I was unsettled, as were a lot of people, by the deaths of Johnny Cash and John Ritter yesterday.
Cash's death is something I've occasionally thought of for the last couple of years. I'd known he was in poor health and I think the loss of his wife a few months ago was a blow from which he never recovered.
I'd already mentally written his obituary ("Johnny Cash, one of the true originals of American music, and one of America's yaddayaddayadda . . .")
Which would all of it have been true. Surely there was no more seminal moment in popular music than that early Sun Sessions confluence of Elvis, Johnny, and Carl Perkins.
The death of John Ritter was, frankly, shocking. I won't pretend I was a fan -- I think I saw Three's Company about twice, and I was probably more mesmerised by Suzanne Somers' boobs -- but I'll give him his due as a very good comic actor, and I'll infer from his long career that he was a professional who showed up on time, knew his lines, and didn't lock the door in his trailer every Thursday and throw a screaming hissyfit.
That qualifies as gentlemanly behaviour in Hollywood (and more importantly, with its insurers), and he seemed an unaffected, likable guy.
Godspeed you both.