Proof That Life is a Crapshoot: A Somewhat Random, Somewhat Revelatory Look at the 2009 Major League Baseball Amateur Draft

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Last month, in what has been the biggest trade of this baseball off-season, the St. Louis Cardinals acquired first baseman Paul Goldschmidt from the Arizona Diamondbacks.

Unless you're a really avid baseball fan, you might not even know his name, but he's been one of the game's best players for the past several years.

This includes being an All-Star each of the last six seasons, hitting at least 33 home runs in four of those and winding in the top-11 of MVP voting five times, with three top-3 finishes.

Now 31, Goldschmidt made his major league debut with the Diamondbacks on August 1, 2011 at the age of 23.

Just two summers before, after three years of college--at Texas State University, where he had considerable success--Goldschmidt was drafted by the Diamondbacks in the annual MLB Amateur Draft.

In the 8th round!!!

245 players--at least 200 of whom even the most hardcore baseball fan has likely never heard of--were selected before Paul Goldschmidt.

To which the few of you actually reading this might say, "Big fecking deal, it happens," which is of course, true.

Mike Piazza, now a Hall of Famer, was famously drafted in the 62nd round of the 1988 amateur draft. 1389 players were taken ahead of him, none of whom have or likely will make the Hall of Fame.

So yes, baseball--and any sport--is littered with stories of "Can't Miss" prospects who surely did, and conversely, lightly-regarded players who became legends.

Click image to enlarge; click here to access

But without trying to make this some kind of treatise or thesis, I've long been fascinated by the "hits and misses" of the MLB Amateur Draft--which has far more rounds than the NFL, NBA or NHL drafts--at face value, but also as some sort of life lesson.

Now before I get too deep into this, let me explain a few things.

It's the beginning of 2019 and, after posting a bunch of "Best of 2018" lists on this Seth Saith blog, I don't yet have anything obvious to write about.

I haven't seen any concerts, musicals or plays to review, and don't have much coming up soon.

And without wishing to reveal much, some systems are down at work, so there isn't much to do.

As a baseball fan, I often like to peruse Baseball-Reference.com, and while glancing through draft classes isn't anything new for me, I have presently focused on 2009--partly due to Goldschmidt, partly because it's now a decade ago, partly due to other anomalies I'll address, but really kind of randomly as well.

Other than as a Pepsi and peanuts vendor in my teen years, I've never worked for a baseball team, and have no real knowledge--beyond reading and seeing Moneyball, itself providing widely-universal life lessons--about how their front offices and scouting systems work.

Mike Trout page on Baseball-Reference.com

I imagine there are some differences between teams in how the scouting operation is structured and how well it is funded, but my assumption is that every major league franchise spends millions each year in employing numerous scouts--and perhaps also relying on freelancers and purchasable resources--in order to gauge the talent of high school and college baseball players across the country...and around the world.

Especially when it comes to baseball as baseball--and not some allegory--that end part is an increasingly important caveat.

Unless it has changed recently in ways which I'm unaware, the MLB Amateur Draft focuses only on selecting players from high schools and colleges in the United States, including Puerto Rico. Currently there are 40 rounds and about 1,200 selections made by the 30 teams, with a few more "supplemental" picks I won't delve into here.

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The draft used to be even bigger; in 2009, when Goldschmidt went #246, there were 50 rounds and 1,521 picks made.

But per the latest statistics I could find, nearly 30% of current major leaguers--and presumably a similar portion of those in the minor leagues--are from other countries: the Dominican Republic, Venezuela, Japan, Korea, Cuba, etc., and unless they moved to the U.S. to play high school or college ball, they weren't part of the amateur draft.

Teams otherwise scout and sign non-U.S. players, without a draft system. (I don't know the success rate for foreign player acquisitions, but imagine it is also relatively low.)

With minor league affiliates to populate at at least 4 different levels, major league franchises presumably expect most draft picks will never reach the major leagues, let alone become starters or stars, and the influx of fantastic foreign players makes the chances even lower.

Still, in trying to get to my real point here, every major league franchise spends millions of dollars and man-hours on "baseball experts" who presumably possess a somehow proven ability to gauge the abilities of young ballplayers and--without meaning disrespect to the scouts or players who "miss"--they are incredibly wrong most of the time.

Hence, in general, take "expert" assessment--or people telling you what you can or cannot do or become--with a grain of salt.

For although, generally, a good portion of first round picks wind up making the major leagues, consider this:

In Round #1 in 2009, 49 players were selected. Of these, only 6 position players have had 900 or more big league at bats, and just 13 pitchers have appeared in more than 100 games.

I know these are old-school stats, but there are only two 2009 first-rounders with 90+ major league home runs and just 4 pitchers with 50 wins.

Some players are drafted out of high school--and may or may not sign at that point--and others out of college, so ages vary among the 2009 class from about 27 to 31. Hence, my bar for "making it" may not be universally applicable, but the point is that only about 12% of the 2009 first-round truly has.

And the biggest superstar by far--Mike Trout--went #25, to the Angels, who with their first-pick of round one took Randal Grichuk at #24 (he's turned out pretty good too, as the only other 90+ homer guy, but has 91 to Trout's 240).

You can see Round 1 of the 2009 MLB Draft here--and all the rounds of all drafts by entering the proper variables--so I won't add to anyone's Google grief by naming highly-drafted players who "didn't make it," but the guys taken #3 and #5 never even reached the major leagues, and there are very few starters, let alone stars, from the 1st round. (Other draft classes are likewise hit and mostly miss.)

But what really strikes me is that--besides Trout, who himself shows the fallibility of so-called experts--there are far more great successes taken in Round 7 or later than in the 49-pick first round.

And I'm only counting here the draft slot upon which a player was signed, as many--such as Goldschmidt in Round 49--were taken out of high school, didn't sign, and were re-selected higher after college.

The fun--now I tell you--really is in some of the specifics. (These are all 2009 draft/signee examples.)

- J.D. Martinez (195 career HR; full stats) - 20th round (pick #611)

- Khris Davis (48 HR in 2018; full stats) - 7th round (226)

- Matt Carpenter (36 HR in 2018; full stats) - 13th round (399)

- Dallas Keuchel (2015 Cy Young winner; full stats) - 7th round (221)

- Dan Straily (132 pitching starts; stats) - 24th round (723)

- Scooter Gennett (2018 All-Star; stats) - 16th round (496)

- Trevor Rosenthal (great closer before injury; stats) - 21st round (639)

- Matt Adams (96 HR; stats) - 23rd round (699) - like Rosenthal, taken by the Cardinals

- Brian Dozier (172 HR; stats) - 8th round (252) - 6 picks after Goldschmidt

- Yan Gomes (2018 All-Star; stats) - 10th round (310)

- Justin Bour (84 HR; stats) - 25th round (770)

- Brandon Belt (112 HR; stats) - 5th round (147)

- Kyle Seager (175 HR; stats) - 3rd round (82)

- Nolan Arenado (186 HR; stats) - 2nd round (59)

So sure, the first overall pick in 2009, Stephen Strasburg, has had a pretty stalwart career (stats), despite a number of injuries.

