THE EULOGY OF AL JOLSON

Comedian George Jessel gave the eulogy for Al Jolson's funeral in October of 1950. They were lifelong friends, and Jessel's words were well said...

A BREEZE FROM San Francisco Bay and the life of the greatest minstrel that America has ever known is in the balance. A turn of a card -- a telling of a gag -- and within a few moments, a wife, a legion of friends, and a nation are broken-hearted. So it was and so, alas, it is the passing from this earthly scene of Al Jolson. And the voice that once put majesty into the American popular song must from now on come from a disc instead of the heart, from whence it came.

Oh, my friends, I know it is the purpose of the speaker at times like these to voice lofty phrases of consolation about a life full lived and a happy conclusion to a great career. But I, contemporary of Al's, find myself too shocked and torn within to say that all is well, and I dare not lie from this sacred platform to say that I, and we, must rejoice in the fact that now he is at peace. It would be far from the truth, and I would need the spiritual strength of a rabbi, a minister, and a priest combined to do so. The human flesh and the frailty of human nature seem to be the sad order of the day as far as I am concerned.

It will take a long time for the people in my business who have been wounded by this event to become reconciled that this dynamic bundle of energy with its God-given talent that called itself Al Jolson is at peace. The very humanly emotional heart of the theatrical business does not heal so easily, and the tears that must fall from the eyes of the many who miss him already cannot be halted by the spoken word. No, the word will not take the place of his song.

And not only has the entertainment world lost its king, but we cannot cry, "The King is dead -- long live the King!" For there is no one to hold his scepter. Those of us who tarry behind are but pale imitations, mere princelings. And American Jewry suffers as well and I must psychologically inform you of the great inspiration that Al was to the Jewish people in the last forty years. For in 1910 the Jewish people who emigrated from Europe to come here were a sad lot. Their humor came out of their own troubles. Men of thirty-five seemed to take on the attitude of their fathers and grandfathers, they walked with stooped shoulders. When they sang, they sang with lament in their hearts and their voices, always as if they were pleading for help from above, And the older they got, the more they prayed for the return to Jerusalem. Or yearned for the simple little villages where they spent their childhood. And the actors, even the great ones, came on the stage also playing characters like their fathers. Vaudeville and the variety and the musical-comedy stage and the legitimate theater had Ben Welch and Joe Welch, monologists with beards and shabby clothes telling humorous stories that had a tear behind them. Likewise did this happen in legitimate theater. David Warfield in The Auctioneer and many others in plays bewailing the misfortunes that had happened to the Jew. And then there came on the scene a young man, vibrantly pulsing with life and courage, who marched on the stage, head high with the authority of a Roman emperor, with a gaiety that was militant, uninhibited, and unafraid, and told the world that the Jew in America did not only have to sing in sorrow but could shout happily about Dixie, about the Night Boat to Albany, about coming to California, about a girl in Avalon. And when he cried "Mammy" it was in appreciation, not in lament. Jolson is the happiest portrait that can ever be painted about an American of the Jewish faith. Jolson was synonymous with victory at the race track, at the ball game, at anything that he participated in, he would say, "I had the winner, ha, ha, why didn't you ask me?" This was not in bravado alone: this was the quintessence of optimism. Whatever you're in, whatever game you play, feel like you are the winner.

The history of the world does not say enough about how important the song and the singer have been, from the days of old when a man first sang "Yankee Doodle" on the streets of Boston or the soldier in France who first sang "The Marseillaise." But history must record the name Jolson, who in the twilight of his life sang his heart out in a foreign land, to the wounded and to the valiant. I am proud to have basked in the sunlight of his greatness, to have been part of his time, and to have only a few days ago -- this last Sunday night -- hugged him and said, "Good night, Asa, take care of yourself." And now, my friends, I find my faith in good coming back to me. I feel strengthened in heart and mind -- and I would lay my sackcloth and ashes aside and therefore say to my fellow mourners and the little lady who bears Al's name that I am thankful to God that there was and there is an Al Jolson. And I have faith that he will never die in the hearts of people. No, no. No such blot will ever fall on the fair charter of American memories. Baruch adenoi. Praise the Lord. Good night, Al.

ON THIS DAY - SEPTEMBER 23, 1957

69 years ago...

