How Celebrities Grieve Their Friends

Yes, I know I wasn't going to write about celebrities. But doesn’t it seem like a lot of them have died in the past month or so? James Garner, Sir Richard Attenborough, Lauren Bacall, Robin Williams, Elaine Stritch: all left grieving families and friends, just like non-celebrities – with one glaring difference.

Celebrities leave friends behind who are anonymous and others who are also celebrities. And while those live their lives in the glare of the media, that doesn’t mean that they’re capable of grieving gracefully in public. You may be surprised or even critical of them.

Remember Paul McCartney? He was roundly criticized for his “It’s a drag” comment the day after John Lennon was murdered.

People who hadn’t worked with Robin Williams in decades appeared on talk shows within hours to reminisce about days gone by. Here in Chicago, the local news stations tracked down his elementary school classmates. That’s not unusual. Watch the reports next time a celebrity dies, and see who the first people are to show up on camera.

Often, a celebrity will not appear in public after a friend’s death, instead issuing a very carefully worded press release or tweet.

Sometimes - but rarely – a celebrity speaks eloquently soon after a friend’s death. Russell Brand’s tribute to Amy Winehouse comes to mind, the pain of his loss beautifully exposed for all to see.

Why rarely? Because, as we sometimes forget, celebrities are people, too. They experience the same emotions, same life events. The glaring difference is that they grieve in public, not always by choice.

It seems that those closest to the deceased are often the last to speak in public. They prefer to grieve in private, which is everyone’s right. And I’m usually relieved that that is the case. Too often celebrities – and non-celebrities alike – try to make a tragedy about them. They see a chance to get some attention, at the expense of their friend’s memory. I don’t know about you, but that’s not my kind of friend.

So I’ll leave you with another one of those rare, poignant eulogies. It’s Billy Crystal’s remembrance at the Emmys. It’s a simple and loving tribute to a friend, devoid of the narcissism displayed by others.

What a concept.

Friend Grief in Public

Today’s headlines are a little close to home for me. My cousin is the city manager of Aurora, Colorado, where (at this writing) twelve people were murdered and dozens wounded in a shooting spree at the midnight showing of the new Batman movie. I haven’t heard from him yet, but I’m sure he’s up to his ears. A lifetime of experience can’t begin to prepare you for something this horrific.

The way the media covers tragedies like this one can be debated for eternity. Often in crisis, news organizations shine. But too often, as hours turn into days, they give in to what they defend as ‘the public’s need to know’.

Honestly, all the public needs to know are the facts, especially in the immediate aftermath. I don’t want to hear the 911 calls, and I’m betting the families and friends of those who died probably don’t want to hear them either.

Grief is hard, even if you think you’re prepared for it. But grieving in public…well, that’s a whole different ball game.

Imagine – if you are lucky enough to not know anyone affected by today’s tragedy – that you knew someone who died in that movie theatre. Imagine how you’d feel…

…seeing their picture on TV and in the papers.

…reading blog posts from people with a political axe to grind who blame your friend for not defending themselves with equal or greater firepower.

…hearing religious leaders either insist that your friend is “happy” now, or condemning them for not being ‘good with God’.

And yes, some of these things have already happened today.

So as we struggle through the next days of mourning and healing and questioning, try to refrain from finger-pointing, even at the shooter.

Light a candle, say a prayer, whatever.

And think about not only the families left behind, but the many, many friends.

Friend Grief and "The Concert for George"

This post originally appeared in February, but I’m quite partial to the documentary of this concert. At first I was drawn to it because I’m a huge fan of George Harrison. But as I watched the special on PBS, I became more and more entranced by the commentary from Eric Clapton and others. You’ll see why:

“All I wanted to do was really share our love for George and his music with the people.  I need to do this for him, but it’s for me most of all – I need to be able to express my grief in this sort of way.” – Eric Clapton

How do we memorialize our friends?  How do we show the world how much that person meant to us, how much our lives changed for knowing them?  There’s more than one way to remember your friends, just as there is more than one way to grieve.

Some people give eulogies.  Some people donate money to causes that were important to their friend.  Some people have the opportunity to do something a little bigger.

One year after George Harrison died, a group of his friends gathered at The Royal Albert Hall in London for a ‘memorial service’.  It was called The Concert for George, an evening to celebrate the music and the life of the “quiet Beatle”.

