I was surprised to hear abour Robert Palmer. Fifty-four seems way too young to die of a heart attack.
When I was in high school I worked as an office clerk. We usually listened to a MOR "lite" rock station, but when the office manager was on vacation we'd put on harder rock. The rock station had a call-in request show at lunch, and we'd phone up but never get through.
One afternoon we actually did. That's when we realized we'd never thought of a song to request. The receptionist blurted out "Sneaking Sally Through the Alley!"
They played it, mentioning our names on the air, and the secretaries, recptionist and I were all dancing around the front desk, singing along.
I don't have a George Plimpton memory like that, but I read a lot of his works. My favorite was Open Net (the hockey version of Paper Lion, where he plays goalie for the Bruins).
The Reuter's obituary included the paragraph
Known for writing about topics through first-hand experience, Plimpton played as a quarterback for the Detroit Lions, played the triangle for the New York Philharmonic, flew on a circus trapeze, fought bulls with Ernest Hemingway, pitched baseballs to Willie Mays and even made an appearance in the boxing ring.
My first assignment in my first journalism class was to write my own obituary.
I wish I'd come up with something half that cool.
Goodnight, gentlemen.
Posted by Nic at September 26, 2003 05:22 PM | TrackBackI have a Robert Palmer thought for you, though he wasn't starring in the thought.
I was at a conference for work in August, and I was having dinner with some of my fellow attendees, and for some reason it popped out that one of the gentlemen - who's British - had dated one of the four girls in the Addicted to Love video.
Kinda odd. 54 is a young death.
I'll put on some Powerstation now.
hln
Posted by: hln at September 27, 2003 04:33 PM