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Saturday
March 20, 2010 Since 1922 |
Doak Walker, where are you, man?
By Jim Finley
Contributor Published July 3, 2009 Fame is fleeting. I can prove it.
You name an occupation where famous people congregate, and in the blink of an eye they’re history. Movies, sports, politics, crocheting.
Gone in a flash.
For instance, if I asked a humanoid under 40 to tell me about Red Skelton, could they? Bob Hope, maybe. Red? Probably not.
As one who dabbles in humor every now and again, I thought Red Skelton was the greatest comic ever. I laughed many a night when he portrayed one of his famous characters, such as the unforgettable “Clem Kaddiddlehopper.” (OK, young people, you’ll have to take my word on this.)
But because Red performed as a major star between 1937 and 1971, he, in essence, never existed among today’s young adults. What a shame. They don’t know what they missed.
I thought about this watching the “Biography” series on my personal TV set. In my home – located in the highly religious neighborhood on the northern peninsula of Saint Andrews Drive – Biography has become a favorite. This show follows the careers – the highlights and the pitfalls – of famous people.
I particularly like the ones featuring older stars. Maybe that’s because I’m slightly past 45 and these particular shows bring back wonderful memories.
Then one night it dawned on me. Many folks out there have never heard of the likes of Bob Crane (“Hogan’s Heroes”) or Don Adams (“Get Smart”). Bob and Don were big, big TV stars back in the 1970s. Really. I speak the truth here.
In recent weeks – via Biography – I’ve enjoyed reviewing the lives of Dean Martin, James Cagney, the beautiful yet yummy Ava Gardner, and the sensational Sophia Loren. All were amazingly talented.
OK, show of hands. How many of you have heard of these marvelous performers? That’s what I thought.
I should pause here and issue a warning. Of late, Biography has offered profiles on The Rolling Stones, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Aerosmith, Jimi Hendrix, and some oddball named Ozzy Osbourne. Proudly, I skipped all of those.
But loss of fame doesn’t just apply to what we see nowadays on Biography. Like, how many of you remember Texas governors Dolph Briscoe (1973-1979) and Bill Clements (1979-1983)? Let’s see, one, two, three …
Fame’s brief lifespan was really brought home to me a few years ago when grandson Devin Finley and I were watching the memorable 1955 movie “The Court-Martial Of Billy Mitchell.” This true story is about a U.S. airman who spoke out publicly regarding our government’s lack of interest in aerial fighting forces during World War I. Great picture show.
Anyway, the phone rang and it was my dear friend Carl Theiss, the multi-talented gasket/Quonset hut salesman for Houston Manufacturing. “What’s up?” he wondered.
Devin and I are watching Gary Cooper in a war movie, I responded.
“Who’s Gary Cooper?” Carl asked.
That’s when I knew about fame not lasting. Not to mention my own mortality.
Maybe the best example of fleeting fame is Doak Walker, the three-time All-American and Heisman Trophy winner at SMU. Doak was/is one of my all-time heroes.
In the late 1940s, no one was bigger, no one was better than Doak. We all wanted to be “The Doaker.”
Doak, who died in 1998, wore No. 37, and when I signed up for my school’s first-ever junior high football team, I requested and received No. 37, even though I was a fourth-team center. Sweeny’s No. 37 (me) rarely got on the field, but it didn’t matter. I had Doak’s number.
As a boy, I wrote Doak and he sent me a post card with his picture on it. I kept that card for years. Then it – and Doak – disappeared.
Today we have O.J. Simpson and Alec Baldwin. But they, too, will fade.
Soon, I hope.
Jim Finley is a retired managing editor for The Baytown Sun.
Contributor Published July 3, 2009 Fame is fleeting. I can prove it.
You name an occupation where famous people congregate, and in the blink of an eye they’re history. Movies, sports, politics, crocheting.
Gone in a flash.
For instance, if I asked a humanoid under 40 to tell me about Red Skelton, could they? Bob Hope, maybe. Red? Probably not.
As one who dabbles in humor every now and again, I thought Red Skelton was the greatest comic ever. I laughed many a night when he portrayed one of his famous characters, such as the unforgettable “Clem Kaddiddlehopper.” (OK, young people, you’ll have to take my word on this.)
But because Red performed as a major star between 1937 and 1971, he, in essence, never existed among today’s young adults. What a shame. They don’t know what they missed.
I thought about this watching the “Biography” series on my personal TV set. In my home – located in the highly religious neighborhood on the northern peninsula of Saint Andrews Drive – Biography has become a favorite. This show follows the careers – the highlights and the pitfalls – of famous people.
I particularly like the ones featuring older stars. Maybe that’s because I’m slightly past 45 and these particular shows bring back wonderful memories.
Then one night it dawned on me. Many folks out there have never heard of the likes of Bob Crane (“Hogan’s Heroes”) or Don Adams (“Get Smart”). Bob and Don were big, big TV stars back in the 1970s. Really. I speak the truth here.
In recent weeks – via Biography – I’ve enjoyed reviewing the lives of Dean Martin, James Cagney, the beautiful yet yummy Ava Gardner, and the sensational Sophia Loren. All were amazingly talented.
OK, show of hands. How many of you have heard of these marvelous performers? That’s what I thought.
I should pause here and issue a warning. Of late, Biography has offered profiles on The Rolling Stones, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Aerosmith, Jimi Hendrix, and some oddball named Ozzy Osbourne. Proudly, I skipped all of those.
But loss of fame doesn’t just apply to what we see nowadays on Biography. Like, how many of you remember Texas governors Dolph Briscoe (1973-1979) and Bill Clements (1979-1983)? Let’s see, one, two, three …
Fame’s brief lifespan was really brought home to me a few years ago when grandson Devin Finley and I were watching the memorable 1955 movie “The Court-Martial Of Billy Mitchell.” This true story is about a U.S. airman who spoke out publicly regarding our government’s lack of interest in aerial fighting forces during World War I. Great picture show.
Anyway, the phone rang and it was my dear friend Carl Theiss, the multi-talented gasket/Quonset hut salesman for Houston Manufacturing. “What’s up?” he wondered.
Devin and I are watching Gary Cooper in a war movie, I responded.
“Who’s Gary Cooper?” Carl asked.
That’s when I knew about fame not lasting. Not to mention my own mortality.
Maybe the best example of fleeting fame is Doak Walker, the three-time All-American and Heisman Trophy winner at SMU. Doak was/is one of my all-time heroes.
In the late 1940s, no one was bigger, no one was better than Doak. We all wanted to be “The Doaker.”
Doak, who died in 1998, wore No. 37, and when I signed up for my school’s first-ever junior high football team, I requested and received No. 37, even though I was a fourth-team center. Sweeny’s No. 37 (me) rarely got on the field, but it didn’t matter. I had Doak’s number.
As a boy, I wrote Doak and he sent me a post card with his picture on it. I kept that card for years. Then it – and Doak – disappeared.
Today we have O.J. Simpson and Alec Baldwin. But they, too, will fade.
Soon, I hope.
Jim Finley is a retired managing editor for The Baytown Sun.