Celebrity Thread: News, gossip, and anything else that strikes a fancy
- Thread starter Deus Irae
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Lord Chevy
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Classic ...Star-studded classic. If you haven't seen it, take the time.
View: https://youtu.be/PlJAFMJiu1g
View: https://youtu.be/PlJAFMJiu1g
After the death of his beloved wife Gloria in 1994, Hollywood icon James Stewart made a quiet yet profound decision not to replace the battery in his pacemaker. This choice reflected not just his grief, but his acceptance of life’s impermanence. Having been married to Gloria for nearly 45 years, her passing left a significant void in Stewart's world. A decorated WWII veteran and celebrated actor, Stewart had always been known for his grounded and sincere demeanor, both on and off screen.
Stewart’s decision to forgo medical intervention was not born from bitterness or despair, but rather a deep sense of peace and understanding. He once described Gloria as "the sunshine of my life," and with her death, he felt that life had lost its radiance. By choosing not to extend his life artificially, Stewart was not surrendering, but rather allowing himself to let go of the world that had changed so drastically for him. His choice was an intimate expression of his love for her, and his acceptance of their shared journey coming to an end.
James Stewart passed away peacefully in 1997 at the age of 89, his decision standing as a poignant testament to the power of love, loss, and the grace that comes with knowing when it’s time to move on. His quiet acceptance of mortality, following a life full of accomplishments, remains a moving reminder of the profound bond he shared with Gloria and the human capacity to face life's inevitable end with dignity.
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If you ever heard what Red Skelton said in his final performance, you’d understand why so many still hold him close to their hearts. That night in Atlanta, the legendary clown gave the world one last show—full of laughter, nostalgia, and unexpected heartbreak. He brought back his most beloved characters—Freddie the Freeloader, the silly seagulls, and more—each one greeted like an old friend. The room was alive with joy, as it had been so many times before. But near the end, something changed.
With about fifteen minutes left, Red gently paused. He stepped forward and held Freddie’s tattered brown hat in his hands. The audience grew quiet. For a moment, he wasn’t a performer. He was a man with something urgent to say. In a soft, steady voice, Red spoke about how comedy had changed. He spoke with sadness, not bitterness. He said comedy was once gentle—meant to lift people, not tear them down. He grieved how laughter had lost its innocence.
That night, Red Skelton didn’t ask for applause—he made a plea. A plea to hold onto what he called “clean comedy.” The kind that didn’t rely on cruelty or shock to get a laugh. The kind he had devoted his entire life to. His voice broke slightly as he said it: we must protect that kind of laughter. We must never forget how to be kind and still be funny. It was a call not just to his audience, but to future generations of entertainers.
As the curtain fell, Red bowed his head—not just as Freddie, or as a clown, but as a man who had carried a torch for something rare and beautiful. His last words on that stage weren’t a joke, but a gift. A reminder that laughter, when done with love, can heal hearts. And that true comedy—the kind that respects both the performer and the audience—is never out of style.
With about fifteen minutes left, Red gently paused. He stepped forward and held Freddie’s tattered brown hat in his hands. The audience grew quiet. For a moment, he wasn’t a performer. He was a man with something urgent to say. In a soft, steady voice, Red spoke about how comedy had changed. He spoke with sadness, not bitterness. He said comedy was once gentle—meant to lift people, not tear them down. He grieved how laughter had lost its innocence.
That night, Red Skelton didn’t ask for applause—he made a plea. A plea to hold onto what he called “clean comedy.” The kind that didn’t rely on cruelty or shock to get a laugh. The kind he had devoted his entire life to. His voice broke slightly as he said it: we must protect that kind of laughter. We must never forget how to be kind and still be funny. It was a call not just to his audience, but to future generations of entertainers.
As the curtain fell, Red bowed his head—not just as Freddie, or as a clown, but as a man who had carried a torch for something rare and beautiful. His last words on that stage weren’t a joke, but a gift. A reminder that laughter, when done with love, can heal hearts. And that true comedy—the kind that respects both the performer and the audience—is never out of style.
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Jim Morrison bust found by chance during police search — 37 years after it was stolen from singer's grave
The sculpture, missing since 1988, was found during a search tied to a fraud case led by the Paris public prosecutor's office, a source close to the investigation told AFP.
www.cbsnews.com
French police have recovered by chance the long-lost bust of American singer Jim Morrison that once adorned the grave of the iconic frontman of The Doors, 37 years after it was stolen from a Paris cemetery.
The sculpture, missing since 1988, was found during a search tied to a fraud case led by the Paris public prosecutor's office, a source close to the investigation told AFP.
Nostalgic rock fans still flock to Morrison's grave at the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris, where he was buried after his death in the French capital in 1971 at the age of 27.
The sculpture, by Croatian artist Mladen Mikulin, had been placed at the grave to mark the 10th anniversary of Morrison's death.
It was found by the financial and anti-corruption brigade of the judicial police department of the police.
Morrison's grave — in an area known as Poet's Corner — is perhaps the world's most-visited resting place of a musician. In 1991, on the 20th anniversary of the singer's death, a riot broke out at his gravesite, the BBC reported, forcing the cemetery to hire extra security.
After that, a guard was "permanently stationed at Morrison's grave, but messages continue to appear on surrounding tombs," the New York Times reported in 1993.
The exact circumstances of the singer's death are still shrouded in mystery, with most early accounts saying he died of cardiac arrest in his bathtub.
A French journalist, Sam Bernett, claimed in a 2007 book that close friends and family spun the official version of Morrison's death to sanitize his reputation.
Bernett said Morrison actually died from a heroin overdose on the toilet of a nightclub that the journalist owned at the time, the "Rock 'n' Roll Circus" on Paris' Left Bank.
The Doors, founded in Los Angeles, were among the most influential rock groups of the late 1960s and early 70s and a mainstay of the counterculture at the time.
Their hits include "Riders on the Storm," "Light My Fire" and "The End," a haunting song that features prominently in Francis Ford Coppola's 1979 Vietnam war movie "Apocalypse Now".
In February, Paris named a bridge after the iconic singer, located just steps from the bohemian Marais district where he last lived.
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