Lately I’ve been collecting short passages of unbearable poignance. I think this is the saddest widdle two-sentence paragraph in the whole, sad world:
(“Miami Vice” actor Philip Michael) Thomas also invented the phrase “EGOT”, meaning “Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony”, in reference to his plans for winning all four. Thomas achieved a People’s Choice Award and a Golden Globe nomination but lacked even a nomination for any of the aforementioned awards.
Here’s the runner-up:
Jon-Erik Hexum (November 5, 1957–October 18, 1984) was an American actor and model, best known for accidentally killing himself on a television set. …Hexum died after shooting himself in the head with a prop gun loaded with blanks on the set of the CBS series Cover Up, a program about a pair of fashion photographers/models who were actually secret agents.
On October 12, 1984, after finishing a scene in which he fired several blank rounds from a .44 Magnum revolver, Hexum’s character was supposed to unload the gun and reload it with inert dummy rounds, which was required for the next scene in the script — a procedure that Jon-Erik was not familiar with, and which was usually done by the prop masters. The shooting of the next scene was delayed several times. While waiting for the prop masters to unload the blanks from the gun, Hexum jokingly put the gun up to his temple and allegedly said, “Let’s see if I get myself with this one.”
Hexum apparently did not realize that blanks use paper or plastic wadding to seal gun powder into the shell, and that this wadding is propelled out of the barrel of the gun with enough force to cause severe injury or death if the weapon is fired at point-blank range, especially if pointed at a particularly vulnerable spot, such as the temple or the eye.
No, I think I found the saddest part:
The same month that Hexum died, an issue of Playgirl magazine came out, featuring a photo shoot that Hexum had done shortly before his demise.
Stay away from Wikipedia when you’re depressed, man. You’ll start drinking at noon.
On the other hand, there’s something about the phrase “a pair of fashion photographers/models who were actually secret agents” that is just too ’80s for words.
I didn’t have a TV that functioned properly for much of the ’80s, so I missed “Cover Up.” I did watch “Miami Vice,” though. Everybody did. Friday night Vice, then out for an evening of fun. There was a copy editor in Fort Wayne who hosted MV parties, and one of the earliest clues to what I’d just moved from the big city for came when the wife of his boss fretted that these parties were “a bad influence” on the young, single people on staff. And there weren’t even any drugs! Fort Wayne in those days was truly the land that time forgot.
Eh. Been thinking about that place too much lately. Let’s turn our gaze forward for a change:
Came across this photo of Flickr; it’s an aerial photo of Windmill Point, the terminus of many of my bike rides. You can always tell when you’re approaching the Detroit border, because the trees thin out so quickly. Detroit hasn’t had the resources to properly care for its arboreal resources in some time, and it shows in this photo, where you can pretty much trace the Grosse Pointe/Detroit border by where the greenery deepens. The tidy little marina at lower right is Windmill Point Park, in GP; the rectangular patch immediately to its left is Mariner’s Park in Detroit, where I usually turn around. The next photo in the series shows an area south of there; I added a note. Those twin canals are where I learned to row (and decided rowing wasn’t for me, at least not at 5 a.m. on summer mornings). The Fisher Mansion is now owned by Hare Krishnas. A previous owner of the mansion filled in the water garage where Fisher kept his yacht; during Prohibition, he and his guests would climb aboard, motor out and drink legally on the Canadian side.
Guess who bought the house for the Hare Krishnas? Alfred Ford, Henry’s great-grandson, and Elizabeth Reuther, Walter’s daughter. Both were Hare Krishnas. Will children ever stop disappointing their parents? Not bloody likely.
Oh, on the peninsula in the middle of those two canals is an upscale new housing development — gated, of course — called Grayhaven. Every house has water access; go out your back door and you’re on the Great Lakes. Parts of this city are a well-kept secret indeed.
Do we have bloggage? Not bloody much, but let’s see how we can do:
Does the world really need another take on Caligula? Well, we can’t let Bob Guccione have the last word, can we?
Well, that oughta keep you folks busy. If you haven’t died of boredom already. I have an interview in eight minutes, so I best be outta here.