And some other players--Mike Leake (taken at #8), A.J. Pollock (#17), Grichuk, James Paxton (#37)--have had decent careers, with a few others having some solid seasons.

But pretty much all the other first-rounders from 2009--except, of course, Trout--have been flops, to one extent or another. Some perhaps due to injury; others, who knows why?

I respect the game of baseball--and how difficult it must be to hit or pitch a ball consistently, for years on end--enough not to belittle anyone who, despite clearly formidable talent, failed to make it.

The success rate is so low, even among the "can't miss," that I also won't condemn scouts or teams for getting it right so seldomly. Or wrong so often.

Though I do ponder whether there is some systemic issue that doesn't allow even the most adroit scouts to identify players who will make it vs. those who won't. Is it really that much of a crapshoot?

But well beyond baseball, or athletics, it does make you wonder:

If so much effort and expertise is invested into ascertaining "who will be great?" with so little acuity, why believe what anyone says about you and your potential. 

Whatever you wish to do, in the New Year and beyond, don't feel daunted.

24 teams--even his own--didn't know Mike Trout would become the best player in baseball, as he has been since the age of 20.

And you can be pretty sure that none of the 610 people drafted ahead of J.D. Martinez--despite a few similar success stories cited above--after he had played at Nova Southeastern University, in 2018 hit .330 with 43 home runs, 130 RBI and a 1.031 OPS playing for the World Champion Boston Red Sox.

Or earned $23.75 million.

And before you tell me AL MVP Mookie Betts was even better, even he was just a 5th round pick, #172 overall, in 2011.

Nobody knows.

Anything is possible.

As the great Joe Strummer--who has nothing to do with baseball--once said:

The future is unwritten.

Dave's of Our Lives: Reflecting on David Letterman's Retirement and Other Rued Endings

Later tonight--though already taped as I type--David Letterman will say good night to a brilliant run on late-night television stretching 33 years--initially on NBC and since 1993 on CBS.

If Variety is to be believed, when he signs off for good, the Indianapolis native will have presided over 6,028 broadcasts.

During Dave's time on the air, there has been no late night host I've liked more--save perhaps Johnny Carson at his best, and his Tonight Show was never on opposite Letterman--nor watched as often.

I exponentially preferred Letterman to Jay Leno, and attending a taping of The Late Show on January 25, 2007--an episode celebrating 25 years of Dave in late night, with frequent guest Bill Murray--is something I'll never forget. (As it was right before the Bears played Dave's hometown Colts in Super Bowl XLI, I submitted my own Top 10 List that I assume was roundly ignored.)

So it is not being disingenuous to say that I truly like David Letterman, his ingenuity, his irreverence, his wry monologues, his Top 10 lists, his patter with Paul Shaffer, his oft-bemused interviews, his taste in musical guests and his consistent presence.

And that I will miss him.

With the caveat that I didn't really watch him all that often.

Though I routinely enjoyed the shows I did catch, tuning into Letterman--whether at 11:30pm Central or 10:30pm since August '93--never really became habitual, at least not until the past month or so. 

And of 6,028 broadcasts, I would guesstimate that I've seen no more than 300 full shows, if that.

Yes, that's less than 5%.

Of course, since the advent of the internet and online video, I've also seen a good number of clips of Top 10 lists, newsworthy interviews and cherished or heralded musical guests.

But even if we're talking simply parts of shows, I'm guessing my intake has still been considerably less than 10% of Letterman's Late Night/Late Show output.

This relative sparsity has never been due to dislike, active disinterest, the late hour (especially after Dave moved to CBS and 10:30 Central) or preferring competitive programming with any consistency.

It would be too blanket a statement to say I haven't frequently cared about Dave's guests or whatever they were promoting--especially as part of his charm is that he often, quite obviously, didn't either--but for one reason or other, I only tuned in rather sporadically.

So while I will definitely miss having the option to watch The Late Show with David Letterman, and perhaps hearing about it the next morning, I can't forthrightly suggest my life will be acutely altered or my day-to-day enjoyment actively much diminished.

Incidentally, I have similar feelings about Jon Stewart, who will be exiting as host of The Daily Show on August 6. I think Stewart is brilliant, hilarious and almost universally "right on!" and have greatly relished each time I have caught him on the 10pm (Central) broadcast--or more often, snippets posted to Facebook the next day.

But he's been on The Daily Show for 4 nights per week since early 1999, and I've maybe seen 50 full episodes--which is again probably an overestimate.

I realize I may sound like a lummox who doesn't support the things I like, or just is lackadaisical about liking anything with a passion.

Hopefully those who peruse this blog with any frequency believe otherwise, but to share that since 1999 I've likely seen Bruce Springsteen live in concert--involving in places like New Jersey, London, St. Louis, Detroit, Columbus, etc.--more times than I've tuned into Jon Stewart from the comfort of my bed doesn't really abet my rebuttal.

Nor will my admission that I never really "got into"--beyond watching a handful of episodes each--universally acclaimed TV series that many hold sacrosanct, including The Sopranos, Breaking Bad and Mad Men.

But I really do love entertainment and culture and television and those increasingly rare creations and artists and personalities that unite us in the ever-more-fractionalized "zeitgeist."

Like David Letterman.

And Jon Stewart for that matter.

Still, while I often write--or just verbally kvetch--about the seeming erosion of transcendent artistry that bridges demographics and provides common touchstones to the masses, I find myself pretty accepting when a treasured performer or practitioner decides to call it a day.

As George Harrison sang on the title song of the 1970 album he released in the wake of the Beatles' breakup, "all things must pass." And maybe I'm a "glass half full" kind of guy, but I find it better to appreciate what's been given than bemoan what's been taken away.

Or, looping into these thoughts on retirement the far grimmer finality of death--and gauchely quoting myself--"weep for all that's been lost, smile for all that's been gained" is a philosophy I try to espouse, especially when the deceased has clearly lived a long, estimable and memorable life.

