In Memoriam – Page 3

Fare thee well

Posted on July 22, 2025July 23, 2025 by Mike

RIP to the incomparable Ozzy Osbiourne.

Black Sabbath legend Ozzy Osbourne, the Prince of Darkness, dead at 76
Ozzy Osbourne, the legendary Prince of Darkness and one of heavy metal’s most iconic stars, has died. He was 76.

He died “surrounded by love,” his family said in a statement to The Post Tuesday. “It is with more sadness than mere words can convey that we have to report that our beloved Ozzy Osbourne has passed away this morning. He was with his family and surrounded by love. We ask everyone to respect our family privacy at this time. Sharon, Jack, Kelly, Aimee and Louis.”

News of Osbourne’s death comes more than five years after he announced his Parkinson’s disease diagnosis in January 2020.

Born John Michael Osbourne in Birmingham, England, on Dec. 3, 1948, he was nicknamed “Ozzy” in primary school.

He had a challenging childhood, but music provided him with an outlet.

Learning was difficult for him due to dyslexia, and the future Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductee claimed to have been sexually abused by bullies when he was 11. He also recalled attempting suicide as a teen.

Osbourne credited The Beatles and their 1964 song “She Loves You” for inspiring him to pursue a music career.

Ozzy sold over 100 million albums as a solo artist and a member of Black Sabbath.

Here’s a 1970 vid in which Black Sabbath demonstrates what performers mean when they talk about leaving absolutely everything they have on the floor of the stage.

Rest easy, Ozzy. The world has never known another quite like you, and almost certainly never will again.

Another good ‘un gone

Posted on July 16, 2025 by Mike

Kim DuToit memorializes the renowned Sloop New Dawn’s master, owner, and captain.

The Layabout Sailor
Longtime Readers may recall that a bunch of my friends and I used to get together once a year for the Feinstein-Daley Memorial Shoot at the east Texas ranch of Reader Airboss (sadly, since deceased). It was always a festive affair and featured the occasional gun.

It was at one such event where I met Doc Russia, at the time still a med student at UT-Houston, who had a blog entitled Bloodletting (which I miss dreadfully, even though I still see him regularly for shooting and dinners etc.). Another blogger also came along at that same meeting: Jim Siegler from Smoke On The Water (ie, blog, linked at Kim’s place—M), which featured guns, politics and details of his life on board his beloved yacht, the sloop New Dawn.

While Doc was an excellent shot, Jim was likewise; actually, Jim was easily the best all-round shooter — pistol, revolver, rifle and shotgun — I’ve ever met.

I need to make a comment at this point. Frequent Readers of this website may remember that I have always referred to Jim as “the Layabout Sailor”. That was a total lie, because Jim was one of the hardest-working men I’ve ever come across, and the ironic nickname was the complete antithesis of him. Having come from extreme poverty — his first job was washing dishes at a restaurant, at age eight — Jim worked his whole life at a number of jobs, sometimes two at a time: insurance adjuster, car salesman, bus driver, roofer, whatever paid the bills. He used to joke that his best-paying job was when he enlisted in the Air Force in his late teens, so you get the idea. College was never an option because there was little money and he refused to get into debt. But he was always well-groomed and impeccably dressed — and by the way, very intelligent, well-read and well-spoken, his soft Texas drawl a welcome sound always, along with his impish sense of humor. (His online signature: “Jim S.– Sloop New Dawn” became “Jim S. — Sunk New Dawn”, which masked his despair at the tragedy of its loss.)

Last November Jim wrote to me to tell me that he was suffering from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis — Lou Gehrig’s Disease — and of course as we all know, ALS is incurable. His prognosis was grim — perhaps two years — but the cruelest part was that while ALS can affect both the brain and the muscular system, Jim’s brain was completely unaffected. So his body was starting to collapse, leaving his lively, intelligent brain intact. He became weak and his speech began to slur.

My friend Jim died two weeks ago, in late June 2025, after only nine months since his diagnosis. Rather than a slow decline, his condition simply went over a cliff, and he died of pulmonary failure, as his lungs — even with a respirator — ceased to function.

