Luck is a weird concept, doncha think?
For example: You are a supermarket serial (not to be confused with “cereal”) checkout line changer; yet you invariably choose the slowest line. You get behind that lovely woman who is holding only a 10-pound bag of cat food, then realize to your horror she also has a cart filled with individual cat food cans, each of which must be scanned individually.
Dumb luck. Or …
You switch lanes on the 101 to honorably get out of the carpool lane only to discover that everyone to your left is zipping by you, and that 90 percent of those cars have but one occupant. You are stuck, you can’t jump out and stop the offenders and can’t call the cops as you will get dinged for using your phone while in the car. It’s enough to make you pull over and light up a joint.
You’re just outta luck.
I don’t know about you (well, I do because I have shares in Facebook) but luck runs hot and cold in my world and sometimes, out of the blue, your luck just runs out.
Speaking of which … I give you one William H. Cosby, Jr.
I grew up with Bill Cosby. Not literally; I have never even been to Philadelphia, but, as a kid in Fresno, I would sit in my room, close the door and put on one of his comedy albums – “I Started Out as a Child,” “Why is There Air?” “Wonderfulness,” etc.
Picture a chubby (or svelte-challenged) 10-year-old, sitting on the floor in his room, laughing himself silly (I suppose that’s redundant; few people laugh themselves somber), listening to these records over and over again. My favorite track was “The Chicken Heart That Ate New York.” Even now an involuntary smile appears as I type this. Well, as I watch my well-paid personal assistant type this. Good job, Ralph.
I adored I Spy, was a big fan of his little-watched 70s show The Bill Cosby Show (where do they come up with these crazy show titles?), even smirked a bit through his Jell-O ads. I’m proud to say I didn’t waste money on Ghost Dad, but I do confess to being one of the six people who saw Mother, Jugs and Speed (co-starring Harvey Keitel and Raquel Welch … yes you read that correctly) in the movie theater. Guess who played Jugs? I wasn’t a big fan of the “groundbreaking” Cosby Show, but I found it mostly amusing. I saw him live in concert twice in the past 10 years and laughed until I cried both times.
I, like many of us, feel a bit betrayed by this man. It’s really kind of ludicrous to feel let down by someone you really don’t know. Someone who cravenly carved out a public persona so rich in (false) detail that he seemed so genuine, so approachable, so … trustworthy.
Idol worship is a tricky business and, like sausage being made, perhaps we are much better off not knowing what our celebrity heroes are truly like when the stage lights are off.
Yet most of us are drawn to perceived role models. We seek people who possess (or seem to possess) traits we admire, ideals we strive for, attitudes we want instilled on our kids. America’s Dad turns out to be a shill, a fraud, a well-paid charlatan. While strongly exhorting young black men to reject gang life and step up to be men, apparently he was drugging and sexually abusing women at his whim.
America’s Dad. Sad, yes, but I must slap myself and consider that my disappointment in having a sexual predator unmasked pales in comparison to the dozens of women who were victimized by this creature. My true sympathy must be reserved for their situations — fighting the public image of this man for so many years, being ignored, patronized, marginalized by the artificial lights, tainted money and ruthless PR machine of celebrity.
These women deserve better and I hope they enjoy some piece of vindication. It won’t make up for years of torment and pain, but it is a baby step.
Of course, old man Cosby with his failing eyesight will probably get off lightly. Sorry John Lennon, but Instant Karma ain’t gonna get him. His lawyers will delay a possible prison sentence with appeals and he likely will never serve a day behind bars. Is a public stoning too much to ask for?
Hey, hey, hey, indeed
Steven welcomes your comments. You can reach him at st***************@gm***.com.
