bills all do, in fact, feature so-called "Dead Presidents" except for the $100 bill, which features Ben Franklin. Franklin, while a drunken swinging hedonist and sexual deviant, was never President...so hip-hoppers and gang members surely don't use this note for financial transactions. Which sucks, because using $100 bills can sure make that million-dollar drug buy much lighter than if you're using $20s and $50s.

I'm just sayin', yo.

The Godfather of Hazzard County

Sorrell Booke
Jan. 4, 1930 - Feb. 11, 1994

Okay. Let's see if I can get through this after two Seagram's Black Cherry Fizzes. I must admit the high blood pressure medicine has made me a lightweight when it comes to alcohol consumption, and I'd no doubt laugh out loud at even the Coy and Vance episodes of Dukes of Hazzard at this point.

So...Boss Hogg. Childhood friend and former moonshine-running associate of Uncle Jesse, now sworn to the destruction of all things Duke. From his headquarters at The Boar's Nest, he runs Hazzard county with an iron fist, or an iron boot...or an iron something. Point is, he's a badass. Big cigar, big white hat, owns a big gas-guzzling Cadillac convertible. He's a man of means, a man with a lot of juice.

So why didn't he just have them killed? It would just seem logical. He wanted the Dukes' land so bad, he could have them all shot and buried. No problem at all. What's up with that? Accidents happen. Farms burn. '69 Dodge Chargers explode. Happens every day. Sheriff Roscoe and Deputy Cletus could take care of the whole thing. Enos might not like it, but he would keep his mouth shut.

Why wasn't there ever an episode where Boss Hogg's voice came screaming from the office of the Boar's Nest, "I want Jesse Duke dead! I want his family dead! I want that farm burned to the ground!"?

But nobody died in Hazzard County, except of completely natural causes. I always wondered why, in the hundreds of accidents over all the seasons of the show, nobody was ever even injured. Never made sense to me...but then again, I was a kid.

Watching Dukes of Hazzard was a big part of my weekend ritual in the late '70s and early '80s. Along with The Muppet Show and The Incredible Hulk (in that order), it made my Friday night. Did I mention I was 10?

Sorrell Booke had a long, long career in television and the movies. He was best known as Boss Hogg, though...and in his later years he made the most of it. You might be surprised to know that he studied at Yale and Columbia University and mastered five languages. During the Korean War, he worked in counter-intelligence. Seriously.

The most shocking thing I learned about Boss Hogg was that he was not seriously overweight. He wore a fat suit that made him look larger.

Probably also slowed him down, or surely he would have caught those Duke boys. And surely would have had them killed, as they long deserved.

Dunking Baskets With the Lord

Jim Varney
June 15, 1949 - Feb. 10, 2000

Buddy the Wonder Dog
1988? - Feb. 10, 1998

So, the questions have been asked:

How long can you do this?
When will you run out of interesting people and miss a day?
How many dead people are there, anyway?

Well, today was almost that day. The basic premise of Dead Person of the Day, if I haven't given it already, is to discuss a deceased person either on the date of their birth or their death. Or, in special cases make a mention of them if they just died a day or two before. Or, whenever I feel like it...something like that.

So, I looked at my secret reserve of celebrity death and birth dates, and the only two for February 10 that stood out were a dead actor and a dead dog. So I thought, why not give them both shouts-out?

I freely admit, Jim Varney's presence in all those Ernest movies and commercials was pretty annoying. Truth is, he was a trained Shakespearean actor and was pretty versatile. He just got stuck in the Ernest role and it's the only thing he's really remembered for. His most notable non-Ernest role was Jed Clampett in the awful and forgettable 1995 Beverly Hillbillies movie. If I am to believe what I read, he was also good friends with Robin Williams, but I don't hold this against him. A heavy smoker, he developed lung cancer and died at age 50. At the time of his death, he had began work on Ernest the Pirate, but it was shelved and never released. I don't really know how to feel about that. I mean, I'm sorry the guy died...but on the other hand, no Ernest movie. Ya know?

Another cancer victim was Buddy the Wonder Dog, star of 1997's Air Bud. This film was the heartwarming (or is that heartworming?) story of an abused dog who becomes a basketball star. Buddy had been spotted by producers on a David Letterman "Stupid Pet Tricks" segment dunking basketballs and a film was written for him. In fact, there have been at least six sequels made, with the dog learning a different sport in each of them. But of course Buddy got cancer and died at age 9 ten years ago today...so all those other dogs are impostors. Bitches.