People came from all parts of his life: his wife and son, the two surviving Beatles, his favorite comedy troupe (Monty Python), musicians he’d played with and admired.  They shared his music and entertained an audience not just in attendance that night, but around the world via PBS and a commemorative concert DVD.  Their efforts supported the Material World Charitable Foundation, established by Harrison in 1973.

There were no eulogies, in the traditional sense.  But as you listen to them talk between songs and during rehearsal you realize the true meaning of that night for his friends:  to work through their grief while honoring their friend. 

“A lot of our grieving has been dealt with by playing this week,” Clapton said.  “This is a blessed occasion for me because I can share my love of George with you…and I think most important of all is that his wife Olivia and his son Dhani can experience and witness how much we loved him, through his music tonight.”

Most of us don’t have the chance to memorialize our friends in this way.  But the sentiment Clapton expressed is universal.  We want the world to know and love that person who meant so much to us:  who they were, why they were important to us, and why the world is a sadder place without them.

And as we close in on Christmas, perhaps now would be a good time to let them our friends - the ones still here - know how much they mean to us.

Singing is optional.

When Your Friend is Trashed in the Press

The combination of anger and grief stirred up a lot of interest here recently. It comes up occasionally in my book. Honestly, it could probably be a book all on its own. You’re expected to be sad when a friend dies. But angry, too?

You’re grieving…maybe feeling guilty…and now you realize that the world has a completely distorted view of your friend.

Mike Pfeifer and Cliff Kearney were held at gunpoint by three masked men who broke into their home. While Kearney was beaten, one of the robbers fired his sawed-off shotgun to intimidate Pfeifer. When the weapon was pointed at Kearney, Pfeifer grabbed the barrel, and was shot multiple times. The burglars ran, but by the time paramedics arrived, it was too late.

Eight hours after the shooting, the local sheriff’s office released a statement saying the shooting was drug-related. Kearney insisted no drugs were involved, that it was a straight-up robbery by young men who were grabbing TV’s and demanding money. But, you know: young men with guns stealing from other young men. What else could it be?

We’ve all seen retractions in the papers and on websites. Or maybe we haven’t seen them, because they’re buried in 9-point type below the underwear ads on page 17. We live in a 24-hour news cycle that demands instant information. The problem is that the desire to break that story first doesn’t always square with accuracy. “Corrections” are made days or even weeks after the first misinformation was shared. And since that headline isn’t nearly as titillating as the original one, the truth is lost.

So, what’s left to do? You know the truth, and in the end, that’s what matters. But knowing the world has an impression of your friend that is completely wrong…and knowing you may not be able to change anyone’s mind…that takes a toll.

Maybe all that we can do is rein in our natural tendency to believe those first broadcasts. It’s not just the lawyers who make them say “alleged” or “appeared to be” or even “presumed”. They don’t know for a fact, and that means neither does anyone else. Sometimes the facts take time to make themselves known.

So when you’re watching the news, reading a newspaper, or surfing the internet…and you come upon a story about someone’s death…and you are tempted to rush to judgment about that person…stop. Stop and give them the benefit of a doubt. Stop and consider for a moment how you’d feel if that were your friend.

Grieving Your Friend in Public

Your friend died, and you’re grieving.

For the most part, that grief is private. But imagine if everyone in town was talking about your friend. Imagine if every time you turned on the TV or radio, or logged onto your computer, someone was talking about your friend.

Imagine, too, that upon hearing the news of your friend’s death, you are confronted with members of the media pushing microphones into your face, asking for a comment. How eloquent do you think you might be?

In In Other Words: Artists Talk About Life and Work, Anthony DeCurtis recounts an interview with Paul McCartney in 1987. They covered his years with the Beatles (it was the 20^th anniversary of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”). The discussion took a turn when he began to talk about the breakup of the group, segueing into the death of John Lennon in 1980. McCartney received a firestorm of criticism for his only public comment, “it’s a drag.”

“But I said ‘it’s a dra-a-a-ag,’ and meant it with every inch of melancholy I could muster. When you put that in print, it says, ‘McCartney in London today, when asked for a comment on his dead friend, said, ‘It’s a drag’.’ It seemed a very flippant comment to make.

“…All these people who were supposed to have been John’s friends. The rest of us were just gaga with grief and sitting at home crying, watching all the news and watching all the telly, watching anything we could gather, and listening to every bit of radio. It was just like Kennedy dying, only worse for us, and that had been bad enough.