And the world became a little worse for his passing.

It did indeed. Most of you have probably run across Jim Seigel’s remarks in the comments section of one blog or another, maybe including this one; for a good long while there, he popped up at CF frequently. I was fortunate enough to enjoy an extended private email correspondence with Jim as well. Never did get to meet the man IRL, alas, nor to go shooting with him, which makes me just a wee mite envious of DuToit, damn him.

But as I slowly, torturously figured out after my late wife’s sudden, violent demise at an unfairly early age—as I have told friends who are fetched up in the deepest toils of mourning over the loss of a beloved spouse, child, parent, sibling, what have you—the only way to get through the agony of bereavement is to not be bitter over what you lost, but to be grateful for what you had. Yes, maintaining a positive outlook, keeping our attention tightly focused on gratitude rather than the easy, more natural slump into bitterness, darkness, and crushing despond can be tough sledding indeed. No matter how long one had with the Dearly Departed—years? Months? Weeks? Days? Hours?—it can never be long enough to satisfy those left behind.

Although Jim and I were on friendly terms, and I hugely enjoyed our email correspondence, we weren’t so close that I’d presume to offer counsel to his widow and other loved ones on how they might best cope with the unfillable hole in their hearts Jim’s absence is sure to leave. I hope and pray that Jim’s people are hanging in there as well as might be, and that when the immiserating flood-tide of grief has at last begun to subside the survivors can evade the dead-end swamps of bitterness, resentment, and leaden futility to walk the more comforting, luminous path of gratitude instead. Like I said, that really, truly is the only way. Same-same goes for our old buddy DuToit, a good and decent sort his own self. Kim, my prayers are with you and yours, my friend.

Regardless of whether you were familiar on any level with Jim of the Sunk New Dawn or not, do read all of DuToit’s heart-rending post. The death of such a singular, multifaceted, and noteworthy an individual as was Jim Siegel diminishes us all to some extent, whether we know it or not. As such, his passing should be marked, his numerous accomplishments remembered, his extraordinary life celebrated.

RIP John C Zander

Posted on June 29, 2025June 30, 2025 by Mike

More familiar to denizens of the blogosphere as ZMan, dead far too young (not even 60 years old? Dooood, SRSLY?!?) from what is said to be “natural causes.” Our bosom blog-buddy The Tactical Hermit mourns the loss, and makes the proverbial silk purse out of a sow’s ear by drawing inspiration therefrom.

One of the great minds of the Dissident Right has left us. Although I am sad I know what question Z would pose to all of us: Which one of you is going to pick up the standard and carry on the fight? My answer: Count me in Z. Here I am. Send Me.

Well reasoned and/or -spoken, TH. The Hermit then steers us, bless his coal-black heart, over to Sido’s impassioned obit.

The Dissident Right will miss him. His real name was John Christopher Zander and his was a powerful, sober voice and a needed contrast to the multitude of silly fools and/or degenerates that often dominate the conversation in the medium of social media that rewards the loud and obnoxious at the expense of the serious and thoughtful.

He was a pretty private person. I know he still had a regular job and it sounded to me like he did consulting of some sort. Whatever it was, I got the impression that he was good enough at it that he could move from Baltimore, a city he lived in for many years and referred to Lagos, to West Virginia. He was apparently doxxed by the anti-White hate group that calls itself “The Southern Poverty Law Center” but I didn’t even realize it as he didn’t mention it to my recollection and it didn’t appear to impact him professionally but it does reinforce that the SPLC, ADL and other anti-White hate groups are made up of the very worst people in America. There is a great deal of freedom in finding a way to make a living that is insulated from Their shenanigans.

His writing was usually lucid and thoughtful although he did have an amusing tendency toward typos and misspelling that he didn’t seem to care about. He lived alone for as long as I can remember reading him, and it has been a long time, probably at least 10 years as his was one of the websites I frequented before starting my new blog.

