An online reader might not realize that A1 is the front page, and below the fold is the lower half of the front page. Print newspapers come folded, not scrolled. These concepts are likely lost on the online reader.
When I go into the city I will invariably have the print edition of the NYT or the WSJ with me to read on the way in. I know I'm the only person in the train car who is reading a print copy, and probably the only person who would know how to fold a paper so that it's not like you're unfurling a table cloth across another seat occupant's lap. I am a master of the fold, perfected from 40+ years of riding mass transit, commuter trains and subways into work. No matter how crammed in I ever was, I always managed to put newsprint in front of my face.
The NYT front page obit is obviously accorded to only those who are deemed worthy by the editors. If the person is so noteworthy, an above-the-fold placement might be accorded. This is a 21-gun salute, reserved for only the highest of notables. I don't think even Colin Powell rose above the fold. But an A1 obit, even below-the-fold, is high acknowledgment for a life well lived.
The current procession of A1 obits to me seems notable in that there are so many. It started with Stephen Sondheim, of Broadway music and lyrics fame. His reputation was sealed when he wrote the lyrics to West Side Story while only in his 20s. I love those lyrics, and think they are among the cleverest ever written.
To me, it's not a surprise that the Steven Spielberg musical has not gained traction with audiences, even allowing for low expectations due to the Covid Omicron outbreak.
The story is purely a NYC Romeo and Juliet tale of lovers who have connections to rival street gangs. Most people these days are not versed in NYC's street gang warfare that was driven by restless youth who were fearful of the Puerto Rican exodus from the island to New York's West Side and other city neighborhoods. The children of longshoremen and teamsters cast an evil eye on the migrating Spanish.
The West Side of the 50s and 60s that was slated for so much urban renewal doesn't exist today. The opening scene of the West Side Story movie is danced on newly bulldozed lots that will give rise to the Lincoln Center complex. Try and find an expanse of empty space like that now. And the elevated West Side Highway, holding so much danger and fright underneath, is long gone.
The West Side was the scene of the Capeman murders in 1959, two teenagers stabbed by a 16 year-old Puerto Rican gang member who mistook them for members of a rival gang. I know two brothers who grew up in the West '50s whose father was petrified for their lives until The Capeman was caught. He was a forerunner to Son Of Sam, but with a switchblade rather than a .44. Paul Simon tried to raise a musical about The Capeman only to see it fail after 68 performances.
Next we have Joan Didion, a writer, poet, critic, essayist, and playwright, who personified New York literary elite. I will confess to have never read anything of hers.
Forward to Archbishop Desmond Tutu, the Anglican clergyman who fiercely fought against the South African policy of Apartheid, advocating a policy of non-violence that earned him the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984, and seeing the dissolution of Apartheid in his lifetime. He was 92, and with no disrespect whatsoever, I truly thought he had already passed away.
Then there's Edmund O. Wilson, a Harvard professor and research scientist who floated many theories about evolutionary behavior by observing ants. He wrote extensively and won two Pulitzers. He too was 92, and apparently left a vast legacy for others to follow.
And today, we get another A1 obit noting the passing of John Madden, the NFL Hall-of-Fame football coach and broadcaster, who you could probably say was like Sara Lee desserts: "Nobody doesn't like John Madden."
There is a retweet from Joe Drape (@joedrape) of a Conner Ennis (@ennisnyt) tweet who tells of urging Ben Shpigel (@benshpigel) to write Madden's advance obit 10 years ago, guaranteeing that it will appear on Page A1 when the time comes. The time came, and it did appear on A1.
Madden was John Candy in the back of the polka band bus, offering comfort to the mother who left her kid Home Alone while the family went to the airport for vacation.
Surprisingly there is no mention of the All-Madden Team that he would announce at the end of the season, a spot on which was a cherished place for player. Fox Sports did a Madden feature before Sundays' game. I'm sure they will replay it. It was interesting to realize how many players saw John Madden the announcer, as soundtrack for their careers. After all, he did broadcasts for over 20 years. The Pat Summerall-John Madden broadcast duo was the prime time game of the week. The two teams had to be worth it to have them broadcast the game.
For the longest time I never really thought a turducken was a real thing. Madden awarded it on Thanksgiving telecasts to the winning team. The players of the game got one of the several drumsticks.
A turducken was a turkey stuffed with duck stuffed with chicken. It's a real thing. A butcher who would sell turduckens tells the tale on the Madden Fox Sports feature of how before Madden started talking about them he only sold a few. Afterwards, when Madden started using a turducken as a metaphor for excellence, the butcher couldn't keep up.
Madden's broadcasting popularity was so great that the obit for Harry Reid, the Senate Majority leader who just passed away, was relegated to a teaser on the lower portion of A1. Madden was bigger than a long-term U. S. senator.
And why not. Anyone who could make you appreciate a player who was playing their heart out because their uniform was full of grass stains, or who was so hot that when they sat down on the bench vapor came off the top of their head, had to be somebody you'd take a bus ride with.
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