“The pundits come on, ‘Yes, so John was the bright one in the group. Yes, he was a very clever one. Oh, well, he’ll be sorely missed, and he was a great so-and-so.’ I said, ‘Bloody hell, how can you muster such glib things?’ But they were the ones who came off good, because they said suitably meaningful things. I was the idiot who said, ‘It’s a drag.’

I confess that my reaction at the time - without seeing the videotape - was less than charitable towards my favorite ex-Beatle. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I sympathize with him.

How do you think you’d do?

Naming Names: The 9/11 Memorial



Northeast Corner of the South Pool





I’m old enough to remember the very heated controversy over Maya Lin’s Vietnam Memorial design: the names of the dead etched in stark, black stone. How depressing! How disrespectful! Now, its “naming” focus is one that is copied the world over, including the new 9/11 Memorial, opening to the public on September 12.

I visited “The Wall” in 1988. The Vietnam War shaped my youth, particularly high school and college. I stopped at the kiosk, got my paper and pencil, made a donation and set off to find the names of the two guys I’d grown up with. It had been 20 years since Ernie Sanazaro died, but it was still surprising to see his name there, so final, so permanent. I had a crush on him at one time, and his death, near my 16^th birthday, was a shock. When I got back home, I wrote to his sister, asking if she’d like the rubbing (I didn’t want to just mail it to her without warning). As it turned out, she was grateful, and I sent it off to her.

Today I reserved my ticket to visit the new 9/11 Memorial this September. I’ll be in New York for all the 10^th anniversary events, to finish that chapter in my book. Last year, although I’d been to Ground Zero before, the memorial events I went to had quite an effect on me. I wound up spending one whole day literally talking to no one except when ordering my meals. I didn’t expect to be so overwhelmed.

This Memorial, too, will include the names of all the victims etched in stone. I already know where to find Carol’s name, so I won’t have to wander around. I’d seen her name years ago, on the posters around the site. But this time, it will be permanent.

I reserved two tickets, one for me and one for someone to go with me. I immediately emailed a friend in New York. If he can’t go, I’ll find someone else because I don’t think I want to go alone. I suspect the emotions this year will run even deeper; “big” anniversaries tend to do that.

Two months from today, the papers and internet and TV will be full of stories about 9/11: reruns of original broadcasts, interviews, surveys, retrospectives, commentaries, observances. When you’re tempted to ignore it, remember those who lost someone that day – family, friend, co-worker.

To learn more about the National September 11 Memorial and Museum, or to make ticket reservations, go to www.911memorial.org.

Back to Ground Zero

I’ve been to Ground Zero three times.

The first time was in 2005, a few weeks after my father died. I didn’t like being there, probably because I was already mourning more than I believed possible. We went down and looked through the chain-link fence. Banners listing the names of the victims covered large sections of the fence. When you looked down, you saw a massive hole in the ground, a few trucks and not much else. The enormity of it was so much more dramatic than seeing it on TV. My classmate’s name was right there, in alphabetical order. I felt like it was a pilgrimage, of sorts.

I went back in October, 2009, when I first started on my book. I spent the morning just walking around, soaking up atmosphere, as it were. Trinity Church and St. Paul’s were quiet escapes from the hustle and bustle of re-building. The site, so barren 4 years earlier, was a construction site now. The banners with the names were gone, replaced by ones showing renderings of what was being built. What had happened 8 years earlier seemed almost forgotten. Life moved on: the Burger King across from the site was bustling, as were the souvenir shops, clothing stores and gentleman’s club.

In 2010, I spent two days at Ground Zero, September 10 and 11. This time was different for a couple reasons. I was deep in the book research and writing now.

Being there on the anniversary had a very different feel to it. The construction had progressed dramatically. I stood on Broadway, across from Zuccotti Park, with a young man who lived and worked in Manhattan. He’d never been down there, but because it was a Saturday, he didn’t have to work. He just wanted to show his respect. It was a solemn crowd.

I was in New York last week with my family, and didn’t go to Ground Zero. We were there for a mini-vacation and college visit. I’ll go back in May and again in September, for the 10^th anniversary. I’m sure I’ll be shocked by the changes in the site and the surrounding area.

Life goes on.

Whether we want it to or not.