Plenty more at Arthur’s joint, including remembrances from such notable quotables as AmRen’s Jared Taylor; the excommunicated but nonetheless highly esteemed John Derbyshire*; and this Peter Brimelow character—who, for many years, was one of the reclusive ZMan’s very few close personal friends. Thus:

The Zman was a somewhat solitary creature. He had recently moved to West Virginia and had two cats but as far as I know he wasn’t married, perhaps was divorced?, didn’t have a girlfriend nor close family. While I don’t know who found him, the local sheriff contacted the Brimelows who managed to track down a relative. Like I said, he was a solitary guy but seemed mostly comfortable with that. He was getting into gardening, bought an older truck to fix up, was working on a badly needed update to his blog and generally seemed to be enjoying life. He struck me as someone that it would have been a lot of fun to hang out with in his garage enjoying a cold beverage.

I didn’t agree with The Zman on every issue or position, the only person I agree with 100% of the time is the handsome devil looking back at me in the mirror, but I agreed with him almost all of the time. He epitomized the Dissident Right, being someone focused on what really is and not what we wish would be.

Ditto, Arthur. I’ve long since forgotten who it was, but years back somebody or other made a brilliant observation regarding political figures: If you find yourself in agreement with such a personage one hundred percent of the time, you badly need to reflect on the situation, and carefully—because at least one of you, quite possibly both, is literally insane.

Time was, I excerpted/linked almost every one of ZMan’s essays after each successive one had been published. Similarly, I never failed to at least read each one, regardless of whether I felt the topic was suitable for discussion at CF—which potential for becoming blog-fodder is always lurking in my mind with every blog post, op-ed piece, or mainstream think-piece I read. Over the past cpl-three years, however, I gradually lost interest in ZMan’s stuff—feeling, fairly or unfairly, that it had become somewhat repetitive, stale, even. Whether my assessment was at all accurate I’ll leave for others to judge. Whatever the case may be, my visits to the Z Blog gradually tapered off until finally, they’d stopped altogether.

No matter; rest ye well, ZMan. From its inception, the Z-Blog was one of those rarely-seen blogospheric phenomena which wash over the world of socio-political commentary like a tsunami, sweeping the somnambulant intellectual convention, overwrought juvenilia, and monochromatic groupthink of the moment away before it as if they were of no more lasting significance than any other flotsam of leaves, dust, and random lightweight debris tossed hither and yon by a pre-storm gust front. The impact your insight, analysis, and most especially your artful writing—uncorrected “amusing typos” notwithstanding—had on our community was so high, wide, deep, and powerful as to be beyond estimation.

* NOTE: After wading through paywall after paywall looking for an unbowdlerized version to link to above, I downloaded the full version of Derbyshire’s world-renowned, explosively controversial, widely misunderstood and/or misrepresented “The Talk” article, which I plan to post on its own separate page here at CF, if only just to make the shitlibs cry and for no other reason.

Update! There, we’re all set! John Derbyshire’s “The Talk” Pts 1 and 2, unexpurgated and in their entirety, have found their Forever Home right here at Ye Aulde Colde Furye Blogge (check the Navbar directly below our Angry Guy header image, scrunched all the way over on the right-hand side). I’m pleased and proud to be in a position to see to it that, from now on, none of y’all RAYCISS!!© reprobates will need to wastefully expend time and energy hunting all over Hell and half of Georgia looking for them. Better yet, y’know, neither will I.

High speed low drag update! Asked myself what the hey, why not simplify things around here a mite? I mean, no way a single page of mainly text could ever be so damned bloated as to make the server gag on it, right? Neither is the aforementioned file likely to be so achingly slooooow to load that you Patient Readers will nod off, leaving y’all slumped semi-conscious over your desk, your energy sapped, your eyeballs red, burning, and itchy after you’d spent the last twenty, twenty-five minutes being mesmerized by the Spinning Beach Ball of Death while you just waited…and waited…and waited for the infernal page to finally, FINALLY come up in your browser tab.

Having been smacked square in the gob by these gladsome realizations made it clear as crystal that the decision had been made for me already. That in turn meant there was but one option available to me at this point, so I went ahead on and consolidated Parts One and Two into one fat, lengthy, bodaciously streamlined package.

