Copeland's Corner: December 7, 2022
Learning of the death of someone who was always “present” in your youth takes you back to yesteryear.
I was sorry to hear of the sudden death of actress Kirstie Alley on Monday night. I first discovered her in 1982’s Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan where she debuted on the big screen as Lt. Saavik, Mr. Spock’s (Leonard Nimoy) Vulcan protégé. She was just wonderful in the role of the young Star Fleet officer trying to figure out when to follow written ordinances and when to say, “rules be damned” and use your own judgement and, most importantly, how to respond when you find yourself in a “no-win scenario.” After Star Trek, I followed her for years on Cheers when she replaced Shelley Long and her follow-up series, Veronica’s Closet. About three months ago, when my Millennial daughter and son-in-law were expecting their first child, I showed them Alley and John Travolta in 1989’s Look Who’s Talking.
I never met Kirstie Alley. As far as I can recall, I never interviewed her on any of my television or radio programs. I vehemently disagreed with her on almost all matters social and political because she was a strident and vocal Trump/MAGA supporter, yet I really liked her work. I never really thought about it before but, I guess I was a fan. I grew up with her. I wonder if that’s why I’m feeling so sad about her death as I write this.
I’ve heard my whole life that the older you get, the more loses you endure. In recent months and years, I’ve watched old friends and relatives pass on. Some due to age and disease. Others as the result of tragedy. I know that these things are inevitable as is the grief that will accompany them, but what I don’t get is how many celebrity deaths have affected me.
Some I understand because I knew the people. Steve Allen and I were friends so when he passed suddenly in 2000, I was inconsolable. The same with late great political comic Pat Paulsen, but Pat was like a father to me. I was the opening act on many occasions for Aretha Franklin and Natalie Cole. I traveled and dined with these entertainers, so it would make sense that their passings would provoke an emotional response in me. The same with Betty White, who I got to interview on numerous occasions, and Carl Reiner, who put me on the path to creating what became my first solo play, Not a Genuine Black Man. I’d had personal contact with these folks, so I get it. It’s the feelings about the ones who’ve died who I’ve never met that I can’t quite wrap my head around.
I never met Olivia Newton-John. Never interviewed her. Never opened for her, attended her concerts, bought one of her singles (kids, ask your parents) or albums. I saw Grease because I have sisters and I got dragged kicking and screaming to Xanadu by a girlfriend. Her music was on the radio all the years I was growing up and I was surprised how many of her songs I could sing by heart in the shower after she died. I never considered myself a fan, yet news of her death brought me to tears. Why?
There is a vast universe that lies between the Queen of England and a little African American boy from San Leandro, California, so, obviously Elizabeth II and I never crossed paths directly. When I was 9, I discovered that we shared the same birthday, so I wrote her a letter asking her if she would make me a knight since we were twins of sorts. Her Majesty apparently thought my missive was charming and had one of her Ladies-in-Waiting send me a lovely letter from Buckingham Palace. The Queen and I never met, but I cried when she died.
Maybe it’s about the feeling of lost youth or childhood that saddens us when we lose somebody we feel like we grew up with. It’s like how an old song brings you back to where you were the first time you heard it. Learning of the death of someone who was always “present” in your youth takes you back to yesteryear. The Wrath of Khan opened during that magical summer between high school graduation and college. The best summer of your life, if you do it right. I guess thinking about Kirstie Alley takes me back there. Olivia Newton-John was omnipresent when I was growing up. Maybe her death marked the death of part of my childhood. Queen Elizabeth and I were birthday twins. Perhaps her death affected that 9-year-old wannabe knight somewhere inside of me.
Or maybe I’m just overanalyzing this. It’s sad when anybody dies. Sadder for some than for others, but sad nonetheless. Perhaps it’s as simple as that. May Kirstie Alley rest in peace and may her spirit “Live Long and Prosper.”