By Gary DeSantis

In another column for the Tribune, I mentioned how my mind wanders when I’m on the treadmill at the gym where I work out. It would be really nice if I could have these thoughts and be able to jump on a word processor immediately so I don’t forget what I’m thinking.

That simply doesn’t happen and my mind will move from thing to thing and I will forget the original thought. I’d like to share one of these “treadmill” musings (not forgotten) and hope you find it interesting.

The deaths of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett were being reported on Friday on the early morning news programs. Michael’s death took up nearly 99 percent of the air time, while Farrah’s was hardly mentioned. One of the guys at the gym noted pointedly, “It’s all about timing. Had she died on ‘her own day’ she would have gotten a lot more press.”

No doubt he is right. Even in death, if you are a celebrity and want to go out with some notoriety, pick a day when you can die by yourself. Beyond that, however, the careers of both took interestingly different paths. Michael’s career started in a conventional way, if that description is applicable to any entertainment career, as a lead singer in a boy group. Of course, he was a little boy with a distinctive voice performing with his young brothers singing the amazing songs Motown producers lined up for them.

His career flourished and eventually he left the group and went on to become an even more popular artist with the largest selling CD and video with the release of “Thriller.” From there, his persona and life began to degenerate into chaos and caricature. He was accused of child abuse and his appearance literally was transformed by plastic surgery until he hardly resembled Michael Jackson.

Farrah Fawcett began her professional career as a caricature of a blond bimbo on “Charlie’s Angels” and a personal life which moved from a disastrous marriage and a divorce to fellow screen star Ryan O’Neal. Slowly, incrementally, she strove to redefine her career to one of substance and meaning and sought acting roles which required more than a fresh face and wonderful body. Her performance in “The Burning Bed” is an example of this quest, and a successful one at that. Professionally, her career flat-lined. Personally, her life was still in a disrupted state by the travails of her children, but she maintained some decorum to the extent the tabloids would let her.

The same challenges presented themselves after her diagnosis of anal cancer. How brutal and embarrassing a diagnosis. Again the tabloids dogged her every move and constantly announced her terminal diagnosis. Despite the public scrutiny, she died with a semblance of preserved dignity.

One career and life began normally and ended in caricature the other began in caricature and ended normally — an interesting and poignant comparison, yes?

I suppose their deaths provide lessons for all of us, and ones we have heard probably a thousand times, but ones that bear repeating. The first is that death is the great equalizer. No matter what we have achieved or not, we are all going to the same place — the cemetery. The second is a little more speculative but probable, and it is that once you are dead all the hoopla is for the survivors and not the deceased. We can be fairly certain neither Michael or Farrah, wherever they are, are concerned about all the publicity they are getting now.

If you are agnostic or atheist, you doubtless believe they are in a state of total unconsciousness and all this is beyond them. If, on the other hand, you believe in a life after this, the public goings-on now are irrelevant and totally unimportant.

I don’t know about you, but the second option is more appealing to me and hopefully a reflection of reality. Thanks for sharing some treadmill time with me.



DeSantis is a Meadville resident.