Black Saturday in Rome

There I was sitting in my office.  Just outside my slightly open door, I could hear the whimper of a co-worker.  She was one of three women that worked in our predominantly male office.

Curiously, I walked past her cubicle to get a glimpse of where these mournful cries were coming from.  Because it seemed appropriate and I tend to be a little awkward when someone I casually know is in tears, I didn't say anything.  I just gave a half smile and waited for the office gossip to trickle down to me.

It didn't take long.  Soon, the whole office was abuzz with grief.  The three office women were shaking their collective heads and asking God why.  The men, well, each of them had a story to tell. 

Everyone, each of a varying degree, was in shock.  Some, inconsolable.  Others, simply a little sad.

This was six years ago:  the day Heath Ledger died.

It seemed odd at the time.  It was the first time I can remember watching people mourn over the death of someone they did not know.  I have no memory of Elvis dying or Marilyn Monroe.  Sure, I remember the day Princess Diana was killed but she was English and those Brits seem to hero worship everyone. 

In 1981, I was nine years old laying in a hospital bed after a major surgery; a surgery that guaranteed I would live past puberty.  Those three weeks in the hospital were spent reading my first book, Where the Red Fern Grows and watching TV,   I only remember one thing on that TV during those weeks in that hospital bed; it was the Princess Diana/Prince Charles wedding.

This was before the internet.  This was before we had 300 channels to choose from. This was before Facebook. We were spoon fed our entertainment from three channels.  Nine year olds don't like weddings and certainly, cartoons are the only acceptable programming on TV at that age.  So, imagine, there I was; a little boy, stuck in bed watching an all day wedding of two people I had never heard of. 

It made no sense to me.

Thirty something years later, I get it.

So, tonight, word spread like wildfire across the internet and social networks that another good looking celebrity died.  The reactions were predictable.  The same reactions I witnessed six years ago when Heath Ledger passed on.  Tears, shock; women, gay men lamenting the loss of a famous good looking guy.  Straight men feeling like one of us just lost his life. 

That's the thing about humans; we personalize everything.  We empathize with those we relate to and we mourn over the loss of those we either want to be with or those we see ourselves being similar to.  It's about us; not them.

Talent is an aphrodisiac but I think hero worship goes much deeper than that.  I believe we are all born with an innate desire to find God.  Some of us fill that void with money or materialism.  Some of us chase God in human form and we call them celebrities.  All you have to do is rewind to the 1960's when women would faint at the mere presence of the Beatles.  All you have to do is post an opinion on any celebrity, movie or TV show on Facebook and a conversation or a heated debate will ensue.

The Romans knew how to distract the public from their wars and corruption.  It was Bread and Circus.  The gladiators were the celebrities.  If we the people have food on our table and entertainment to distract us, everything else will pale in comparison.

When word spread that Paul Walker died today, I headed over to MSN to verify the news.  Not surprisingly, it was the first news story listed.  In small print, there was a blurb about the one sided Iranian Nuke Deal we caved in on.  The rest of the articles were either celebrity related or accounts of Black Friday. 

So, here I was, a little affected by the death of someone I only know because of the job he had.  By all accounts, he was a good guy; charitable and down to earth.  That said, it only mattered to me because, as a man with a healthy ego, I saw myself in him.  For some reason, we believe we know these people and it's all based on characters they play in movies.

As I scrolled the stream of Facebook, in between the boastful claims of good deals from yesterday, were countless people discussing the death of someone who quite frankly, acted in a lot of terrible movies.  If I was nine years old again, I would probably believe Paul Walker was someone important like the President or Bugs Bunny or Prince Charles.

Here is one of my friends claiming to be "devastated". 

I get it but if the death of a celebrity can devastate someone, what happens to that person when a family member dies?  I can't even think of a word more extreme than "devastated". 

It was just a few weeks ago, I read an article about some hurricane "devastating" the Phillippines.  I'm not picking on this friend but either we have lost all perspective in this world or we have limited vocabularies.  I tend to believe it's the first option.

I imagine the last days of Rome were quite similar to where we are today.  People shortening a family holiday like Thanksgiving in order to set up camp outside some Walmart.  Then when those doors open the following morning, pushing and shoving everyone who dares get in their way just to save a few dollars on some possession that may or may not be given on Christmas to one of those family members that was just abandoned the night before.   Blood thirsty crowds chanting ME ME ME as they reach towards the shelves for some tangible item.   And then the next day, grieving the death of some celebrity while not thinking twice about their fellow men and women they shoved to the ground the day before inside that Walmart. 

I imagine Rome wasn't this bad.

I understand why we react the way we do when pretty people die.  I get why we seem to care more about materialism and celebrity than those things that truly matter.

I was nine years old in a hospital bed recovering from a major surgery that guaranteed me life past puberty when I first realized this world has lost all perspective.