Don’t you love those sites where you can see what happened on a certain date in history? Just this morning I read the NY Times page online that gives various events from this day, March 3.
Couple of airline crashes; one in 1974 and one in 1991. I remember the 1991 crash in Colorado Springs because of witnesses on the ground saying that as the plane ploughed into the earth passengers were staring out the windows. I’ve never shaken that image.
In 1845 Florida became a state. It didn’t list the date that it effectively became a northern state rather than a southern state.
The fact that caught my eye most readily was that on this date in 1959 comedian Lou Costello died of a heart attack, three days short of his 53rd birthday. He was the kind of man I would like to have known, I think. He and his partner, Bud Abbot, raised more money in war bonds than just about anyone during World War II. It didn’t make any difference to the IRS, I’ve read, because when they discovered that Abbot and Costello were behind on their taxes — apparently the consequences of a crooked business manager — the guys had to sell their houses and other assets. That led to the breakup of the duo in 1957 and for the last couple years of his life, Costello operated on his own.
Read his story sometime if you wish to be inspired. He tried Hollywood, didn’t make it, and eventually became a comedian. Unlike many in vaudeville at the time, he refused to use what he considered to be off-color material. After he and Abbot teamed up, they hit the big time in radio, movies, and TV. In 1942 Lou couldn’t work for a year because of rheumatic fever. The night he returned to work on the radio he asked his wife to keep their less than year old son up to hear Dad. Sadly, the son drowned in their backyard pool before the live show aired. Costello did the show anyway saying, “Wherever his is, I want him to hear me.” Only at the end of the show did Abbot tell the audience what had occurred.
My youngest, Kimberly, watched the Abbot and Costello movie Hold That Ghost so many times when she was a kid that she would say the dialogue along with the actors. Like the rest of us, she fell in love with the bumbling characters Costello played so well. (Actually, he was an athlete, especially good at basketball.)
When Lou died I was barely 10. My memories of him come from seeing so many of his movies again and again. He made his mark on the world by making people laugh and those who weren’t born until 30 years after his death — my Kimberly — find as much pleasure in him as did those who were his contemporaries.
Reading about his death today made me think of what people will remember about me. If they remember any joy, laughter, or happiness I helped them have even for an hour, that will be a good thing.
What about you? What will people remember about you?