The entertainment world is losing their heroes in spades these days. Just last week, I see where Gary Coleman passed away with a brain hemorrhage, Dennis Hopper was taken away with cancer, and then there was Art Linkletter.
Art Who?
Great, I'm glad you asked. You may find it curious that some ninety-seven-year-old stranger is lumped in with the likes of Coleman and Hopper, but I find it sad that many readers will know these two, but not Mr. Linkletter.
Arthur Kelly was born in Moose Jaw, just a few hours away from here. His unwed mother gave him up for adoption (rather ironic, considering last week's column). It wasn't long afterwards that his adoptive parents, a Mr. And Mrs. Linkletter, moved to the States.
The rest is history, and you can delve into his life through any manner of archived form, but, suffice to say, he was a hero to many of us, both on television and radio. To be honest, I never watched or heard him live; everything I enjoyed was a re-run. Still, I felt I knew him somehow.
The thing that hits me again and again with most celebrity deaths is the way they lived. On the one hand, you can read Hopper's own admission of his lifestyle over the years, and Coleman's repeated brushes with the law is well-known to celebrity groupies. There is even talk of some sort of "curse" (the media's word, not mine) with the former stars of Diff'rent Strokes stars. Many of them seemingly have met with tragic ends that matched their tragic lives.
Mr. Linkletter, on the other hand, represented a different class of Hollywood entertainers. To be sure, his life was marred by death and tragedy and scandal, but unfortunately enough, those were his kids who suffered such things, not Linkletter himself. When he passed away last week, three years short of his 100th birthday, he was still married to the same woman after all these years, and I understand he was free from the usual assortment of grief that marks celebrities.
Imagine, a Hollywood star who was monogamous, drug-free, and trafficked in humour without smut, filth, or sexism! They are around, but they are as rare as a snow-free April. (For you old-timers, Perry Como was another one of those classic stars.)
As you know, I lament the smutty excuse that passes for humour these days. That is one of the reasons, if you recall, that I have opted out from having television (though with the Stanley Cup finals, it has been difficult to maintain that position!).
Linkletter had many claims to fame, and perhaps one of the greatest was his show, "Kids Say the Darnedest Things." That was a television show where kids would give the most spontaneous and impetuous answers, whenever Mr. Linkletter would ask them questions. It was hilarious and wholesome – not unlike most comedies that came out of the '50's and '60's.
With the death of some of these stars, there is a welcome relief – not for us, but for them. Their lives had been torture after torment after tragedy for them (their own observations) with drugs, booze, relationships, and disappointments. A few columns ago I developed the idea that movie stars are some of the last people you should trust. Naturally, I stand by that thesis still. And I am certain few of us hardly know the half of what really goes on, even with the apparent good ones.
So, I mourn the loss of Mr. Linkletter (and even I wouldn't feel as motivated to say Mr. Hopper or Mr. Coleman, even though I wish them no ill). But I mourn, possibly even more, the loss of the age of innocence that he embodied, both up there on the silver screen and down here on planet earth.
Indeed, kids still say the "darnedest" things these days, as did Mr. Linkletter himself. We'll miss everything he represented.
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