A life most interesting

Posted on June 24, 2025 by Mike

Rich, varied to an almost incredible degree, lived fully and well—whodathunk it would be Bobby Friggin’ Sherman (!!!) I’m talking about here?

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by John Stamos (@johnstamos)

Since that Instagram embed code is pretty, umm, involved, here’s a screenshot of the text in case the embed doesn’t work too good here.

THERE walked a man, folks. Fare thee well to you, Bobby Sherman. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Rethinking Memorials

Posted on April 12, 2025 by SteveF

We do funeral services wrong.

After some guy dies, a series of people get up and talk about how wonderful he was. He doesn’t get any benefit from hearing how great everyone thought he was and they all feel bad about having lost such a great guy.

A better way to do it is to have an appreciation ceremony while the guy is still alive. Get his friends and neighbors and family and civic group together and talk about how much he means to all of them. Things will be said that wouldn’t normally be, tears will be shed, and everyone will get on with their lives.

Then, when the guy dies, have a different kind of memorial. “He only knew three jokes and he couldn’t be stopped from telling them every time he was in a group.” “Just never let him eat cabbage. Lord have mercy, he could pollute the whole room.” “He was a good father but that man could not keep it in his pants. I swear, half the time we were married I wanted to castrate him.” “Sumbitch never did pay me back that thousand dollars he borrowed.”

Put the memorial together like that and his friends and neighbors and family and civic groups will remember why they’re glad he’s gone. To put the cherry on top, instead of a church choir singing Amazing Grace, have a kazoo soloist lead the congregation in the macarena.

(Yes, I’m aware that for decades some churches have conducted pre-memorial get-togethers for their elderly or sickly congregants. Good idea. They did one for my late father-in-law, not long before he was housebound with untreatable cancer. Brought him to tears.)

Forget, hell!

Posted on April 10, 2025April 10, 2025 by Mike

Unreconstructed Southron Baron Bodissey reports—with pitchers—on the ceremony commemorating the anniversary of the Appomattox tragedy/disaster.

Appomattox: Lest We Forget
This afternoon I attended a ceremony marking the 160th anniversary of the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia (which I often sardonically refer to as “the Confederate Nakba”). It was organized by the Appomattox chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy, and took place at the Confederate Cemetery in the Appomattox Court House National Historical Park. The cemetery itself is on a plot of land that isn’t part of the historical park, and is owned by the UDC rather than the federal government. As a result, at that location we unreconstructed Confederates can engage in our customary activities without being busted for hate speech or otherwise interfered with.

The occasion began with a prayer. We then pledged allegiance to all three flags: the US flag, the Virginia flag, and the Confederate battle flag. Yes, I know some of those pledges are mutually exclusive, but nobody seems to care.

Speak for yourself on that one, young feller. Anyhoo. Onwards.

Following that there were a few brief speeches, several songs, and some reading of poetry. UDC members in widow’s weeds placed a rose by each grave, and two little girls set up battle flags next to each headstone. There are nineteen soldiers buried in the cemetery, all but seven of them unknown, including a solitary Union soldier (who got the Stars and Stripes next to his headstone).

Fuckin’ bluebellied Yankee sumbitch. Anyhoo. Onwards.

Then a number of wreaths were presented and placed next to the memorial stone by representatives of the groups that donated them, mostly chapters of the UDC or camps of the Sons of Confederate Veterans (SCV). Not all of the groups were local: one of the SCV camps that presented a wreath was based in Honolulu, Hawaii.

All in all, it was an excellent occasion. It was a reminder — at least for me — that the Confederate battle flag is not about slavery or tariffs or even states’ rights, but rather a symbol of resistance to tyranny, and a reminder that Virginia was invaded and devastated by an alien army.

Deo Vindice!

That penultimate paragraph pretty much says it all, far as I’m concerned.