On this day, Buddy Holly and The Crickets reached the very top of the charts with That’ll Be the Day — their first Billboard hit and their only US #1. The song’s title came from a phrase John Wayne used in the 1956 film The Searchers, and Holly’s driving rhythm and vocal style turned it into a rock ’n’ roll anthem.

The record went on to sell over a million copies in America, cementing Holly as one of the most important pioneers of early rock. Though his career was tragically cut short, his impact was undeniable. After That’ll Be the Day, Holly scored more hits with Peggy Sue, Oh, Boy!, Maybe Baby, and It Doesn’t Matter Anymore.

His innovative songwriting, use of double-tracking, and his look — horn-rimmed glasses and all — influenced generations to come, from The Beatles to Bob Dylan to modern rockers...

HOLLYWOOD URBAN LEGEND: RUSS COLUMBO

URBAN LEGEND: Did friends and family keep the news of crooner's Russ Columbo's death from his own mother until her death?

ANSWER: Yes, that urban legend is true!

Russ Columbo's family kept his death a secret from his mother, Mrs. Columbo, in a "tender deceit" to protect her. They did not inform her that he had died when he was killed in 1934, and the deception continued for ten years until her own death in 1944. The family's decision to hide the news of his death was an act of kindness, intending to spare his mother the grief of his sudden passing.To maintain the elaborate deception, people wrote fake letters from him, suggesting he was on a long tour in Europe. They played records of his old radio shows to make it seem as though his broadcasts were still ongoing. Also they persuaded friends and acquaintances to talk as if Columbo were still alive.

Giulia "Julia" Colombo died on August 30, 1944 never knowing her famous song had died a decade earlier...

CAROL BURNETT: THE ULTIMATE MISS HARRIGAN

When Annie hit theaters in 1982, audiences were already familiar with Carol Burnett as the queen of sketch comedy, thanks to The Carol Burnett Show. But nothing quite prepared them for her turn as Miss Agatha Hannigan—the gin-soaked, silk‑slipped, delightfully unhinged matron of the Hudson Street Orphanage. Burnett didn’t just play Miss Hannigan; she transformed her into a chaotic, tragicomic force of nature who would ultimately define the film’s long‑lasting appeal.

Most fans don’t realize Burnett wasn’t the first choice for the part. The role of Miss Hannigan was initially offered to Bette Midler, whose powerful voice and theatrical style would have taken the character in an entirely different direction. But fate had other plans, and Burnett stepped in—bringing with her a blend of vaudeville sharpness, emotional nuance, and comedic timing that made the character unforgettable. 

That choice would turn out to be a defining moment for the film. Burnett’s performance became so memorable that many viewers now associate Annie not just with its red‑haired heroine, but with the unstable caretaker who belted out “Little Girls” while drunkenly threatening to hang up on life itself.

Burnett portrayed Miss Hannigan as a woman teetering between slapstick comedy and real emotional despair. That balance wasn’t accidental. She has acknowledged that aspects of Hannigan’s alcoholism echoed experiences from her own upbringing, grounding the character in lived emotional truth even amid exaggerated physical humor. 

Nowhere is that balance more evident than in the musical number “Little Girls.” Burnett staggers, sways, rearranges a painting just so she can make it crooked again—all tiny touches that reveal Hannigan’s unraveling mind. Critics and fans alike still cite the scene as a masterclass in comedic acting, done with just enough darkness to feel real. 

Filming wasn’t as glamorous as the final product suggests. Director John Huston, best known for gritty noir films like The Maltese Falcon, was an unusual choice for a musical—and his dramatic sensibilities clashed with Broadway‑style energy on set. Yet somehow, the mismatch created a vibrant, oddball atmosphere that Burnett thrived in. 

To make matters even more complicated, Burnett underwent chin surgery between filming and reshoots. When she returned to set, her new look posed a continuity nightmare—especially for the “Easy Street” scene, which originally involved over 400 background performers before being scaled down. She joked to Huston, “Two months ago, I didn’t have a chin. Now I do.” The director’s solution? “Just come out looking determined.” And she did, with impeccable comedic confidence. 

Forty years later, there have been multiple adaptions of Annie—TV films, live musicals, and reimaginings. But none have surpassed the charm, chaos, and layered humor of Burnett’s performance.

Whether she was belting out songs with Tim Curry and Bernadette Peters or snarling at her army of exhausted orphans, Burnett gave Miss Hannigan a soul—albeit a twisted, booze‑soaked one. She made the villain weirdly lovable, even when she was at her worst. And that is why her portrayal continues to be the definitive version for generations of fans...

