Death Of The Era

Today Gordon Parks. Yesterday Octavie E. Butler. The day before Richard Pryor. A minute ago Kirby Puckett.

When I was a kid, nobody died. Of course they did. But maybe I was shielded from it. I remember my first lesson in death was my mother getting a call that her sister-in-law, my aunt Phyllis, had died. I can still see my mother's pain etched face, the anguish, and hear her cries. Then a couple of years later Ms. Phyllis a friend of my mother's from across the street died leaving a young son named Kenyatta. She died, I believe, from a brain tumor. To my young mind I was glad not to be named Phyllis. Years later though, death was more common yet still not easy to handle, understand, grasp. Today, death is commonplace.

Who's out there with the literary skill of Octavia Butler to carry the torch? What contemporary comedian is on par with a Pryor? What renassaince man black or white could be put in the same sentence with Gordon Parks - painter, director, photographer, etc.?

I understand the fact that these people have lived and have touched me with their art and know that their deaths should be celebrated for their legacies. What I mourn is that the dearth created by their passing makes room for yet one more media created, insanely hyped untalented one hit wonder to come on down. But perhaps I'm being a bit too cynical. After all, 3-6 Mafia did just win an Oscar. You know it's hard out here for a pimp.

I rest my case in peace.