Another tragic loss

Posted on April 2, 2025April 3, 2025 by Mike

Man, all anybody can seem to talk about is Top Gun and Batman YoMamaXVIVwhatthefuckever, of which he justly said, “I mean, it’s so bad, it’s almost good.” As of right now, inexplicably, I have yet to see one (1) single mention of his most memorable role, as Doc Holliday in Tombstone.

Actor Val Kilmer, star of ‘Batman Forever,’ ‘Top Gun,’ dead at 65

Kilmer succumbed to pneumonia, his daughter Mercedes told the New York Times. He was diagnosed with throat cancer, which required two tracheotomies, in 2015 and later recovered.

The Los Angeles native made his film debut as rock star Nick Rivers in the 1984 movie “Top Secret!,” which was written and directed by the comedy team that created “Airplane!”

Two years later, Kilmer was launched to superstardom for his role as Lt. Tom “Iceman” Kazansky in “Top Gun,” the highest-grossing movie of 1986.

Poor guy was in pretty rugged shape the last several years, but keep on choogling away as best he could nonetheless, which you gotta respect. Me, I’ll always remember him as he was here.

Godspeed to you, Val Kilmer, and sincerest thanks for all your excellent work.

Update! Changed the vid, on account of the death scene wasn’t the one I originally intended to post, this one is. My bad.

Another great one gone

Posted on March 1, 2025March 1, 2025 by Mike

Two this time, actually. First up, iconic New York Dolls frontman David Johansen.

Legendary New York Dolls rocker David Johansen has died at age 75.

His stepdaughter Leah Hennessey confirmed the sad news, saying the punk icon had passed away Friday at his home on Staten Island.

The New York native revealed just last month that he was suffering from stage four cancer, a brain tumor and a broken back.

Over the past few years, Johansen had been unable to perform due to his ailments.

Johansen began singing with the Vagabond Missionaries, a local band on Staten Island, in the 1960s. A decade later he joined the New York Dolls and their self-titled debut album was released in 1973.

The controversial record cover featured the five male band members clad in wigs, make-up and high heels.

Their music — described as “dirty, sleazy and loud” — in combination with their cross-dressing offended many and their debut album was deemed a commercial flop, failing to crack the Top 100 album sales charts.

Their follow-up record, 1974’s “Too Much Too Soon” performed even more poorly, only reaching 167 on the sales charts.

By 1976, the band went their separate ways and Johansen became a solo performer.

Those old enough to remember will know that the Dolls always punched well above their weight, their influence on other bands far outstripping their meager sales numbers and anemic chart performance eventually. Those not quite old enough to remember probably know Johansen better for his semi-comic lounge singer persona, Buster Poindexter. Fare thee well, David Johansen, and well done.

Ahh, good to see one of my own personal guitar heroes from way on back yonder, Johnny Thunders, again.

Next up, we say goodbye to gifted character actor Gene Hackman, whose death smells fishier with every passing day, seems like.

Gene Hackman and wife were dead for ‘several days,’ maybe weeks before their bodies were discovered: sheriff
Legendary actor Gene Hackman and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, were likely dead for several days — possibly even “a couple of weeks” — by the time they were found in their home by a maintenance worker, the sheriff of Santa Fe County, New Mexico, revealed.

Hackman, 95, and his wife, 65, were found in separate rooms of their multimillion-dollar home on Wednesday along with one of their dogs.

Arakawa, who was discovered surrounded by prescription pills, had “obvious signs of death, body decomposition, bloating in her face and mummification in both hands and feet” when she was found on the floor of a bathroom near the home’s entry, police wrote in an affidavit.

Hackman was located near a pair of sunglasses in what deputies believe was the home’s mudroom.

Arakawa, who was discovered surrounded by prescription pills, had “obvious signs of death, body decomposition, bloating in her face and mummification in both hands and feet” when she was found on the floor of a bathroom near the home’s entry, police wrote in an affidavit.

Hackman was located near a pair of sunglasses in what deputies believe was the home’s mudroom.

