Before I begin my review, I have to say that I have the utmost respect for anybody who sits down (or stands up for that matter) to write a book…whether fiction or non-fiction. The amount of time and effort in research and the blood, sweat and tears that it takes to actually write it, can be monumental. Having contributed to over a dozen books, I know that it takes true dedication and can’t be undertaken lightly. Writing a book can (and often does) take over your life.
People die. I know they do. But the closer I come to the end myself, I become more reluctant to admit it. When I was young, death was funerals. You knew someone had passed by the crowd of well-dressed people lining the streets in front if a funeral home or the long line of cars passing by with lights on. Or the number of people at a church on a weekday afternoon. Or the serpentine of gatherers at a viewing, which at moments seemed to be a national event (the two which directly come to mind involving President Kennedy and Rudolph Valentino). At that young age, death was a ritual. I came to hate rituals.
The recent passing of Paul Revere of Paul Revere and Raiders is another in an extremely long line of musical celebrity deaths. There have been much bigger names who died in the past few months – Joan Rivers and Robin Williams deaths reverberated around the globe – probably because they both brought so much laughter to the world. I’m in the first wave of Baby Boomers, so Lauren Bacall’s death, though sad, didn’t resonate as much personally. James Garner’s passing did. I used to watch him faithfully every week on “Maverick” when I was growing up and later “The Rockford Files” was must-see TV for me.
But there are three deaths that occurred during the past couple of months that touched me in a way I hadn’t expected.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 