Secure Immaturity

I Cried the Day Jack Lemmon Died by William Johnson

There is a time in a person’s life when they don’t exactly have perspective. I was fortunate to live a life where the first person I really knew and loved died when I was 25. I heard of a few deaths here and there but never really tasted that emptiness you feel for a loved one in ‘reality’ until I was grown up. In a way, the death of a family member was the final rite of passage as an ‘adult’. I almost lived in the type of fantasy world that exists in television and movies: someone may ‘die’ but they’re always around to do a flashback or a guest appearance as a ghost or, in some cases, even come back to life!

Everyone accepts the fantasy of television and movies in different ways. Some people ignore it completely. Some watch it mindlessly and move on. Some are engrossed and others are obsessed. And with obsession comes its own caste system: some people are obsessed and maintain websites or go to conventions and some people go to extreme levels. I’d like to think (and pray) that I am somewhere in between. I lead a responsible life but I can get a tad obsessed with a show here or a movie there. I remain grounded. But that brings us back to reality and your perspective. By the time I heard the news that Jack Lemmon, my favorite actor had died, I didn’t know what death was. And next to family, my ‘relationship’ with actors was pretty close. Hearing about his death instantly brought tears to my eyes.

I was in high school and my mom wondered what I was crying about. I told her ‘it isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair’. Naturally, my mother was momentarily freaked out thinking something really bad had happened but then she saw CNN and noticed that Lemmon had died. She, knowing me, knew this was the first death of someone I really loved and she comforted me. Thankfully my dad wasn’t there. . .he would have been less comforting about something so seemingly silly (especially now when I have seen and felt real death) but he was, at one point, a victim of this type of adoration as well. Early in life, while listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd, my dad told me he cried the day Van Zandt and half the band died in a plane crash. He told me it was the only time in his life he cried for someone he didn’t know.

We probably all have those moments. As a real young kid I cried when Optimus Prime died. I was so young and naïve that it didn’t matter that Optimus Prime death was a marketing ploy to sell new toys by Hasbro. It was someone personal to me and I cried. Jack Lemmon was a part of a different stage of my life: a time of growing up and learning my sense of humor. He not only was my favorite movie star and actor but he also connected me to people: my best friend Tony and I worshipped the guy and to this day we are connected because of his movies. But also, I was moved by the ‘art’ of the man. People touch us in many ways and in some cases they are trivial and for pleasure only, like movies. And at that young age, Jack Lemmon had touched me personally and made me appreciate emotion and character.

Now a days I don’t think I could cry for an actor or musician unless it was after the fact and there was a moving ceremony or something. Jack Lemmon’s death was a once in a lifetime (ironic) thing that happened. I had yet to feel a certain aspect of life (and this death) so his death was all I understood of that concept and I wept. It was crushing. It was a moment in time that will never happen again. It’s almost like the loss of a certain type of innocence.

He was a special talent and a special person and a breed of actor that no longer exists. When he died, a type of acting died with him as did a type of entertainment. Maybe a new generation (or old generation) of fans can love or re-love him all over again. I cried the day Jack Lemmon died. . .but his art and his humanity will live on forever.