Curiouser and curiouser. Hackman, of course, was one of those rare talents—along with Michael Caine and, say, Peter Sellers—who were just so damned good at submersing themselves so totally in whatever role they were playing that, quite often, you’d be halfway through the dang movie before realizing who it was up there on the screen this whole time. Another thing about those guys: no matter how crappy the film, you could always bear watching the whole thing, just because they were in it. Just one of Hackman’s many, many stellar performances.

Sorely missed

Posted on February 18, 2025February 18, 2025 by Mike

Jeez, has it really been four years?

Remembering Rush Limbaugh, America’s Anchorman
It is hard to believe that it has been four years since America lost the greatest of all time, Rush Limbaugh, mayor of Realville and America’s Anchorman.

And what a time would he be having now in a second Trump presidency, laughing at the Democrat derangement and cheering on the great federal reform. Rush Limbaugh was truly talent on loan from God, as he jokingly put it, and it feels as if God took back the gift too soon. El Rushbo, the “doctor of democracy,” singlehandedly launched alternative media and created multiple generations of American conservative warriors. Our nation owed him an immense debt, and he certainly deserved the Presidential Medal of Freedom that President Trump awarded him.

For the millions of all ages who listened to Rush over the years, it is remarkable that we all thought of him as our friend. For many of us who never met him or talked to him in person, his death left a gap in our lives and our hearts. For Rush Limbaugh really was unique and unrepeatable, an American original. There are other excellent show hosts, but Rush was the gold standard — literally. Who can forget the golden EIB microphone?

But Rush wouldn’t want us to mourn today. He was an eternal optimist, who brought hope to his fellow Americans even when the political outlook was blackest. Today we should remember his jokes, his laughs, his parodies, his witticisms. Thanks to Rush, America’s truth detector, we know to define a bigot as a “person who wins an argument with a liberal,” and that “Feminism was established so as to allow unattractive women easier access to the mainstream of pop culture.” Rush kept “half my brain tied behind my back, just to make things fair,” and it is a tribute to Rush that alternative media — which used to consist basically of him alone — has now vanquished mainstream media.

Rush always believed it would happen. “Let me tell you who we conservatives are: we love people. When we look out over the United States of America, when we are anywhere, when we see a group of people, such as this or anywhere, we see Americans. We see human beings. We don’t see groups. We don’t see victims,” he stated. And again, “Liberals measure compassion by how many people are given welfare. Conservatives measure compassion by how many people no longer need it.” Americans are finally realizing that the latter view is the only one that truly helps people become prosperous.

True, every last word of it—especially the bit about how much fun Rush would be having if he were still around to witness the last month or so. Follows, an embed of one of those totally brilliant Paul Shanklin parodies that formed such a YUUUGE part of the Limbaugh program:

Kinda refreshing—comforting, almost—to hear Limbaugh’s voice again during the lead-in to the Shanklin parody, no? The rest of the article is a worthy remembrance of the Titan of Talk, of which you should definitely read the all.

Update! On further reflection, it occurs to me what a powerful tool Rush Limbaugh would have been in the Team Trump toolbox were he still with us. Imagine: rallying the troops, so to speak; putting needful information into literally millions upon millions of Real American hands; exposing and/or debunking various shitlib shibboleths, lies, and general perfidy; twisting “transgender” tails unmercifully; reminding Losercrats numerous times daily that yes, they did in fact fucking LOSE, and not by just a little bit either; providing moral and rhetorical support for Trump, Musk, Noem, Bondi, Patel, Homan, et al. Really, the possibilities are endless.

Did I say “tool” just now? Correction: a fucking FLAMETHROWER, more like.

Happy birthday, General Lee!

Posted on January 19, 2025 by Mike

At last, a national holiday truly worth celebrating.

Thanks and a grateful tip of Ye Aulde CF Chapeau to Tactical Hermit for the timely reminder, else this noteworthy anniversary would’ve gotten by me completely.

SOUL, man!

Posted on January 11, 2025January 11, 2025 by Mike

RIP Sam Moore, of the legendary Sam and Dave.

Soul icon Sam Moore, half of the Grammy-winning duo Sam and Dave, died Friday at age 89.