Bringing this back to being strictly about retirement, I also admire when people are able to go out on their own terms. This was the gist of an article I wrote when Doug Sohn announced he would close his inordinately popular Chicago sausage emporium, Hot Doug's, last year. (Incidentally, though Hot Doug's has arisen in 2015 for two temporal special events, I haven't been interested in partaking, partly in the name of letting the past stay past.)

So in the same vein, I'm glad Dave is heading off into the sunset, whether to devote more time to his son Harry, become a competitive cliff diver or to pursue anything else he may wish to do.

Thank you, David Letterman, for all the years and all the laughs.

Even when I wasn't watching.  

---
There are articles galore about Letterman's denouement, but two I recommend are Paste's compilation of 25 Top Musical Moments from his shows and this Salon interview with R.E.M. Mike Mills, who memorably performed on the show and publicly broke the news of Dave's retirement.

---

Inspired by David Letterman, here is my list of the...

Top 10 Retirements and Other Endings I've Most Rued (Not Including Deaths)

Unlike the Late Show's Top 10s, this list isn't meant to be humorous, but rather to recall the artists and creations I've truly missed after they came to an end. This won't include reference to anyone I've known personally nor endings due to death (e.g. Philip Seymour Hoffman, Robin Williams, Nirvana).

Citations include only people/things that I've acutely enjoyed in real-time during my lifetime, and which have ceased to exist, typically due to retirements, though in some cases because of breakups or cancellations.

And while I miss all of the following--notwithstanding reruns, YouTube, recordings, etc.--it may not quite be accurate to say I've "rued" their endings. This isn't just because of the outlook I cited a few paragraphs up, but because their "time" had appropriately run its course. (This logic is why I don't mind leaving off R.E.M., The Kinks, Cheers, etc.) 

10. Johnny Carson
9. Hot Doug's
8. Beavis & Butthead
7. Tower Records (and all large record stores)
6. The Replacements (though they've kinda come back) 
5. Seinfeld
4. Steve Dahl & Garry Meier as a radio duo
3. Michael Jordan, retirements #2, 1 & 3 in order
2. The Far Side - Gary Larsen 
1. Calvin & Hobbes - Bill Watterson

---
I obviously look forward to watching the last Late Show with David Letterman in less than 3 hours--with appreciation and wistfulness but not too much chagrin. Though the guest list hasn't been officially shared, it's been revealed that the Foo Fighters will be the last musical act, fitting as Dave loves them and had them play on the show following his return from heart surgery in 2000.

But as I'm all about the Boss, and as Bruce Springsteen was Letterman's hand-picked "most wanted guest" for his last NBC show in 1993, I'll end this with my favorite song about leaving the past behind...and looking forward. (From a concert I attended, to boot.)

Mourning the Death of Greatness, Lamenting the Lack of Its Rebirth -- On the Passing of Robin Williams and Other Legends

Just past 6:00pm on Monday, my friend Dave texted me:

Most shocking death since Michael?

At that point I had not yet heard the news, and though I correctly assumed the gist of Dave's query--that a really famous person had died, perhaps more shockingly than anyone since Michael Jackson in June 2009--for a moment I wondered if maybe he was just posing a question without imminent relevance, as Dave and I often text each other seeking recollections and opinions about music, movies, sports, etc.

When I looked and found that it was Robin Williams who had passed, the news was certainly unexpected, but whatever the delineation, I would say my reaction was more one of surprise than of shock.

I knew that Williams had had heart issues, and even in reading that suicide was suspected--and has since been confirmed and detailed--I recalled that the legendary comedian and actor had spoken of suffering from depression and struggling with addiction.

So--as I conveyed back to Dave--in terms of pure shock, the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman earlier this year came more completely out of left field (based on what I knew at the time) and hit me with more force. 

Truth is, that unlike Hoffman, I hadn't paid much attention to Robin Williams in recent years.

I only made it through a few minutes of one episode of The Crazy Ones, his sitcom with Sarah Michelle Gellar that was on CBS last season before being cancelled.

In looking at his credits on IMDB, it seems the last film in which Williams had a starring role that I saw anew was 2002's Insomnia, and though I very much like several of his earlier movies, I hadn't recently revisited them.

Although I believe it apt to call Robin Williams the best talk show guest ever, I can't recall a specific appearance of late, and remember thinking at some point that his manic stream-of-consciousness shtick had become a bit over-the-top and repetitive on late night TV.

And while I enjoyed seeing him live at the Chicago Theatre in 2008--on his now even more painfully titled Weapons of Self-Destruction stand-up tour--I didn't think he was nearly as good as in 2002 at the same venue.

That 2002 appearance was one of the most memorable of the 1,500+ live performances I've ever seen. (Williams was part of another in doing a stand-up set at the 1986 Conspiracy of Hope concert at the Rosemont Horizon that also featured the Police, U2, Peter Gabriel, Lou Reed and Bryan Adams.)

Not only was Williams fantastically funny at the Chicago in 2002, but I've never had a better seat for any show.

Rather amazingly.

You see, I typically select the cheapest ticket option for any show I attend, for I would much rather go to more shows with cheap seats than fewer shows with good seats.

I had purchased four tickets to one of Williams two shows at the Chicago Theater that February, which sold out instantly. 

The other three were for a co-worker who was a good friend at the time, his now wife and his mother, none of whom would have likely gone otherwise had I not been able to score tickets as soon as they went on sale.

The tickets I bought were over $60 apiece with Ticketmaster fees, but were in the very last row of the Chicago Theatre. I was perfectly fine with these as I usually sit in the nosebleeds, the venue isn't that big, I always bring binoculars and I was seeing a famous guy telling jokes, not a chorus line of beauty queens.

My friend understood the situation, but when we got to the theater and climbed to the top, let's just say his mom was doing a whole lot of kvetching about our shitty seats.

Miraculously, for no known reason, a woman who legitimately turned out to be a representative of
Robin's--we were rather skeptical of being scammed--came by our lofty perch and offered to exchange our tickets for four in the front row.

For free.

We wound up in the very first row, dead center. I swear I could see Robin Williams' nose hairs, and I'm sure plenty of his saliva landed on me as he excitedly told jokes with his trademark fervor.

But it was well worth it; not just to be that close to a living legend who was truly remarkable that night--with largely the act performed in his Robin Williams on Broadway HBO special--but because of the way it shut up my friend's mom.

So for reasons that also include liking Robin dating back to Mork & Mindy in my childhood and many of his movies--Good Morning Vietnam, Awakenings, Good Will Hunting, Patch Adams, Aladdin and Insomnia being among my favorites, with several more that I will watch or re-watch soon--I am quite saddened by his death, especially at his own hands.