So yeah. I don't really have a unifying theme here. I probably could find one if I wanted, like "cancer is bad", or something of that nature.

So, don't get cancer. Or you'll be dead, and some moron will write an idiotic blog post about you and put your picture next to a dog.

Hot Chicks Beat Rock'n'Roll Every Time

Alberto Vargas
Feb. 9, 1896-Dec. 3, 1983

Bill Haley, most famous for the song "Rock Around the Clock", virtually invented rock'n'roll. In fact, he coined the word rock'n'roll. But even though he died on this date in 1981, this entry isn't about him. While rock'n'roll may be important, Dead Person of the Day is more about people who have had an impact on me personally. And if you know me, and know what I'm all about, then this is an obvious choice. So, no Bill Haley this time. No, in my opinion another figure looms larger, and the name of said figure is Alberto Vargas.

Who?

Let me explain.

I could just wholesale copy the Wikipedia entry for Alberto Vargas, but I don't see the point. The guy's been dead for nearly 25 years and most of you have never heard of him, but you know his work. Vargas did one thing only and he did it better than anyone else...he painted beautiful women. Thousands of 'em. Born in Peru on this day in 1896, he came to the United States in 1916 after studying art in Europe and worked for many Hollywood studios. His greatest fame came in the 1940s painting pin-ups for Esquire magazine. Many of these were adapted and put on the noses of American fighter aircraft in World War II.

But again, mostly he just drew hot busty perfect women.

I admit I didn't know that much about the guy either, and a lot of what I now know about him I just learned from the internet, but I've always been in awe of his art. And I owned a piece of Vargas art long before I ever heard of the guy. The cover of The Cars' album Candy-O.



I've never studied art, but I've studied artists. No one else could do what this guy did. Many artists during that era painted magazine pin-ups, but Vargas' work excelled and its impact on our national culture during World War II cannot be disputed. In a time before the internet, before even Playboy, those pinups in Esquire gave the boys over there something to dream about, something to want to come home for. After all, they were literally fighting for our freedom.

And without freedom, there would never have been rock'n'roll.

Right?

Holy Temple of the White Trash Goddess

Anna Nicole Smith
November 28, 1967 – February 8, 2007

Ah, the sadness. It still hurts, baby.

I have an un-ironic and deep abiding love for trashy things. I love fermented wine coolers, I love cheap nudie horror flicks, and I love Anna Nicole Smith. And a year ago today she left us. She died as she lived...naked, in bed, drugged-out, and in a pool of her own vomit. I loved her. I really did.

I deliberately waited until this date to start Dead Person of the Day because I wanted my first entry to be meaningful to me, and this is one of the most important of all. Seriously. I know that my reputation as a sarcastic bastard might cause some doubt, but ya gotta believe me!

She started out as a Playboy Playmate and Guess Jeans model, but her greatest fame came as the living embodiment of the bleached-blonde trailer trash mega-skank that America loves so much. In her absence, Britney Spears has attempted to fill her shoes with her own brand of slutty redneck insanity, but it all seems so...hollow. You can show your cooch all you want, Britney. You can get locked up in the laughing house, have all sorts of wanton sex with members of the paparazzi, but you'll never do it with the sense of style that Anna would have.

And also, you'll never have the giant boobs. That's key.

Maybe I've had too much coffee. Maybe it's too late to really be writing these words, but I always had the dream of someday meeting Anna. I just knew that if we ever met in person, that we would be friends, that she might learn to love me as much as I loved her. And also that I could hit that a few times.

But that's neither here nor there. I'll always remember her from her great work in such films as the low-budget action/tit flicks To The Limit and Skyscraper and the weekly train wreck that was The Anna Nicole Show, not the sordid details of her death and the media circus that followed.

Marilyn Monroe was dead a good five years when I was born. Anna Nicole Smith was about a month older than me. For my generation, and for me personally, she was the ultimate woman...and when she was heavier, she was all the more so. I absolutely adored her. Really, honestly I did. I have a weakness for dumb blondes with huge cans, and there will never be another so dumb, with cans so huge. It's a damn shame.

The Bible says that God prepares mansions for his children in Heaven...and somewhere, there is a beautiful trailer park in the sky with streets of gold. There's a bleach-blonde angel hanging white robes on a clothes line up there, and someday I'd like to rent the lot right next to her.

I'm just sayin'.