Moore — who with his late partner Dave Prater cut some of the best-known records of the genre with hits like “Soul Man” and “Hold On! I’m Comin’” — died in his Florida home after an unspecified surgery earlier in the week, though his cause of death has yet to be determined, his wife Joyce Moore told Rolling Stone.

His former partner Prater, with whom he shared a sometimes contentious relationship, died in a car accident in 1988.

The trailblazing black artists were known for their high-energy live performances and became in the 1960s one of the top acts on the legendary Memphis-based Stax Records, alongside stars like Otis Redding and collaborators Isaac Hayes and David Porter.

Moore was born in Miami on Oct. 12, 1935, and like his eventual partner grew up singing in church, cutting their teeth separately on the southern gospel circuit before they joined forces in 1961 at an amateur night at the Miami’s King of Hearts Club, according to a Stax spotlight on their careers.

Prater supposedly forgot the lyrics to the song “Doggin’ Around” when Moore joined him and a Rock & Roll Hall of Fame partnership was forged.

The harmonizing, hard-dancing pair had already gained a name for themselves and signed with Atlantic Records but they quickly were moved to subsidiary Stax, where they recorded with “house band” Booker T and the MG’s and started a run of 10 consecutive top 20 R&B hits with “You Don’t Know Like I Know,” the bio said.

In 1968, Atlantic’s distro deal with Stax was axed and the duo were left working with the larger company as whatever personal relationship they had deteriorated.

Booker T and the MGs (for Memphis Group, natch) was another legendary outfit, one of my all-time favorite instrumental combos; their Christmas album in particular is nothing short of truly stellar stuff, start to finish. Booker T Jones; Donald “Duck” Dunn; one of the most amazing guitarists ever to wrap his hands around a Tele neck, Steve “the Colonel” Cropper—I ask you, what’s not to like? Cropper started off playing with yet another legendary outfit, the Mar-Keys, who were responsible for one of my verymost favorite songs EVAR. To be specific:

LOVE that ooky-spooky-kooky organ. Bizarre thing: peeping out now and then from behind the tenor sax man and/or trumpeteer is what looks suspiciously like a Marshall Plexi rig, which in 1961 didn’t even exist yet. Hrm…

Another good one gone

Posted on October 31, 2024 by Mike

RIP Hot Air scribe Jazz Shaw, taken too soon.

Jazz Shaw, Rest in Peace
Jazz Shaw, one of Hot Air’s finest voices, has been silenced by illness, as you may have read today at his site, on X, or Instapundit. Regular readers may think they knew Jazz just as well as any of us here at the Townhall digital empire who worked with him. There’s truth to that, too. Jazz’s writing voice was every bit him — direct, without pretense, and with a knowing friendliness that made readers everywhere feel like he’d brought you into his living room for a chat about whatever was on his mind.

Even if sometimes it was to rake you over the coals a bit. Jazz was good at that.

He was a sharp operator, too. In a business where you’ve got to produce a lot of words on any number of topics — and where you have readers with long memories — Jazz got it right more often than not. When we disagreed, I always went back to double-check my work.

All of these public details you probably know, so I want to share one of those little personal stories that get to the heart of who a person really is. Jazz’s X profile reads, “Editor/writer, Salem Media, Hot Air, The Debrief. Horseradish farmer. Jets fan. Curmudgeon. Opinions are my own and I’ve got a lot of them.”

Wait… horseradish farmer? He’s joking, right?

He is not, as it happens, not in any way, shape, or form.

Out of all the many fellow ReichWingNaziDeathBeast bloggers I’ve known and forged something akin to real friendships with over lo, these many years—first and foremost among ‘em being the esteemed Vodkapundit Stephen Green, the author of the above obit whose kind praise for and link to my “Tough Chicks” essay way back in the day (well before PJMedia was even a twinkle in Roger Simon’s eye) is really what got this h’yar hogwallow off the ground, for which the wider world will probably never forgive poor old Steve—I somehow never made the acquaintance of Jazz Shaw, although I certainly excerpted him enough times here over the years.