As I posted on Facebook, it's heartbreaking that depression can be so crippling, even for someone who brought the world so much laughter. 

Thursday's revelation by his wife, Susan Schneider, that Robin was in the early stages of Parkinson's disease, only added to the sorrow for a man who was clearly suffering more than the public ever knew.

Since Williams' death I have read, seen and heard many tributes to his brilliance as a comedian and an actor, recaps of his best movies and great roles, recollections by his friends and peers that almost universally convey what a nice guy he was, stories decrying the ravages of depression, articles encouraging those who need help to seek it and urging America to do a better job addressing mental illness, a TIME piece on the connection between Parkinson's and depression, and sensitive thoughts on the topic of suicide--which, like substance abuse, often isn't prevented by one's wealth, intelligence, renown, talent and even supportive family life.

There have also been horrifying stories about how Williams' daughter Zelda was driven off Twitter by assholes, and a shrewd piece by the Chicago Tribune's Chris Jones about the ubiquity of social media mourning by celebrities and the public alike.

If you've wanted to, you've read--or can--much more astute pieces on any or all of the above than I'm capable of writing. 

So although my regard for Robin Williams is certainly high enough for me to do so, I am not writing this simply to pay tribute to him nor to comment on the circumstances surrounding his death at age 63. (I did write such a piece about Philip Seymour Hoffman.)

Rather, while it is certainly secondary to the grief, sorrow and loss Williams' family, friends and fans are feeling, I can't help but also see his death as yet another example of the erosion of artistic greatness that doesn't seem likely to be replenished in equal measure.

And it reminds me that along with rock and roll, jazz, painting, movie acting and many other creative idioms, stand-up comedy is another art form in which the ratio of here-and-gone (or at least greying) to up-and-coming is seemingly 100-to-1.

That I, and likely you, can't name another comedian--especially a living one--with a style and wit comparable to Robin Williams' is one thing.

Illustration by Tom Richmond, (c)2014
 from tomrichmond.com/blog

But neither I nor Dave could come up with the name of a current great or really well-known stand-up comedian under the age of 40. 

People are still paying good money to see Don Rickles, Joan Rivers, Jackie Mason and Bill Cosby, all well beyond 75.

Sadly, two of the greatest ever, George Carlin and Richard Pryor, didn't make it that far.

Jerry Seinfeld is now 60 and Steven Wright 59. I was surprised to learn that Chris Rock--who I still think of as a young comedian--is now 49, and even relatively big names like Dane Cook and Joel McHale are over 40. Jimmy Fallon will be in a month.

If you know of anyone of a younger age who you consider comparable to comics like those above, please let me know.

But to my awareness, or lack thereof, the dearth of brilliant comedians who are reaching the masses is one more reason to rue not only the passing of Robin Williams, but that of David Brenner and John Pinette earlier this year. Plus comedy legends Sid Caesar, Harold Ramis and Rik Mayall, even if they weren't really stand-ups.

And while I certainly do not mean to disparage the undoubtedly vast number of talented and dedicated young artists who may not deserve to remain under-the-radar, my lament goes well beyond the realm of stand-up comedians.

How many actors or actresses under 40 do you perceive as being or likely ever becoming as legendary, iconic or accomplished as Williams, Hoffman, Lauren Bacall, James Garner, Mickey Rooney, Elaine Stritch, Ruby Dee, Eli Wallach,  Maximilian Schell, Bob Hoskins or Shirley Temple? Or even as beloved for character roles as Ralph Waite, Ann B. Davis, Russell Johnson and Dave Madden?

Yes, there are many great writers out there, including rather young ones, but it's doubtful we'll see the likes of Gabriel Garcia Marquez or Maya Angelou again.

If you've perused this site for any bit of time, you'll likely have noted that most concerts I see are by musicians over 50, 60 or even 70, for as I've often lamented, there aren't many new rock artists I much care for. And I want to enjoy the legends I love while I still can.

Though I never did see Johnny Winter, Bobby Womack, Pete Seeger, Phil Everly, Tommy Ramone or jazz legends Horace Silver and Charlie Haden other than on screen, I don't sense that their ilk is being regenerated anytime soon, nor a pop lyricist on par with Gerry Goffin.

Even though great athletes, coaches and broadcasters will likely always remain relatively plentiful, the likes of Tony Gwynn, Jack Ramsey, Ralph Kiner and Jerry Coleman were all rather unique.

And with nothing but esteem for all the brilliant doctors and surgeons who better the world, and the world of sport, Dr. Frank Jobe had an impact that very few will likely ever have again.

There are many reasons to be saddened by the untimely passing of Robin Williams, and others who adorn the Chicago Tribune's notable deaths of 2014 photo gallery that expands almost every day.

Excepting any with whom we have direct relationships, our sorrow for celebrities who die typically involves admiration and appreciation for the work they did, regrets that there won't be more of it, a wistfulness for our eroded youth, a universal sense of sympathy for their loved ones and/or a reminder of our own mortality.

For me, add to that a frequent feeling of artistic brilliance being erased from the world at a far greater rate than it is being added.

So in saying "Farewell, Robin Williams" with an acute sense of sorrow, I also more broadly bemoan the probability of almost never again saying "Nanu Nanu" to anyone of his kind.

Des Plaines, Boss, Des Plaines: Stopping, Albeit Erroneously, to Note the End of an Era -- and an Oasis

I am writing this overlooking Interstate 90 from within the Des Plaines Oasis.

Tomorrow--St. Patrick's--and all future days I will be unable to do so. For today, March 16, 2014, marks the end of a 55-year run for this particular tollway oasis. 

Per this article, which provides details as to why the Des Plaines Oasis--which has stood in the same spot albeit with multiple modifications since 1959--is being eliminated (due to a highway reconfiguration that seems to make sense), demolition is slated to start in late May or June. 

Now, for all things for me to wax nostalgic about, a tollway oasis may seem to be low on the list. Unlike the recent erasure from the local landscape of the erstwhile UBAA Tap in Skokie and the Purple Hotel in Lincolnwood, the oasis is not a place where I have enjoyed celebrations nor have ever considered particularly unique or special. 

But I have spent much pleasurable time here.

Or so I thought. 

You see, when I recently read that the Des Plaines Oasis was closing--the adjoining gas stations will remain for quite awhile--I thought they were referring to the one over I-294 near O'Hare. After all, that is only a couple of miles from the Rivers Casino, which is denoted as being in Des Plaines. 

So without much else to do today, I went there. 