RIP: BOB MACKIE

Bob Mackie, iconic fashion and Costume Designer, has died at the age of 87. Bob Mackie was an internationally renowned costume and fashion designer who has dressed some of the most glamorous entertainment icons in the world. With a career spanning five decades, nine Emmy Award wins, three Academy Award nominations, and an induction into the Television Academy Hall of Fame.

Mackie's Instagram posted the following message:

It is with a heavy heart that we share the news that Mr. Bob Mackie passed away today. He lived his 87 years to the fullest, fulfilling his dream of being a Fashion and Costume Designer, which is all he ever wanted to do. His genius and extraordinary designs will live on forever, continuing to bring beauty into this world.

Bob Mackie's career is nothing short of legendary. Most recently, he received a 2019 Tony Award, Drama Desk Award, and Outer Critics Circle Award for his work on The Cher Show.

A native of Southern California, Bob's career began in 1961, where he was in demand as a sketch artist for many costume designers in film, including Edith Head and Jean Louis. In 1966, the vivacious Mitzi Gaynor decided she was ready for a whole new look and quickly engaged Mackie to design the costumes for her famous Las Vegas Review and her upcoming television specials. For Mackie, this was a marriage made in heaven with dance, glamour, and comedy all in one package.

After seeing Gaynor's Las Vegas show, Carol Burnett and TV producer, Joe Hamilton hired him to design the entire wardrobe for the first Carol Burnett Show, where he remained the show's Costume Designer for it's eleven year run on air. Bob is equally well known for his designs worn by Cher on her television show, as well as her concert tours, winning an Emmy in 1999 for Cher: Live in Concert from Las Vegas and in 2003 for Cher: The Farewell Tour.

His theatrical credits include Lorelei with Carol Channing, On the Town with Bernadette Peters, Platinum with Alexis Smith, The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Public with Dee Hooty, Moon Over Buffalo and Putting It Together, both with Carol Burnett; and Minnelli On Minnelli with Liza Minnelli. He also designed the costumes and scenery for the world premiere of the ballet, Blue Suede Shoes, featuring the music of Elvis Presley, as well as the costumes for the San Francisco Opera's production of Alban Berg's Lulu.

In 1999, the Museum at The Fashion Institute of Technology ("FIT") honored Mackie's enormous contribution to fashion and costume design with the retrospective Unmistakably Mackie, now hailed as one of the most highly attended exhibitions in New York City history. The exhibit included more than 125 examples of Mackie's designs, sketches, photos, and videos spanning his incredible career. In conjunction with the retrospective, the vibrantly illustrated book, Unmistakably Mackie by Frank DeCaro, was also released.

Women who wear Mackie dare to be noticed, and many of the entertainment industries biggest and brightest stars are still clamoring to be dressed by him. The Mackie brand continues to flourish with the QVC Wearable Art Collection and partnerships with Kas Rugs, Premium Bag, Horizon Beauty Group, Glance Eyewear, and The Bradford Exchange. With his choice of vibrant colors, luxurious fabrics, and intricate detail, Bob Mackie's work continues to exude timeless glamour...

BORN ON THIS DAY: CLAUDETTE COLBERT

Claudette Colbert, born Emilie Claudette Chauchoin on this day in 1903, was one the greatest actresses of the 20th century. The family moved to the United States when she was three. As Claudette grew up, she wanted nothing more than to play to Broadway audiences (in those days, any actress or actor worth their salt went for Broadway, not Hollywood). After her formal education ended, she enrolled in the Art Students League, where she paid for her dramatic training by working in a dress shop. She made her Broadway debut in 1923 in the stage production of "The Wild Wescotts". It was during this event that she adopted the name Claudette Colbert.

When the Great Depression shut down most of the theaters, Claudette decided to make a go of it in films. Her first film was called For the Love of Mike (1927). Unfortunately, it was a box-office disaster. She wasn't real keen on the film industry, but with an extreme scarcity in theatrical roles, she had no choice but to remain. In 1929 she starred as Joyce Roamer in The Lady Lies (1929). The film was a success and later that year she had another hit entitled The Hole in the Wall (1929). In 1930 she starred opposite Fredric March in Manslaughter (1930), which was a remake of the silent version of eight years earlier. A year after that Claudette was again paired in a film with March, Honor Among Lovers (1931). It fared well at the box-office, probably only because it was the kind of film that catered to women who enjoyed magazine fiction romantic stories. In 1932 Claudette played the evil Poppeia in Cecil B. DeMille's last great work, The Sign of the Cross (1932), and once again was cast with March. Later the same year she was paired with Jimmy Durante in The Phantom President (1932). By now Claudette's name symbolized good movies and she, along with March, pulled crowds into the theaters with the acclaimed Tonight Is Ours (1933).

