Category: obituary

Robert Redford died

September 16, 2025 • 8:10 am

Robert Redford is one of those people who seem immortal, or at least had the charisma to startle you when he dies. And he just did die. He wasn’t young—89 years old. Still, I considered him the handsomest movie star ever, and I’ve said that if I could switch place with any man, it would be Redford (Paul Newman would be a close second). Here’s the announcement from the Washington Post (click to read h/t Matthew):

An excerpt:

Robert Redford, an actor whose beach-god looks and subtle magnetism in films such as “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” and “All the President’s Men” made him one of the biggest movie stars of all time, but who forged an even more profound legacy in cinema as a patron saint of American independent film, died Sept. 16 at his home near Provo, Utah. He was 89.

His death was announced in a statement by publicist Cindi Berger, who did not cite a cause.

Since 1981, Mr. Redford had been president and founder of the Sundance Institute in Park City, Utah. He said his arts colony was not about “insurgents coming down from the mountain to attack the mainstream” but about broadening the very concept of mainstream. Sundance provided a vital platform for two generations of outside-the-system filmmakers — from Quentin Tarantino to Ava DuVernay — who were embraced by ticketbuyers and studios and helped enlarge the definition of commercial fare in a risk-averse industry.

My two favorite movies of his are Out of Africa, starring Meryl Streep as Karen Blixen, and The Way We Were, costarring Barbra Streisand (both women are my eternal heartthrobs).  Here are two scenes from the first movie and one from the second.  movie. In the first bit, Redford, who plays Denys Finch Hatton, a big-game guide and Blixen’s lover, encounters Blixen’s husband.

Below is the final scene from the movie, in which Blixen leaves Africa. It features Finch-Hatton’s funeral after he died in a plane crash, as well as Blixen’s farewell to her favorite helper, and, most moving, a report of lions resting on Finch-Hatton’s grave. All the words are genuine, taken from Blixen’s book Out of Africa.  The prose is stunningly beautiful, and I can’t hold back tears at the lion bit. But they truncated the words a bit. The real excerpt from the book is better, as it has a final paragraph:

After I had left Africa, Gustav Mohr wrote to me of a strange thing that had happened by Denys’ grave, the like of which I have never heard. “The Masai,” he wrote, “have reported to the District Commissioner at Ngong, that many times, at sunrise and sunset, they have seen lions on Finch-Hatton’s grave in the Hills. A lion and a lioness have come there, and stood, or lain, on the grave for a long time. Some of the Indians who have passed the place in their lorries on the way to Kajado have also seen them. After you went away, the ground round the grave was levelled out, into a sort of big terrace, I suppose that the level place makes a good site for the lions, from there they can have a view over the plain, and the cattle and game on it.”

It was fit and decorous that the lions should come to Denys’s grave and make him an African monument. “And renowned be thy grave.” Lord Nelson himself, I have reflected, in Trafalgar Square, has his lions made only out of stone.

Redford is not in this clip, but his presence is palpable:

. . . and the heartbreaking farewell scene from “The Way We Were,” after the pair, having broken up years ago, meet by accident and have a bittersweet final farewell:

Andrzej’s Facebook posts about Malgorzata

June 18, 2025 • 9:30 am

I noticed on Facebook that Andrzej had made several posts about Malgorzata and his last memories of her from yesterday. Since they’re accessible to the public on FB, I’ll reproduce them here. The originals are in Polish but I’ll give the Google translations.  The first one shows the Polish original with a nice picture of Malgorzata:

English translation by Google, which of course isn’t perfect. If you read Polish, feel free to put better translations below:

Małgorzata died today, she died at the desk, a moment earlier we were joking, we were planning texts for tomorrow. There will be no funeral, Małgorzata decided, that her body should be used for science. Trying to get my thoughts together. Our relationship was only three months old, when the Arab armies gathered at the Egyptian borders. We were sure that the days of the people of Israel were numbered. Malgorzata was devastated, I tried to comfort her, I invented absurd scenarios, but of course I did not anticipate what happened on June 5, 1967. All those years between those days, and today the bow spins. We talked today about how amazing is the Israeli operation in Iran. I said it’s far away. She replied, let me enjoy what I have.

We weren’t just married, we were a couple of deafeningly close friends who liked to do everything together, understanding each other without words.