For without meaning to over-sentimentalize this, nor imply that I was there all that often, I really liked the oasis. 

And not just because it provided a convenient spot to get a bite to eat or relieve myself if the need arose during the many years I drove 294 getting from Glen Ellyn to Deerfield and back, or to/from Skokie from Glen Ellyn, or from Skokie to & from Naperville, Munster or other such places, or before/after concerts at the Rosemont Horizon/Allstate Arena when I lived in Glen Ellyn, etc. 

Certainly, most often, an acute need prompted me to stop at the oasis. But rather than simply making a beeline to the bathroom, McDonald's and back to my car, I almost always liked to linger. 

Especially late at night, I found the oasis to be a tranquil place to read and/or just watch the cars go by. And in more recent years, to write.

So many--relatively--were the times I found a seat at a table overlooking the tollway and happily sat for awhile reading a book. And though I've never been a coffee drinker, even sans or after a full meal, I would grab a Krispy Kreme donut or Auntie Annie's pretzel and a Diet Coke to enjoy as I read.

In total, I've likely only spent an hour or so reading inside a tollway oasis at most a couple dozen times, but there is one at which I did so the most often. 

And excepting my bed, I don't know if I can cite another specific place where I so repeatedly have enjoyed reading. 

However, that place is not the Des Plaines Oasis. 

It is the O'Hare Oasis, which is where I initially went today to hang out for  sentimentality's sake, thinking it was the one marked for extinction. 

But, only by virtue of asking the cashier in the Travel Mart, I learned that that oasis is not going away. At least there are no closure plans that she knew about.

The one that is disappearing, which I'm now at--possibly for the first time--is just a few miles away but over I-90, just west of Mt. Prospect Road. 

So after being the only moron snapping photos at the O'Hare Oasis, I relocated to the Des Plaines Oasis to find that I am not the only sentimental fool. 

Just, presumably, the only fool sentimental about the wrong place.

Which I'm glad will still exist after tonight.

It Was 50 Years Ago Today, The Beatles Taught the World to Play: The Impact of Their First Appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show

(Note: This piece was started on Feb. 9, 2014, but revised & completed on Feb. 10.)

February 9, 1964 is one of the most important dates of my life.

Even if I wouldn't be born for another 4-1/2 years.

While I certainly can be prone to hyperbole, especially in the case of creative heroes, and I won't pretend that I can appreciate the impact with the same acuity of those who saw it as it happened, it is hard to overstate how musically, culturally and historically significant the Beatles' first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show--50 years ago today--was.

I have the entire show on DVD--commercials and all--and watched it again on Sunday night, along with the CBS Special, The Beatles: The Night That Changed America, which was only sporadically great, but featured Paul and Ringo playing together at the end. The show was worthwhile, but was more a celebration of The Beatles in full and not the specific explosion fueled by their first Sullivan appearance.

Though I have watched the show before, and seen clips from it countless times, even in viewing it at 7:00pm on February 9th, 2014, I realize that I could really never know the novelty of witnessing it, largely or completely uninitiated, as it occurred, live, at 7pm (Central Time) on February 9, 1964.

Still, I think calling it "The Night That Changed America," as CBS does, actually sells it short.

My perception, secondhand as it may be, is that that night changed the world.

I will do my best to explain why via specific reasons below, aided by numerous articles on the topic and insights I sought from friends.

While the two are inextricably linked, in some ways that can't, shouldn't and won't be divorced, trying to explain "why the Beatles on Ed Sullivan changed the world" isn't the same as "Why the Beatles changed the world."

Though I've long considered February 9, 1964 (and the 7th, when they arrived in America to screaming throngs at JFK Airport in New York and conducted a brilliant news conference) as the demarcation of Beatlemania--and even, connotatively, "The Sixties"--that Sullivan show was far from the genesis of The Beatles.

I'll defer to Wikipedia and untold billions of other words for the Beatles' biography, but the band's origins date to 1957. While the "Fab Four" weren't locked into history until mid-1962, when Ringo Starr became their drummer, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and early bandmates had--as The Beatles--played hundreds of shows in their hometown of Liverpool, England and in Hamburg, Germany between 1960-62.

By 1963, they were humongous stars in England, topping the British charts with "Please Please Me," "From Me to You" and "She Loves You."

And before they hit CBS-TV Studio 50 in New York, they had already written, recorded and (in most cases, at least in the UK) released "I Wanna Hold Your Hand," "All My Loving," "I Saw Her Standing There" and "Can't Buy Me Love," along with many other now classic songs.

Though its ascent was rapid, in January 1964, "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" became the #1 song in America, a couple weeks before the boys got to New York. 

So it's not like being introduced to America via Ed Sullivan is what made the Beatles great, or what even "got them on their way." The unbridled creative ambition that led them from mastering cover versions of songs by heroes like Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Buddy Holly and myriad others to writing their own songs to constantly expanding their songwriting capabilities to only recording original material was already well underway, and this artistic thirst would lead to considerable greater invention after 1964 (including using recording studio techniques as part of their musical creation, creating the "album as art form" with Rubber Soul, etc.).

And February 9, 1964 wasn't even the first time the Beatles were seen on American TV. CBS had done a news feature on them in late 1963--initially the morning of November 22, 1963, but as that was the day President Kennedy was assassinated, again on December 10, the latter leading to the initial U.S. airing of "I Wanna Hold Your Hand"--and on his popular NBC show, Jack Paar had shown a clip of The Beatles performing, about a month prior to the historic Sullivan show.

So the Ed Sullivan Show--a television staple since 1948 that was regularly watched 50 million people each Sunday night--didn't represent the start of the Beatles, and even in America, their first appearance on it and two more that February, was only the beginning of the greatest rock music legacy in history.

So why did it--and does it still--matter so much?

(Disclaimer: Some of the following is simplified or technically overstated for the sake of space, and it's also possible I'm just wrong about some stuff. Feel free to correct me.)

1. The show was watched by a then-record 73 million people in the United States, proportionally--approx. 38% of the population--still the largest audience for a scheduled program. At the time, there were only 3 networks (CBS, NBC, ABC), no cable and very few multi-TV households. So while much has been made, correctly and echoed below, about the Beatles' effect on "youth culture," their watershed moment was decidedly cross-generational.