The next year started a little on the slow side with the release of Four Frightened People (1934), where Claudette and her co-stars were at odds with the dreaded bubonic plague on board a ship. However, the next two films were real gems for this young actress. First up, Claudette was charming and radiant in Cecil B. DeMille's spectacular Cleopatra (1934). It wasn't one of DeMille's finest by any means, but it was a financial success and showcased Claudette as never before. However, it was as Ellie Andrews, in the now famous It Happened One Night (1934), that ensured she would be forever immortalized. Paired with Clark Gable, the madcap comedy was a mega-hit all across the country. It also resulted in Claudette being nominated for and winning the Oscar that year for Best Actress. IN 1935 she was nominated again for Private Worlds (1935), where she played Dr. Jane Everest, on the staff at a mental institution. The performance was exquisite. Films such as The Gilded Lily (1935), Drums Along the Mohawk (1939) and No Time for Love (1943) kept fans coming to the theaters and the movie moguls happy. Claudette was a sure drawing card for virtually any film she was in. In 1944 she starred as Anne Hilton in Since You Went Away (1944). Again, although she didn't win, Claudette picked up her third nomination for Best Actress.

By the late 1940s and early 1950s she was not only seen on the screen but the infant medium of television, where she appeared in a number of programs. However, her drawing power was fading somewhat as new stars replaced the older ones. In 1955 she filmed the western Texas Lady (1955) and wasn't seen on the screen again until Parrish (1961). It was her final silver screen performance. Her final appearance before the cameras was in a TV movie, The Two Mrs. Grenvilles (1987). She did, however, remain on the stage where she had returned in 1956, her first love. After a series of strokes, Claudette divided her time between New York and Barbados. On July 30, 1996, Claudette died in Speightstown, Barbados. She was 92...

HISTORY BREAK: A 9/11 MEMORY

Twenty five years ago the world changed for millions of people. There are countless stories of heroes and victims, and as sad as these stories are - hopefully this tragedy will never be forgotten. At two and a half years old, Christine Lee Hanson was the youngest of the eight children who were killed on 9/11, all passengers aboard the aircraft commandeered by terrorists. Christine’s life will be remembered through the display of her beloved Peter Rabbit, which will be installed in the 9/11 Museum’s Memorial Exhibition Thursday, June 11, after closing.

On September 11, 2001, Christine and her parents, Peter and Sue Kim Hanson, left their residence in Groton, Mass. and boarded United Flight 175 at Logan Airport. The family was flying to Los Angeles to visit Sue Kim’s relatives, followed by a trip to Disneyland. The hijacked plane never reached its destination. Two other children died on the same flight when it crashed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center.

Christine was a bright, busy toddler who loved taking trips to the playground and helping her father in the garden. An attentive caretaker of her toys, she favored a stuffed Peter Rabbit character from the classic Beatrix Potter series. It was given to her by her grandmother, Eunice Hanson, in acknowledgement of Christine’s birth in the Chinese Year of the Rabbit. Peter Rabbit replaced Christine’s previously best-loved plaything: a red Teletubby acquired in infancy that “went everywhere with her,” Eunice Hanson recalls.

In 2014, both of these cherished keepsakes were entrusted to the 9/11 Memorial Museum by her grandparents, Eunice and Lee Hanson. Two Winnie the Pooh stickers that Christine placed on Peter Rabbit’s torso are still attached. “She put stickers on everything she liked; I suppose it was her mark of approval,” Eunice Hanson said.

Included in the Hanson’s gift to the Museum was a photograph of Christine celebrating her first birthday, with the word Peace incised on the picture frame. “The Peace frame containing Christine’s picture, taken in a traditional Korean outfit, is most poignant,” said Eunice Hanson. “That one word describes Christine’s parents, who were loving people and believed in kindness. I could ask volumes of questions why this happened to them, given who they were.”