Gettin' Old

The deaths this past May of Ray Harryhausen, Ray Manzarek, and Jack Vance got me thinking: I’m getting old. One major indication that one is getting old is when one’s idols, er, begin to, uh, die.

Now, I didn’t idolize these particular men per se. (Okay, I idolized the work of Ray Harryhausen.) But I knew them, knew them growing up at various stages of my life, and they made my existence just a tiny bit more enjoyable than it would have been without them.

Don’t laugh, but I guess it all started when DeForest Kelley – “Bones” McCoy from the original Star Trek series – died in June of 1999. I grew up on Star Trek. Played with those Trek dollies my friends had. Remember the spinning transporters? From the ages of eight to twelve I saw every single episode at least three or four times. Vividly do I remember them. I dreamed about them. And a few short years after Dr. McCoy crossed over, Scotty joined him.

When Shatner and Nimoy go (they are both 82 years old) I’m going to have to wear a black armband. And take some anti-depressants.

Anyway, from a literary perspective, my main focus this past decade or so, I’ve seen Arthur C. Clark leave us (March 19, 2008), Philip Jose Farmer (February 25, 2009, the day I left the hospital after 20 days), and my science fiction Master, Ray Bradbury (June 5, 2012). Again, I grew up with Clarke and Bradbury, and have super fine memories of reading both their works. Farmer is a recent acquisition, though I read him before his demise.

Michael Crichton died unexpectedly (at least to me) early in November, 2008. Fifteen years earlier, I was a huuuuuge Crichton fan. In short order I read Jurassic Park, The Lost World, Sphere, The Andromeda Strain, The Terminal Man, The Thirteenth Warrior, and, for better or worse, Congo.

Who else? Well, pop-culture-wise, Neil Armstrong left this mortal coil for other worlds this past August. Steve Jobs, the force behind Apple everything, bid adieu the October before that.

On the global stage, the death of John Paul II hit me hard. He was Pope for 27-some-odd years, the majority of my adult life. The way he died … what he accomplished … what he preached … how could I – or you – ever live up to that, ever live in gratitude to that?

I don’t know.

In the immortal worlds of Johnny Winter –

Somebody tell the world to stop
Or just slow down …