2. Much of pop culture, and particularly pop music, was rather tepid before the Beatles appeared. Please see my disclaimer before you take this completely literally, for I know there were many great movies, television shows, stage works, etc., prior to 1964. And yes, just in the pop/rock realm, there had already been several greats such as Elvis, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly, the Beach Boys, the Four Seasons, Motown groups and many others creating songs that still hold up well today. Not to mention that Bob Dylan had already made the scene with other folk stars. But take a look at the top songs of 1963. While there are a number of iconic artists and songs, there are also many by people that probably weren't quite seen as hip, even then. And Ed Sullivan's variety show featured all sorts of acts that I imagine many people now, and likely younger folks then, would consider rather tame, perhaps even lame. Heck, after the Beatles essentially opened the Feb. 9 show, they were followed by a guy, Fred Kaps, who did an old card trick and something involving a salt shaker. There was also a performance by the Broadway cast of Oliver, which include future Monkee, Davy Jones, and a funny routine by Frank Gorshin. These were the highlights, and other acts that night--Tessie O'Shea (a large woman singing with a banjo), McCall & Brill (a comedy duo whose remembrances of the night are worthwhile) and Wells & the Four Fays (an acrobatic troupe that closed the show)--probably all the more made The Beatles seem like martians, both to young viewers and older ones.

3. The songs they sang were terrific. This is certainly an opinion, but I still love hearing "All My Loving," "She Loves You," "I Saw Her Standing There" and "I Wanna Hold Your Hand," along with their cover of "Till There Was You" from The Music Man. And while I am not a musician and can't cite music theory, enough trusted sources have noted how novel the Beatles' songwriting was, even early on. Though it seems simple, the chord structures and choices are supposedly rather complex, and certainly unique at the time.

4. It wasn't really about hype, but the Beatles were even better than it. In retrospect, it may seem that Beatlemania was the result of a publicity machine, but throughout 1963 as the Beatles were selling millions of records in England, Capitol Records--the American subsidiary of EMI--repeated refused to release any songs in the U.S. The first DJ to play "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" had to have a copy brought to him by a stewardess who had visited Britain. It exploded because people who heard it, loved it, and while some degree of frenzy briefly preceded the Ed Sullivan appearance, much of the reason it still matters is because the Beatles were the real deal.

5. Relatively few Americans had previously seen a rock band, a group not from America or even a band logo. While several had backing bands, most of the rock 'n roll pioneers were solo acts. The Four Seasons was more of a "vocal group," and to a degree, so were The Beach Boys. Nobody from England or anywhere else had made much of a dent in America. And if (m)any prior rock acts--such as at the local sock hop--had a band logo emblazoned on the bass drum, I'm not aware of it.

6. Bruce Springsteen, Tom Petty, Billy Joel, Ozzy Osbourne, Gene Simmons and myriad other musicians have traced their inspiration to seeing the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. See this article.

7. The British Invasion was spawned. Once the Beatles broke in America, The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, Herman's Hermits, Dave Clark Five, The Who, The Zombies and many more would follow. Although several of these British bands' origins precede February 9, 1964, awareness of them in the United States certainly didn't.

8. America was in a malaise after the JFK assassination. I've read sensible commentary about how this is overstated, that the screaming teens at the airport, in the Ed Sullivan audience and throughout the country weren't still in a funk. But I had asked a co-worker old enough to remember and he validated that there was a palpable sorrow following the President's murder, and that the Beatles provided something of an acute antidote.

9. Fashion, and hair, changed. It's a bit hard for me to believe, but as their initial American news conference attests, one of the most noteworthy things about the Beatles to the press--and presumably the public--was the length of their hair. Everything you can envision about the 60s and hippies with long hair came after February 9, 1964 and not before it.

10. The seeds of uprising were sown. A friend of mine, Susan Doll, wrote the book Elvis for Dummies and in it shares how in the '50s, for the first time, teens claimed musical heroes distinct from their parents'. So the Beatles didn't establish the idea of an American youth culture, but Doll suggests (to me) that The Beatles "ignited and brought together a new generation that would tie rock music to the politics of the counterculture."

This meshes with the thoughts of my friend Ken, who said that "once young people found a common music, they found a common voice. Four years later that voice would shout 'Hell, no, we won't go.' For the first time in U.S. history, a generation of young American men refused to fight a war."

I should also note here that while great rock 'n roll music existed in America before the Beatles arrived, the genre was already in a down slope, if not outright doldrums. In 1962, Decca Records in England rejected The Beatles, saying "guitar groups are on the way out."

So as my friend Brad succinctly puts it, beginning by being seen by 73 million people on Feb. 9--they also appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show the following two Sundays:

"The Beatles made rock 'n roll permanent."

Also, early 1964 coincided with the first Baby Boomers coming of age. This might explain why the Beatles made even more of a sonic boom than Elvis had.

11. The frenzied hysteria seemingly surpassed anything before, or since. Here I'm talking about the high-pitched shrieking of teenage girls at the show's taping--beyond that which accompanied Elvis' Ed Sullivan appearances and teen idols since, from Duran Duran to New Kids on the Block to N'Sync, etc.--and which may, as others have suggested, have had sexual undertones that would further define how "The Sixties" differed from "The Fifties."

But I also mean that, while I have seen and noted a few televised musical mega-moments--Michael Jackson doing "Billie Jean" on Motown 25, The Clash on Fridays, LiveAid, highlighted for me by Queen and the Led Zeppelin reunion, Nirvana's first appearance on Saturday Night Live--I don't think any of these quite captured, or changed, the zeitgeist like the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. Perhaps because of the degree to which the Fab Four had already changed it.

Summing up, I'll reference an article by Fred Kaplan on Slate.com that was actually written to commemorate the 40th anniversary of that memorable night. Providing some of the insights and information I used above, he wrote:

"The timing of the Beatles was perfect. 1964 marked the emergence of the Baby Boomers as a social force—and the Beatles were the vehicle for their ascendance as a cultural force. What records were the No. 1 hits on the pop charts before the Beatles took over the slot and stayed there for years to come? Bobby Vinton’s “There! I’ve Said It Again,” the Singing Nun’s “Dominique,” and Dale & Grace’s “I’m Leaving It Up to You.” The Beatles changed the charts forever. You can draw a line in the historical sands of popular culture at 1964. A lot of pop music that came after that point still sounds modern today. Almost all the pop music that came before that point sounds ancient. 

On Feb. 9, 1964, The Ed Sullivan Show was the stage on which this change was dramatized."

The Erosion of Associative Learning (and Its Detrimental Effects)

Many moons ago, back before anyone had the ability to do anything, because cell phones, smartphones, the internet, email, text messaging, Facebook, personal computers and cable TV had yet to be invented, or were still in their infancy, I was a high school freshman.

I don't remember much about freshman year except for my friend Jordan being thrown out of Ms. Hall's Algebra class, and he'll probably say I have the story wrong. So this is representative, not explicitly real, but bear with me.