What’s next ? I don’t know. Małgorzata was explaining Brendan O’Neill’s text about western hemispheres in Egypt today. She said it have to go tomorrow It’s going to go. If there are mistakes, report them, I don’t really know what I’m doing.

Posts made this morning. “Letters” refers to their joint website Listy, where this one is also posted.  The daily Hili dialogues, in Polish, were on Listy, and I simply swiped them from there although Malgorzata sent me an English translation each morning:

Another; “Day six” refers to Israel’s war with Iran:

Finally, a public FB post by one of their friends:

Malgorzata died

June 17, 2025 • 11:59 am

Andrzej informed me this morning that Malgorzata died suddenly, almost instantly dropping out of life as she sat at her computer.  I had talked to her just this morning, and Andrzej said that the day had passed normally.  Then her head drooped at her desk, and she was gone.

Now she is dead, and all of us who loved her are bereft, but most especially Andrzej, who was both her life partner—they’d been married for sixty years—and her work partner. They were almost never apart: it was one of the best marriages I ever saw: a partnership of both the heart and the brain (Listy was a true collaboration).

I do not want to write more about this today, for it hurts, and I can’t wrap my head around it. I regarded her and Andrzej as my surrogate parents, and I can’t believe I’ll never speak to her again.

RIP Malgorzata; I loved you both as a surrogate mother and a good friend.

A few photos:

In the morning with Hili:

Brian Wilson dies at 82

June 11, 2025 • 1:50 pm

One of the sad parts about having lived through the best era of rock music is watching the musicians drop away, one by one, mown down by the Grim Reaper. The latest musician to go, and a great one, was Brian Wilson, who just died at 82 (the date and cause of death wasn’t revealed).

His family announced the death on Instagram but did not say where or when he died, or state a cause. In early 2024, after the death of his wife, Melinda Wilson, business representatives for Mr. Wilson were granted a conservatorship by a California state judge, after they asserted that he had “a major neurocognitive disorder” and had been diagnosed with dementia.

I have to run, but I do want to list and put up versions of what I think are his best songs. The guy was a fricking musical genius. I’ll post five, but I haven’t had time to ponder, so this is a gut reaction.  Feel free to add your own choices.

Caroline No (1966), performed at the Royal Festival Hall in London, England.

Don’t Worry Baby (1964), performed below in Japan in 2012. I think this is the best of the “early” Beach Boys songs, though it preceded God Only Knows by just two years.

Darlin’ (1967). This live version is from 1980:

Wouldn’t it Be Nice? (1966). This version was performed in 2012.

And his best song, the one Paul McCartney called his favorite song: God Only Knows (1966).  This is a fantastic and complex song that took days to record (you can find takes on YouTube). What amazes me is that Wilson had it all in his head to begin with.

There are so many more good songs, but no time to write about them.  RIP, Brian.

Lagniappe: George Martin, a big fan, meets Wilson, who talks about how he writes his songs. I’ve watched this video a gazillion times.

A farewell to Ollie the cat

June 11, 2025 • 9:00 am

Until yesterday evening, Matthew had three cats. Now he and his family have two, as the aged and ill Ollie was put to sleep.

Matthew sent a memoriam for Ollie, with pictures, that I post with his permission. Matthew’s words are indented.

I met Ollie when I visited Matthew in Manchester, and my attempt to nuzzle his head with my face resulted in him batting my nose, causing a huge gusher of blood that I reminded Matthew about over the years.  Nevertheless, Ollie was just responding to an ugly and intrusive face and schnoz, and the demise of a pet is always very sad.

Matthew:

We said goodbye to Ollie yesterday evening. It was all very peaceful, although the family is very upset.

He was 18 and a half (born on 31 December 2006)

In his younger days he could be a bit of a bruiser – he not only badly scratched the Coyne schnozzle, he would regularly see off (sometimes with my help) the roaming tom that used to turn up. One morning he came in very badly beaten up with a torn lip – you should have seen the other cat, he told me. He loved to get on the roof of the house (I couldn’t look as it was so terrifying), scrap with the magpies and walk the whole length of the terrace roof and then go into other people’s houses. As he became frailer, we stopped him from getting out of the attic windows, but even a couple of months ago, when he was very weak, he had another go at pushing the windows open (I prevented him).

When he was about six he got lost for ten days or so;  he eventually found his way back at about 3 am, climbing up the neighbour’s cherry tree and then onto the roof, in through the attic window (this was a habit of his, so we left the window open, like Mrs Darling with the Lost Boys in Peter Pan). He was incredibly thin and famished.

