Jerry’s Not Here
These past couple of years, I’ve been working as a graduate assistant for a local university while working on my Master’s degree. One of the consequences is that I tend to be behind on the news.
Case in point: Yesterday was my last day as a graduate assistant. I spent eight hours in the office stuffing envelopes with brochures and sorting records on the college into chronological order. During my lunch break I checked my e-mail and my networking sites to see what was up. One of my MySpace friends had posted a bulletin with the headline “Ding Dong, Jerry Fallwell’s Dead.”
Now, I assign bulletins on MySpace about the same journalistic integrity as press releases from the ACRU – That is, not much. So it was this morning that I actually learned, for real, that Jerry Fallwell is dead.
BoingBoing is a nice central point for memories on Falwell. You can remember the stupidest and most hateful things the man ever said in a long career of stupid and hateful things. You can also see the mock interview from Hustler that prompted him to launch a landmark lawsuit, which he lost. And, finally, they’ll link you to a surprisingly kind eulogy from Larry Flynt himself.
My mother always told me that no matter how much you dislike a person, when you meet them face to face you will find characteristics about them that you like. Jerry Falwell was a perfect example of that. I hated everything he stood for, but after meeting him in person, years after the trial, Jerry Falwell and I became good friends. He would visit me in California and we would debate together on college campuses. I always appreciated his sincerity even though I knew what he was selling and he knew what I was selling.
After the BoingBoing memories, you can hop on over to Thud’s place where my brother has provided a stepping stone into blog reactions.
As for me, I never liked the man. He lived a life full of hatred and fear and his only solace was the inspiring of further hatred and fear in the people around him. The evil he did far outweighs the good. It seemed like every time he opened his mouth, he said something that would cause me to have a political and/or social apoplexy.
Even so, I offer up this traditional Irish blessing upon his passing: May ye reach Heav’n at least an hour before the Divil knows ye’re dead.