Oh Captain, My Captain

I guess the time has come to say goodbye, old friend. 

Remember when we first met?  I was eight or nine years old when Mork and Mindy burst onto the scene, and your comic genius took the world by storm.  I never missed an episode.  I vowed one day to move to Boulder because you “lived” there, thus making it the coolest place on earth. 

 A couple of years later I discovered “Reality, What A Concept”.  Sleepovers at Dee’s house, stoned out of our leg warmers, listening to it on vinyl via an old school record player.  A lot of folks have probably forgotten, or weren’t aware of, how incredibly funny your stand-up routines were.  Your incisive wit, your endearing humanity, your all-too-clear understanding of the absurdity of it all; these spoke to me at a time when not much else could. 

 I’ll leave it to the critics to dissect your filmography.  Suffice it to say that I have never successfully made it through Dead Poets Society, The Fisher King, Good Morning Vietnam, or Good Will Hunting without crying.  Not once.  I wanted to study under Mr. Keating and to befriend Parry. I wanted to kiss Adrian Cronauer. I wanted to be Sean Maguire.  I still do.

The airwaves are abuzz…speculation and innuendo…endless platitudes.  “If only he’d sought help” – as if during 63 years of battling the hydra, the thought never occurred to you.   Another pill, another doctor… session, drink, lover, diet, city, vice, accolade, shiny object ad infinitum.  Grasping for reasons until there aren't any left.  We’re all naked in the end.

Thank you.