He was a lovely cat who was very skittish when he was younger but chilled in middle age. We all loved him dearly.

Life can be thought of as temporary localised negative entropy, but the temporary is the key thing. The Second Law of Thermodynamics always wins, even for cats.

RIP Ollie:

Readers’ wildlife photos

February 21, 2025 • 8:15 am

PLEASE send in your wildlife photos, ASAP!  Thank you.

Today we have a combination picture-and-text post by Athayde Tonhasca Júnior, and the subject is epitaphs.  Athayde’s comments are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.  The epitaphs are in italics:

The long dead speak to us – again

Most ancient Greek and Roman texts that helped shape Western culture were written by white men high up the social ladder (unsurprisingly, woke warriors are determined to defund, distort or do away with Classic studies). Epitaphs, on the other hand, give us glimpses of the lives of ordinary people of whom we know little: tradesmen, women, soldiers, gladiators, slaves. Some of these inscriptions are surprisingly familiar and poignant, considering how odd, cruel and violent the Ancients may seem to us.

A while back we looked at some Greek and Roman epitaphs; here’s another batch with their accompanying translations, where parentheses indicate missing and presumed words. Epigraphy, the study of inscriptions on stone, metal and other durable materials, is skilled detective work. Fading, truncations, misspellings, initialisms and abbreviations make interpretation difficult, even for Classics scholars. Comments are my own.

All objects depicted but the last one are housed in the unmissable Capitoline Museums in Rome.

Epitaph of Geminia Agathe Mater, 2nd c. AD. Tartarus mentioned in the last line was the place for the punishment of sinners after death. Not an appropriate destiny for a little girl, so the author must have been theologically confused:

For the souls departed. For the sweet Geminia Agathe Mater. My name was Mater, but I was never destined to become a mother. In fact I do not deny having lived only 5 years, 7 months and 22 days. During the time that I lived, I enjoyed myself and I was always loved by everyone. In fact, believe me, I had the face of a little boy, not of a girl; as only those who generated me knew Agathe, of gentle temperament, of pleasing and noble appearance, with red hair, short on top and long behind. Now all of (you) offer me nice drinks and pray that the earth does not weigh heavily upon my remains. Do not despair too much about the remains of my little (body), Faventius, who raised me more than my parents and who loved only me. In fact, I have a mother and a father who preceded me some time ago and never grieved over (my) destiny. I also have a sister by (my) mother Amoena, who is also saddened by my death. Please, everyone comforts my family, (reminding) them of the pleasant life (that I lived), reciting prayers so that (their) pain does not increase and their sadness does not exceed the limits. You who read, if you wish to know my whole name will know Geminia Agathe, whose premature death stole and brought at a tender age to Tartarus. This is all, more cannot happen: this (is foreseen) for us.

Epitaph of Menophilos, written in Greek, 2nd c. AD. Greek was spoken widely in Rome and the Western Empire, where it was considered a second language. Mentioning the muses, Bacchus and Aphrodite, suggests that Menophilos lived a hedonistic and gratifying life, albeit short:

While I passed my entire life in joy, smiling, playing and happy, and I delighted my soul with all kinds of pleasures in the art of song, never sorry, I never pronounced offensive words, but (was) a friend of the Muses, of Bacchus and of Aphrodite. I arrived from Asia to Italy, now I rest among the dead while still youthful. My name is Menophilos.

Epitaph of Ammias, from one of Rome’s Jewish catacombs. 3rd-4th c. AD. Text in Greek and some Semitic words. Rome had a significant Jewish population since 27 BC, after many of them fled the Hellenistic wars in today’s Turkey and the Middle East. Things started turning sour for the Jews in 313, when Constantine made Christianity the Empire’s legal religion:

Here lies Ammias, a Jew from Laodicea, who lived 85 years. In peace.

Funerary inscription of Ovia Quarta, 2nd c. AD. The two figures flanking the tablet are laruae (sing. larua), wandering spirits of the dead. A larua was also the mask worn by a performer in the role of such ghost. With time, the Latin ‘u’ morphed into ‘v’, so larua became larva. Linnaeus, who knew Latin and the Classics like any other contemporary naturalist worth his salt, adopted ‘larva’ to define the life stage of an insect hidden behind the ‘mask’ of immaturity to be removed and reveal the adult’s appearance. The laruae were also known as lemures, another term snatched by Linnaeus to describe those eerie and secretive Malagasy primates:

Ovia Quarta lived 60 years.