That said, Jazz was a fine writer, a cut well above the common herd, and will be sorely missed. Farewell to thee, Jazz Shaw. In the words of my Irish ancestors, may you be in Heaven an hour before the Devil knows you’re dead.

Fare thee well, old friend

Posted on September 11, 2024 by Mike

Fred Reed says so long. As CA notes, he will be missed.

“One small step for a man…”

Posted on July 20, 2024July 20, 2024 by Mike

Casual American hero* Buzz Aldrin celebrates a momentous anniversary.

July 20th, 1969 is a date that stands high in my life – it was the day that we, together as one people, achieved the greatest scientific and technological feat in human history. The specific role that Neil, Mike and I performed in the event was but one part of an immeasurably… pic.twitter.com/PolqssqYCO

— Dr. Buzz Aldrin (@TheRealBuzz)

July 20, 2024

Ye Aulde CF Chapeau most respecfully doffed to you, GEN Aldrin, as well as your brave colleagues LT Neil Armstrong and MAJ GEN Mike Collins. Our friend and fellow ReichWingNaziDeathBeast© blogger Ase wishes one and all a “Happy Peak Of Western Civilization Day,” which is precisely what it is.

Should anyone reading this wish to smugly admonish us in comments that the moon landing was “faked”—y’know, just like the 9/11 atrocities—and never actually took place other than on some jerry-rigged stage set, kindly keep that patent dumbassery to yourself; I assure you I am NOT interested, not even a teeny-tiny bit I ain’t. Should said deluded fool stubbornly persist nonetheless, I suggest you look up Buzz Aldrin and harangue him about your crackpot theory instead. Let us know how that works out for yer stupid ass, by all means.

* The modest title Cousin Regbo had the Navy Printing Office emblazon on his personal business cards back when he was flying A6 Intruders on combat-strike sorties against Iraq during the first Gulf War, along with the amusing credo “Will go low…but it’ll cost ya!” That card to this very day occupies a place of honor on my refrigerator door.

Farewell to the Say-Hey Kid

Posted on June 20, 2024June 20, 2024 by Mike

Another great one gone, alas.

Baseball Legend Willie Mays Passes Away at 93
The San Francisco Giants announced that baseball legend and Hall of Famer Willie Mays passed away peacefully this afternoon at 93. Known for his exceptional skills and enduring legacy, Mays leaves behind an indelible mark on the sport and the Giants organization.

Willie Howard Mays Jr. was born in Westfield, Alabama, on May 6, 1931. From an early age, Mays displayed extraordinary athletic talent, excelling in baseball during high school. His prowess on the field caught the attention of the New York Giants, who signed him in 1950.

Mays made his major league debut in 1951, quickly becoming a standout player. Known as “The Say Hey Kid,” Mays captivated fans with his remarkable defensive skills, powerful hitting, and base-running prowess. His over-the-shoulder catch in the 1954 World Series remains one of the most iconic moments in baseball history.

You’ve all seen the famous Mays “basket catch”—as technically-incorrect a way of fielding a baseball as ever there was, by the by; many’s the coach that would have been driven to apoplectic fits by it over the course of Willie’s baseball lifetime—a thousand and one times over the years, we all have. But that ain’t gonna dissuade me from running it here one mo’ time ag’in, as Jimi Hendrix said.

24 times an All Star, 12 Golden Gloves, 660 career dingers, twice an NLMVP. Say what you will about Willie Mays, but one thing’s for sure and certain: you’d never have seen the Say-Hey Kid taking a knee during the national anthem, not even once you wouldn’t have. in fact, I strongly suspect Mays would have been more than happy to reach over and smack benchwarming shitheels like Bawlin’ Copperdink upside his empty haid for daring to do such an outlandish thing right in front of him. Another heartwarming vid, from Willie Mays’s home field in Allybammer.

Willie Mays’ passing is announced to the Rickwood Field crowd, and rising as one, it salutes the Alabama native and former Birmingham Black Baron. pic.twitter.com/e2EHJT1udb

— Sam Dykstra (@SamDykstraMiLB)

June 19, 2024

May God forever bless and keep you, Willie Mays.

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