Christopher Reeve: bah humbug.
Jacques Derrida: a thousand RMIT architecture students circa the early 1990s are weeping.
Max Geldray: don’t tell me you didn’t notice. Not as well known as Peter Sellers, Spike Milligan and Harry Secombe, admittedly, but Max was one of the band leaders who worked the orchestra at various intervals during the Goon Show. We shouldn’t just remember the Big Names.
Keith Miller: “Where are the Ashes?” “Miller Hassett in a Hole” - one of the many little rhymes my father imparted to me, all of which meant nothing to me (although the singular/plural disjunction caused me some distress) and would mean even less to our own kids. I’m surprised, therefore, that his death has had such an impact. Which leads me to: should someone remembered only for their sporting prowess be entitled to a State funeral? It’s just a thought, but blokes who are good at hitting or kicking or bowling a ball around (or in Miller’s case, all three) aren’t necessarily statesmen and ambassadors in relation to the wider world. Even Bradman had problems of his own (shh, don’t tell the Prime Minister). In Keith Miller’s case we can make an exception, but a line has to be drawn somewhere, otherwise we will be gathered in officially sanctioned mourning (at some date well into the future, god willing) for Warney. What kind of message would that send?