Funerary table of Alexander, 2nd c. AD. The DM initialism in the first line of text refers to dis manibus, translated as ‘for the souls departed’, ‘to the memory of’ or ‘to the spirits of the dead’, and is a conventional inscription commonly found on Roman tombstones. The last four letters, STTL, are also formulaic. They stand for sit tibi terra levis: ‘may the earth be light on you’. When Christians began replacing pagan nonsense with their own, STTL was swapped for RIP (requiescat in pace), which conveniently works in English:

For the souls departed. Alexander lived 3 years, 4 months and 19 days. His father, Quintus Canuleius Alexander, and his mother, Clarina, saw to (the making of this tomb) for their dear, devoted and well-deserving son. He is buried here. I beg you, when you pass (nearby), to say: may the earth be light upon your remains.

The humble funerary inscription of a head teacher, 1st c. AD:

To Lucius Sentius Index, head of tutors. He is buried here.

Funerary altar of freedman Tiberius Julius Xanthus, 1st c. AD. Freedmen in Rome could become citizens and climb high on the social ladder, amass money, buy property and own their own slaves. Tiberius the VIP masseur could have done worse, as suggested by the fancy altar dedicated to him. Certainly he seemed to have done better than the head teacher, who was left with a modest plaque. Some things never change. . . :

To the imperial freedman Tiberius Julius Xanthus, masseur of the emperors Tiberius Caesar and the Divine Claudius and vice-commander of the Alexandrian navy, dedicated by his wife Atellia Prisca and the freedman Lamyrus, his heirs; he lived 90 years.

Funerary inscription celebrating Crescens the charioteer, 2nd c. AD. The Olympic Games, FIFA World Cup and the Superbowl pale when compared to the popularity and social reach of chariot racing in Greece, Rome and Byzantium. Fortunes could be made and lost in bets, and racing events often degenerated into violence and riots. Owners of champion horses could become famous and rich, but drivers and horses often didn’t see the end of a race, being maimed or killed by collisions and crashes – which were some of the main attractions for the hoi polloi. Drivers could race alone or for the Blue, Green, Red or White teams. For an excellent take on Roman chariot racing, see Asterix and the Cauldron:

Crescens, charioteer of the blue faction, originally from Mauritania, 22 years old. He achieved his first victory with a quadriga in the 24th race (staged) when L(ucius) Vipstanus Messalla held the consulship, on the anniversary of the birth of the divine Nerva, with these horses: Circius, Acceptor, Delicatus and Cotynus. Between the consulship of Messalla and that of Marcus Acilius Glabrio, on the anniversary of the birth of the divine Claudius, Crescens raced 686 times. He won 47 competitions: 19 with one chariot, 23 with two chariots and 5 with three chariots; in one race he won thanks to his teammates; in 8 he was in the lead from the start, and from the last position he won 38. He came in second place 130 times; third place 111 times; he won 1,558,346 sesterces.

Inscription on the tomb of Caius Novius Mynias, 2nd c. AD. Caius must have been an unsentimental, no-nonsense chap, considering the information he chose to leave for posterity. But he shared a recurrent concern among people burying their dead: the defacing, theft or destruction of monuments. To prevent such affrontery, amulets, curses and magic spells were frequently attached to tombs, altars and crypts:

For the souls departed. Caius Novius Mynias saw to (the making of this tomb) for himself, his freedmen, freedwomen, for his and their descendants. To this funerary monument belongs a garden with an edifice, bordered by a wall, extending 280 feet along the front and 360 feet towards the countryside; these (structures) belong to the freedmen and freedwomen of Novius Mynias, those who are and who will be, and to whoever is born of them; to the same garden and edifice belongs a pathway through the main entrance of the gardens or the fundus Meropianus. May trickery and fraud stay away from this funerary monument.

Funerary altar of a humble poet, 2nd c. AD.:

For the souls departed. Here I lie, Claudius Diadumenus, poet by trade, once rich with imperial commissions, who was never possessed by the love for fame, but always maintained a modest way (of life). O Hyllus, o father, I have joined you. I do not wish to create a commotion: for us, this house is a hospitable place. Claudia Fructiane made this to the well-deserving (Diadumenus).

