The day sits in my mind very clearly, it was August 16 1977 that Elvis Presley died when we were on a family holiday in Northern Michigan and I was in a small party store running an errand for my mother. On the radio it came , the news that the King had died, while not an Elvis fan myself, my mother and aunts (who were with us) were and sure enough by the time I had made it back to our cabin all were in tears as an social Icon of a time had passed.
In the future the same would repeat as the day it was announced that John Lennon had been murdered, it was during the school day and the female teachers of the era wept at their desk, while the males sat quietly staring off into the distance seeking their own solitude or maybe truth to the moment. While not a big Beetles fan, I also understood the iconoclastic impact John Lennon brought to the world and the void his passing would leave behind in the hearts of society.
Maybe it’s from events such as these and many others that followed which has developed into a weekly habit of when the Economist comes out, I first turn to the Obituary section as this week its headlined by Tiger Pataudi, the King of Indian Cricket. Next week it will assuredly be someone else, as that is the only real guaranty in life, is the finality of death. With this it seems to be the one moniker which is forever and therefore a solid marker of the passing of time.
However next week I will be saved the chore as the name is already known as they will list the name of Steve Jobs in that section and time will once again be marked with a life passed on. However this one much like the priors mentions not only mark time however because he touched so many people with his vision and no nonsense compromise [or lack of] will leave a quiet void in the hearts of society.
As here time is once again marked, and as in the Annie play says the sun will come up yet again tomorrow and more Apple products will be sold. Yet somehow they will be different, as with the world as a whole and this time it’s not my mother’s turn, or my teachers turn, it is my turn to remember, it is my era, my icon which is passing on …