This is not generally a current events blog. I reserve my snarky political commentary for Twitter. Which, I know, confuses people who have followed my recent steady stream of 140 character “roasts” of The Luv Guv Mark Sanford to this site. Only to find, not politics, but grapes, coyote poo and terriers. (Although The Luv Guv did shovel a lot of poo when he used “hiking the Appalachian Trail” as his cover story.)
Still some news events just have to be addressed here. Mostly those to which I have some personal connection. So I can’t hear the sad news that today Farrah Fawcett lost her courageous battle with cancer without posting something. Farrah was, of course, a Pop Culture Icon thanks to her role on Charlie’s Angels. After The Burning Bed, everyone was also aware that she had formidable acting chops.
But she had something else. It wasn’t as simple as boys wanting her and girls wanting to be her. No, speaking as one who was a girl in the Seventies, her Angel heyday, it wasn’t that we wanted to be her. We wanted to be her friend. Because, in spite of her sexiness, what Farrah projected was a lot of niceness. Of course, if she’d been transported to your high school, she would have been the most popular girl. But she would have been nice to the Math Geeks and let the unpopular girls sit at her table in the lunch room. You could see yourself playing tennis with Farrah or going to the beach or just talking girlfriend stuff. She was undeniably sexy, but her sexiness seemed real and natural and athletic. And given an extra glow by all that niceness.
My friend and former business partner, a Brit, has one of the world’s foremost collections of Farrah memorabilia. He’s said that, in some ways, he came to America to meet a girl like Farrah, who he’s says is a Brit’s idea of the All American Girl. Pretty, athletic, nice, great teeth and able to be a pal. If you went camping and it rained the whole time, she wouldn’t grouse about her hair. If you wanted to watch soccer on a Saturday, she’d probably make popcorn, put on sweats and sit on the couch with you.
I found her recent home movie about her struggle with cancer almost unbearable to watch. But what struck me was, not her obvious courage, but the fact that, in a fickle place like Hollywood, she had so many long-term and loyal friends. I don’t think the tabloids have ever reported anyone saying a bad thing about her. In fact, I remember one gossip column item from way, way back. Maybe even back in the Seventies. It reported that one friend of hers said that the closest Farrah had ever gotten to meanness was being mad at her maid for something. The friend asked Farrah what she was going to do and Farrah said, “Well, this week I’m not going to help her fix her hair.”
Apocryphal or not, that’s how I want to remember Farrah. As a really, really nice Tri Delt from Texas who could always be enough of a stand-up girlfriend to fix her maid’s hair.
Rest in Peace Farrah Fawcett. I’m sure in Heaven there are a lot of people who are thrilled that such a nice tennis partner has shown up. And lots of them will be lining up to have their hair done.