And finally, a coarse and facetious take on funereal epitaphs on a graffito scribbled on a Pompeii wall. The text, in cursive Latin and following a pentameter rhyme, warns those feeling the urge to squat behind a tomb about the dangers of stinging nettle (urtica). It reads:

Hospes adhuc tumuli ni meias ossa prec[antur],

nam si uis (h)uic gratior esse caca.

Urticae monumenta vides discede cacator

non est hic tutum culu(m) aperire tibi.

Stranger, my bones beg you not to pee at my tomb: if you wish to be more pleasing to the deceased, shit. You look upon the monuments of stinging nettle: go away, shitter. It is not safe for you to open your arse here.

A celebration of Christopher Hitchens by Richard Dawkins, Stephen Fry, Douglas Murray, and Lawrence Krauss

January 1, 2025 • 11:30 am

Christopher Hitchens, whom many of us admire despite occasional differences of opinion, died at only 62 on December 14, 2011.  Lawrence Krauss organized an event with four of Hitchens’s friends, all reminiscing about the Great Lion of Rhetoric. The panel was filmed in London on December 13, 2024—just 19 days ago—and I’ve put the video below.

The intro to the original audio on Krauss’s site Critical Mass:

A year ago, John Richards the head of the Atheist UK approached me about the idea of celebrating Christopher Hitchens with a Hitchmas event, near Christmas, and on or about the anniversary of Christopher’s death, on Dec 15, 2011. I realized that to do it right would require time and organization, and the proper panelists. I was thrilled that Christopher’s friends and mine, Stephen Fry, Richard Dawkins, and Douglas Murray agreed to be part of the event, and that the HowTo Academy, which organizes wonderful events in London, several of which I had done before, agreed to coordinate the logistics with The Origins Project Foundation. A year later, the sold-out event happened, and we decided in advance to record it appropriately, with 5 cameras, and to have Gus and Luke Holwerda, who directed and filmed The Unbelievers, and with whom I began The Origins Podcast, edit the final product.

The YouTube notes:

Join us for Hitchmas, a special event celebrating the life, legacy, and ideas of the legendary Christopher Hitchens. Recorded at the Royal Geographical Society in London, this thought-provoking evening features a stellar panel of friends and intellectuals: Lawrence Krauss, Richard Dawkins, Stephen Fry, and Douglas Murray. Together, they share personal reminiscences, engage in lively discussion, and tackle modern issues with the wit and courage that Christopher Hitchens epitomized.

The evening opens with tributes from each panelist, exploring Hitchens’ enduring impact as a writer, orator, and fearless defender of reason. From heartfelt anecdotes to reflections on his literary heroes like George Orwell and P.G. Wodehouse, the panel paints a vivid picture of Hitchens’ intellect, humor, and humanity. The conversation transitions into a dynamic roundtable addressing contemporary cultural and political challenges, including religion, free speech, and the rise of “woke fundamentalism.” Audience questions add another layer, sparking debates about morality, truth, and the timeless relevance of Hitchens’ insights.

This unique celebration of Hitch’s life blends humor, deep thought, and passion, culminating in a poignant reflection on friendship, courage, and the pursuit of truth. Whether you’re a longtime admirer of Christopher Hitchens or discovering his work for the first time, this event offers a powerful tribute to a remarkable man who continues to inspire millions.

Just click here to see the video, or click on the screenshot below (YouTube won’t let me directly embed the video).

Richard and Lawrence read their pieces, which are both lively, but Murray and Fry speak of Hitch extemporaneously, or at least without notes.  I won’t summarize the reminiscences as you need to hear them yourself.

The four in memoriam pieces end at 35:16 and it’s on to discussion, with Lawrence asking each person to react to a statement by Hitchens. Fry waxes eloquent on the question we all have: “What would Hitchens would say about wokeness?” Douglas Murray, a defender of Israel, is asked to respond to some quotes from Hitchens attacking Zionism.

At 1 hour 4 minutes in, the panel answers questions submitted on social media.

In the end, this is one of the few discussion videos I’d recommend watching in toto. 

I met Hitchens only once, on November 6, 2009, at a meeting in Puebla, Mexico.  My bus was heading back to Mexico City, but when I saw him grabbing a ciggie outside the venue, complete with poppy and what I”m told is a pro-Kurd lapel pin, I leapt off the bus to introduce myself.  I never do stuff like that, but this was Hitchens!  He remembered me from something I’d written, but the bus was leaving and our discourse was very brief. Here’s a photo I took from the bus: