Dying to be famous

I have a surefire get-rich-quick scheme that guarantees everlasting fame. There's just one catch: I've got to die. Like, soon.

There's something to be said for living a graceful, long life. Karl Malden, the Oscar-winning actor who held his own against Marlon Brando and persuaded a generation to never leave home without their American Express cards, made it to age 97 before passing on July 1. Ed McMahon, who spent his later years discovering new talent after decades of riding shotgun with the greatest TV star of all, died in late June at age 86.

But both were merely footnotes in a summer that saw one legend after another leave us. And it was the ones who left us with a theatrical pirouette who got the greatest -- and most rewarding -- ovations.

Michael Jackson hadn't produced a hit in more than a decade, but he was heralded in a star-studded memorial watched by more than 30 million Americans as one speaker after another anointed him as the finest entertainer who ever lived.

I drooled over Farrah Fawcett's poster just like any other teenage boy, although only within the confines of my friends' homes (my socially conservative folks would have treated that cheesecake shot like it was a swastika). But the Texas beauty only punched in for one full season of "Charlie's Angels," followed by a couple of critically acclaimed TV movies that could have been managed as well by the likes of Meredith Baxter Birney. Heck, even Tanya Roberts was a Bond girl.

Then there's Billy Mays, the TV pitchman who died June 28 at the age of 50. Selling "miracle" products on the late-night airwaves wouldn't normally merit more than a pleasant obit on page 27 of your local newspaper -- except that Mays passed away at the age of 50 during the height of his career. Interest in the once C-list celebrity is now so high that owners of the Mighty brand line plan to continue to air new ads that were taped shortly before his untimely death.

"Our feeling is, everyone wants to have Billy go on," Bill McAlister, president of Media Enterprises, a sales and marketing company based in Trevose, Pa., told the AP last week. "This is what he would have wanted."

Not to mention his ever growing legion of fans.

Dying too soon has long been good for one's reputation. Just ask Kurt Cobain, Elvis Presley or Julius Caesar. But forgive me if my mourning is accompanied by a tinge of suspicion.

I sort of admired Fawcett's televised treatment of her cancer. It also made me cringe. Was it a genuine attempt to put a spotlight on a horrible disease or one more desperate plea for the spotlight? Probably a little of both.

I choked up a bit when Paris Jackson, Michael's oldest daughter, proclaimed her love for her father and then buried her head in her aunt Janet's black mourning dress. Wow, I thought. A real John-John moment. Then, the cynicism crept in: Was that exactly what the family was going for?

I'm not suggesting that Paris didn't adore her father and wasn't genuinely heartbroken -- but why am I afraid that she'll be starring in her own reality show by the end of the year?

Perhaps there have just been too many celebrity deaths this season for me to handle. Perhaps I've always believed that a funeral should be a personal, private matter.

But here's the thing: In case I meet my demise in an untimely fashion, be aware that I've stashed away 100 never-before-read columns in the bottom of my desk. My lawyers know what to do with them. Oh, and in a personal note to Mariah Carey: You are more than welcome to sing at my ceremony. And wear that dress. I won't be offended.

njustin@startribune.com • 612-673-7431