Let's say in my World History class I was assigned to do a report on Belgium.

Since the high school library was reserved for playing origami football, which consisted of folding sheets of paper into triangles that could be flicked for field goal attempts, this would involve riding my bike through the streets of Skokie to the library on a Saturday morning.

Along the way, I would likely stop to get something to eat and also visit Record City, to see what new albums were on the racks.

Once at the library, on route to the collection of encyclopedias at the back of the second floor, I would pass numerous books on display and on shelves, and probably be prompted to check something out, which has dual connotations in a library.

While World Book was always my encyclopedia of choice, there was also Encyclopedia Britannica, Funk & Wagnalls and several other multi-volume sets.

Even if I took merely the “B” volume of World Book back to a table, before or after I honed in on Belgium, it was certainly within reason that I might notice entries on “The Beatles” or “bees” or “baseball” or “Barcelona” or “Beethoven” or “Harry Belafonte” or “ballet” or the “Battle of Gettysburg” or “bass guitar” or—well, you get the idea.

Nowadays—and I should give the caveat that without kids of my own, my speculation certainly lacks much acute awareness of today's teenage tendencies, but is based a bit on observations of a niece and two nephews—kids doing a report on Belgium would presumably just go to Wikipedia or Google or other online resources (I was surprised to learn that World Book has an online encyclopedia for which schools can secure access) and search for “Belgium.”

And though information on millions of other subjects is instantly accessible, unless teens—or even adults—are prompted for a reason to explore something they weren't looking for, they probably won't.

Hence, while more information is more instantly available to more people than ever before in history, my sense is that this is actually resulting in people generally knowing less, not more.



Technology, in Itself, Isn't a Bad Thing, but...

Let me say, before I completely convince you that I'm a curmudgeonly technophobe, that I love modern technology, at least on a personal level.

I love the expediency that text messaging can provide. I like being able to watch entire television series with nothing more than a few clicks. I like always having “my music” with me. I like sharing my blog posts on Facebook and occasionally offering some witticism that makes me feel glib. I like using the Kindle app to read books on the train. I like buying replacement ink cartridges for my printer in 1-click. I like referencing IMDB during movies (at home).  And not a day goes by when I'm not looking something up on Wikipedia.

I also understand that most people are going to embrace the technology that is available—and the simplicity it often brings—and that young people who have grown up with such omnipresent technology aren't going to actively seek out the “analog” predecessors to the digital age.

There is not much reason I can think of to tell a 16-year-old to use a phone book, physical road map or—except for those really interested in learning the nuances of photography—a film camera. Many things that once were ubiquitous are now largely obsolete, and no tears need to be shed in the name of progress, even for us sentimentalists.

But my guess is that most 16-year-olds, unless imparted with certain passions by their parents, cannot name the four Beatles, or likely a Beatles album.

They probably don't recognize the names Sandy Koufax, Joe Louis, Milton Berle, Leonard Bernstein, Humphrey Bogart, Stan Laurel, Ian Fleming, Jonas Salk, Shirley Temple, Scott Joplin, Orson Welles or Louis Armstrong.

“So what?” you might say, “those were all people of a different age.”

Yes, but that's my point.

The heyday, if not full lifespan, of everyone I named was largely before “my time.” Yet, I'm pretty certain I knew who all of those people were before I went off to college at 17. And while I certainly came to know about many more people, topics, interests & pursuits in, and since, college, I don't know how many of those—or similar—once household names would even be recognized by the average 30-year-old today.

The Lack of Personal Passions Can Have
Not-So-Superfluous Repercussions

Before I ramble on, let me throw out a few caveats. I have always had a curiosity about entertainment, culture and creative arts, and I don't mean to imply that in order to have a fulfilling life, people—of any age—must share my passions. Though I do believe having a passion for something—astronomy, birds, fashion, architecture, tennis, the Civil War, Scrabble, etc., etc.—can not only be quite gratifying, but even emotionally nourishing.

And though I believe—without a shred of scientific research—that modern technologies have likely detrimentally impacted what I have termed “associative learning,” i.e. discovering something of interest you weren't intentionally seeking, even with this erosion seeming particularly acute among younger generations never weaned on roaming through record stores (see this somewhat related piece) or flipping through physical dictionaries, I'm not saying that the internet is solely responsible.

Also, while I don't think they provide quite the same type of peripheral information-ingesting and interest-prompting that physical encyclopedias, book/record stores, newspapers, magazines, bulletin boards, etc. once did, I should note that websites like Amazon, Pandora, Netflix, Spotify and, less actively, Wikipedia do try to turn users onto things not overtly sought.

And, theoretically, Facebook, Twitter and other web vehicles have exponentially mushroomed the concept of "word of mouth." Though I can't recall the last time I've seen anyone recommend a good book.

Hopefully, in this day of ubiquitous text messaging, status reporting and headphone wearing, people--including parents and kids--still occasionally communicate verbally...and even share interests and ideas.

For interpersonal interaction can be even more influential than encyclopedias, magazines, etc. in introducing one to possible new interests and passions.

Parents, aunts, uncles, teachers, other adults and even friends of the same age can hugely influence a child's sphere of interests, and even their interest in having interests. It's no accident that the early-twentysomething daughter of a friend of mine older than me loves Cream and Hendrix and old blues players.

My father certainly influenced my interest in baseball, Broadway musicals and more, and introduced me to Bridge on the River Kwai before I hit high school. And an aunt who always seemed to be traveling the world is undoubtedly part of why I so love to do so. Her apartment was always filled with books and travel mementos, and I directly trace my desire to visit Australia—which I did in 2001—to having seen a photo of the Sydney Opera House in one of her Time-Life books over 20 years earlier.

But, without being a parent nor having much conversation about this with those who are, my perception is that even interpersonal enlightenment seems not to burn as bright as it once did.

The reasons for this could likely fill a whole other essay, and I won't dig deep into them here. Certainly the advent of electronic communication, personal entertainment devices and myriad distractions have likely cut down on verbal interaction--and overt bonding moments--between parents and teenage children.

It's hard to imagine a dad influencing, perhaps even passively, his kids to watch, say, The Honeymooners, as it would have been 30 years ago, when reruns would've been on 1 of 10 available VHF or UHF channels, not a lot harder to find among hundreds of cable channels and infinite other viewing options.

