This was the summer in which all the obituary writers had to cancel their vacations. The necrology of the great and famous was so relentless that merely keeping track of it became impossible. We can remark on the loss, within a few weeks of each other, of Karl Malden and Budd Schulberg, united forever in every film fan's memory because of "On the Waterfront." We can note that Les Paul, as inventor of the electric guitar, is as strong a candidate as any for the title of Coolest Dude Who Ever Lived. We can acknowledge the tragicomic irony of Farrah Fawcett, who, fighting a losing battle with cancer, meticulously prepared video diaries of her last days as a legacy to her fans, only to have her passing wiped off the front page by the death of Michael Jackson the same day.
From that long list of the deceased, perhaps the most inspiring personal story came toward the end of the summer, from an actor who--ironically enough--gained his greatest fame playing a ghost. In a 20-month battle with pancreatic cancer, Patrick Swayze presented the world with an impeccably dignified, courageous public face, continuing his career without the slightest trace of self-pity. Swayze belongs to that distinguished group from the entertainment world who, given a short reprieve from a death sentence, did everything they could to make that time count. Art Buchwald continued to write his column, Yul Brynner did a farewell tour of "The King and I," Warren Zevon recorded two albums, and Patrick Swayze signed on as the lead in a TV series. All four men will continue as shining examples of how to make an exit.
One is hard put to find any kind of prima donna behavior at any point in Swayze's career. He worked hard, he never complained, and whatever peccadilloes he had, he kept to himself. Of course he played mostly the romantic and action-hero roles that were offered him because of his looks and athleticism, but occasionally he was given the chance to show greater range. Just now a friend asked why none of the obituary writers has mentioned Swayze's masterful comic performance as a drag queen in "To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar." With this blog, I hope to rectify that oversight.
Seeing this column, some readers might object that I am ignoring a greater recent example of courage, grace and determination in the face of death: Edward Kennedy. Certainly Sen. Kennedy must be given his due. But there was a difference between Kennedy and Swayze. Tabloids regularly pick over the bones of the famous, and certainly few people have suffered as much from the predations of the gutter press as Edward Kennedy and his extended family. But, with the news of a fatal illness, statesmen tend to get a reprieve from the worst of the death-watch coverage. With movie stars, the buzzards circle thick and fast. Throughout the last 20 months of his life, Patrick Swayze was plagued with weekly headlines screaming that he was at death's door. The pain this caused him and his family can scarcely be calculated. Swayze replied to these headlines calmly, pointing out that he was still working, that he was receiving treatment, that this treatment had improved his condition. He refused to respond to the hysteria of the gutter press by becoming hysterical himself.
Patrick Swayze may not be considered one of Hollywood's greatest actors. But he proved at the end of his life that he was a great man.