Buzz Trexler

It was the week of the Benign, the Bizarre, and the Beautiful.

The superstition in the cult of celebrity is that death comes in threes. This week, it seemed to play out with the deaths of Ed McMahon, Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett.

McMahon was a fairly benign figure for a celebrity in USAmerica. In my mind’s eye, he can be heard crooning that iconic salutation of “Heeeeeeeere’s Johnny!”  He’s seen sitting on the couch, laughing at Johnny’s jokes, expressing mock shock at one of Carson’s risque cracks — most of which are pretty benign themselves when compared to other contemporary comic comments. Then there was his constant presence as the co-host of Jerry Lewis’ annual Labor Day MDA Telethon — a presence that is to have been only surpassed by Lewis himself.

The benign celebrity died Tuesday at the age of 86.

In contrast to the benign McMahon who remained largely in the background, almost as much as a piece of furniture as the couch he sat upon, Michael Jackson was as obvious as the singular glove that adorned his hand.

Like most 50-plus-year-olds, I remember Michael Jackson long before the days of “Thriller.” In my adolescence, there was “I Want You Back,” ABC,” and “Ben,” the latter of which always seemed a little creepy to me. After all, Ben was a rat, if I recall.

While the Jackson 5 was way too bubble gum for me in 1969 to the early 1970s, Michael and his family always seemed benign enough. Their music was a strain of pop along the lines of The Archies, The Cowsills and 1910 Fruitgum Company.

Still, you have to wonder how stardom affects a 10-year-old boy — particularly in USAmerica where we treat pop stars like little gods. On the other hand, we know how it affects the little gods we make in celebrity culture. Wipe the cobwebs from your mind and the names surface like so many ghosts in a Smoky Mountains cemetery: Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Elvis Presley, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones, Keith Moon. And you don’t have to look very far to see that some celebrities are bent on self-destruction.

Someone with a calculator and a stack of obituaries came to the conclusion that the average lifespan of a rock musician is about 37 years. If true, Michael Jackson beat the odds; however, as he became more and more of a caricature of his own persona, there was a certain sadness about him. To say that he was uncomfortable in his own skin goes beyond racial connotations, for his was an obviously troubled soul.

Over the years, one would wonder what it was that drove him to such bizarre behavior, which if chronicled in detail would likely fill this entire page. While not a psychiatrist — neither in real life, nor on TV — it seems obvious that there was some sort of self-loathing going on inside his head.

If this genius of a musician and entertainer lacked peace in his life, one can only pray that Michael, who died Thursday as he approached 50, finally found the One who accepted and loved him just as he was — not as he wished himself to be.

If Ed McMahon was a benign uncle, and Michael Jackson the bizarre sibling, then certainly Farrah Fawcett was the beautiful cousin. Whether in a toothpaste commercial, or as one of “Charlie’s Angels,” Farrah Fawcett was as beautiful and unapproachable as the infamous 1976 swimsuit poster that adorned many a pubescent boy’s wall. Still, as she sought to escape type-casting as just another pretty face and make her mark as a serious acctress, Fawcett took on the issue of domestic violence and won praise for her role in “The Burning Bed.”

Even though that iconic adolescent poster is forever imprinted on our minds, one can only hope it is Farah Fawcett’s final role in the television documentary “Farrah’s Story”  for which she will truly be remembered. Chronicling her life-and-death struggle with cancer was a courageous and self-giving act for the rest of us. It reminds us of our own mortality, yet it also serves as a testimony that the cult of celebrity can be redeemed for good — a greater good that is always possible, but israrely seen.

The Newsroom occasionally receives an anonymous telephone call alerting us to a grammatical error or misspelling in a story. Sometimes the reader is correct, while other times our usage is proper. This morning, I received one of those anonymous voice mails concerning a headline in Tuesday’s edition that read “Legal fight against Maple Lane Farms takes new tack.”

Now, I’ll confess to taking a second look at the headline when I arrived at work. It’s the veteran copy editor in me that recognizes the need to look up a spelling or usage, even when I believe I know the answer. Taking the time to look up spellings and usage keeps me honest, so I keep two of the three sacred texts of journalism nearby: “Webster’s New World Dictionary” (mine is the college edition) and “The Associated Press Stylebook.” (If you can tell me what I would consider the third sacred text of journalists, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.)

So it was that even before the phone call, I picked up my copy of Webster’s and discovered that our usage was correct. Among the the first four usages cited in the definition: “a course of action or policy, esp. one differing from another or a preceding course.”

The anonymous caller believed that the word “tact” should have been used; however, none of the definitions provided in Webster for that word would be the correct usage. The primary definitions of that word include “delicate perception of the right thing to say or do without offending; skill in dealing with people.”

Where the confusion between the usage of the word “tact” likely arises is an association with the word “tactic,” or “tactics,” which is defined as “any methods used to gain an end; esp., skillful methods or procedure.” There is a tendency to believe that the shortened form of this word means one such method; however, according to Webster, that would not be the case.

Still, Anonymous Caller, thanks for calling, because it keeps us on our toes.

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