I also think there's something to entertainment choices being so abundant, and thereby fractionalized, that fewer things become part of the mass zeitgeist, or at least noticed by a hefty portion of the population. Parents who grew up with Elvis, the Beatles, Stones and/or Dylan would be conceivably more likely to introduce their kids to their--and in some ways, everyone's music--than, say, 40-year-old parents of teenagers today. Because with the parents being teens between '86-'92, perhaps they don't feel the need to expose their children to Ratt or Extreme or The Outfield or Fine Young Cannibals or Bananarama or Milli Vanilli or whoever they were listening to. And all of those artists were in heavy rotation on MTV, and thus fairly mainstream. With music options in the internet age even far more individualized, there's likely to be even fewer common touchstones passed down from generation to generation.

How Cultural Literacy Can Provide a Psychological Foundation

Shocking, I know, but I never spent much time going to high school parties, or hanging out on Chicago's Lincoln Avenue (or other bar-besieged “hot spots”) or even dating a whole lot. Thus, I had plenty of time and some kind of "chicken or egg" inclination to read books, watch old movies, listen to—and constantly explore--music and otherwise indulge my creative curiosities.

Hypothesizing that some of the popular and/or stoner kids, frat boys and bar sceners may now be blissful, well-adjusted adults, I'm not saying that the only route to “happiness” involves exploring the various components of the “Paul is Dead” hoax from years ago. Especially as it's rather difficult to spin an MP3 backwards.

But I don't believe it's coincidence that despite not having, in the past and/or present tense, many of the
traditional trappings of happiness, success, fulfillment, etc.--popularity, romance, great jobs, wealth, a wonderful physique, big house, fancy car, spouse, children or even a pet—I have generally been pretty happy and, without meaning to suggest there is anything wrong with doing so, have never used psychiatric or recreational drugs, nor indulged much in alcohol.

Understanding that behavioral health issues have myriad underlying factors, I don't mean to over-imply that the seeming dearth of associative learning--and the resulting lack of life-sustaining pursuits and passions--is a significant factor in tragic number of suicides, substance addictions, cases of depression or even just insecurities and self-esteem issues among teens, young adults and, well, everyone.

But it's quite likely I wouldn't be here if I didn't have Bruce Springsteen or a good book or a classic movie to turn to when things weren't going so great, or even when I would've otherwise just been bored.

i.e., There's nothing wrong with Facebook in itself, but if it's all you have, life can be a bit harder to face, particularly through the tough times.

Encourage Looking Beyond the Instant to Find Other Interests

I certainly can't turn back the clock, and I'm not suggesting all households start subscribing to physical newspapers again (though it couldn't hurt) or that physical bookstores be supported by the government if no longer fiscally viable.

But though I admittedly have more consternation than answers, I do think there are ways to encourage a re-acclimation to associative learning.

With apologies to parents and teachers and librarians and others who are already actively trying to expand the “field of focus” among young people, I believe moms, dads and educators need to expressly stimulate additional interests, as the days of seeing other encyclopedia entries or perusing record stores is long gone.

Part of this whole diatribe was prompted by hearing that one of my nephews had to do a report on a famous person. I forget who his subject was, but I thought this was pretty cool, even if his point of reference was WorldBook.com. But when I asked if he would be reading his report to the class, he said no, that wasn't part of the assignment.

So instead of learning about 30 great, famous and/or interesting people, he learned about just one. The solution to this seems pretty obvious, though I'm not naïve enough to think that if kids hear a classmate's report on Charlie Parker, they're instantly going to become bebop afficianados.

But if you know a teen who loves 'The Hunger Games,' recommend that they look up Wilma Rudolph or Jesse Owens on Wikipedia.

If they like Jay-Z or whatever rap star I should be naming, suggest they seek out Grandmaster Flash, or even Gil Scott-Heron, on Spotify.

If they go to high school football games, bring up clips of Walter Payton, Jim Brown and Joe Namath on YouTube.

If they've seen Wicked on stage or liked the Les Miserables movie or watch Glee, show them Singin' in the Rain, My Fair Lady and West Side Story, or even take them to other live shows. 

If they love seeing the latest superhero blockbusters, find a Bruce Lee movie on Netflix or Amazon.

And if they spend excessive time staring into space--when not staring at their phones--download a book by Carl Sagan or Stephen Hawkins to their smartphone. 

You see, the tools to support associative learning are more readily available—and easily accessible--than ever.

What needs a good bit of updating for the digital age, however, is the power of suggestion.

---
If You Want to Know...Learn

In the spirit of stimulating associative learning, I thought I'd conclude this by throwing out 30 names that I'm glad I've come to know.

I'm not saying these are all people that everyone needs to know--and certainly not teenagers, as my awareness of many came much later--nor necessarily the foremost practitioners in their respective fields.

But depending on your age and interests, there may be several names below with which you're unfamiliar; as they have all enriched my existence to some degree, perhaps you'd like to learn more about some.

Each name is linked to their Wikipedia entry, with an additional "(more)" link that provides examples of their work. I've also written about many of these people here, so just use the search field at right if interested in what I had to share.

In turn, in addition to providing comments on my thoughts above, I'd be happy to hear of people and topics that I may be oblivious to, especially as my focus is heavily on practitioners of entertainment and athletic arts. And even in those fields, I'm either largely or completely unaware of any active painters, poets, sculptors, cartoonists, columnists, jazz musicians or classical composers I should be paying attention to.

So feel free to bookmark this, and return to expand your horizons--and mine--when time and inclination allow. And, just maybe, share it with your kids.

Raphael (more)

Stephen Sondheim (more) 

John Coltrane (more)
Frank Lloyd Wright (more)

The Jam (more) (more 2)
Billy Wilder (more, by me)

Billie Holiday (more)

M.C. Escher (more)
Henri Cartier-Bresson (more, by me)

Gary Larson (more)

Savion Glover (more)

Patti LuPone (more)

Edward Hopper (more)
Giacomo Puccini (more)

Edward R. Murrow (more)

Magnus Carlsen (more)

Ernie Harwell (more)

Toshiro Mifune (more)
George Carlin (more)

Matt Taibbi (more)

Grace Kelly (more)

Oscar Wilde (more)

David Mamet (more)

Jeff Beck (more)

Roberto Clemente (more)
Antoni Gaudi (more)
Auguste Rodin (more)
Ennio Morricone (more)

George Best (more)

Norman Lear (more, "All in the Family")

Related writings: Creative Clusters, Bullying, Mindset List 2012 & 2010, The Dearth of Great New Rock Bands, The Extinction of Book & Record Stores, The Erosion of Print Journalism, Imaginary Heroes & Real Villains, World Cinema, Lost Art Forms, Charlie Chaplin & Commentative Art, Part 1 & Part 2