It seems we've finally reached some twisted manifestation of Andy Warhol's "15 minutes" theory, where scores of celebrities now crowd our consciousness, famous solely because someone else told us they are. Too often, though, the only distinguishing characteristic of these "stars" is their ability to be a human train wreck on cue, and without hesitation or regret.
But what's been sadly lacking in most of these Hollywood-minute cases are the two redemptive qualities that makes these histrionic bearable: Talent, sadly; and a sense of purpose that extends beyond their next TMZ breakdown.
When Accomplishment Mattered
Fortunately, there are still examples of celebrities whose lives exist beyond a self-indulgent Twitter feed. Unfortunately, one of the greatest examples of a celebrity life well lived has all but disappeared into a scrap of relative irrelevance. But I think there's value for all of us, famous or no, in re-examining the life of Harry Chapin.
Chapin was most notably a storyteller in the guise of a singer, who despite his unconventionality as a writer contributed a couple of songs that still survive on the far reaches of our pop consciousness. But Harry Chapin wasn't solely defined as a song writer; really, he was more of a renaissance man who attended the Air Force Academy, and whose accomplishments stretched from hit record maker, to documentary film maker, to Broadway musical composer.
But when he was killed in a car accident on the Long Island Expressway in 1981, I fear the world didn't know then -- nor does it now -- what it truly lost in Harry Chapin: A deeply human and even flawed man, who nevertheless embraced each day and those in it with a hearty laugh and a desire to make himself better; a humanitarian, who became increasingly -- some say obsessively -- concerned with the less fortunate; and (what I miss most) a storyteller...a chronicler of poignant tales found in seemingly unremarkable circumstances that illuminated the human condition, and helped us understand ourselves.
Human
One thing that distinguished Chapin from so many of today's Q Rating-fixated celebrities was his self-deprecating ability to laugh at himself. As then Washington Post columnist Tony Kornheiser noted in Chapin's obituary, Chapin frequently referred to himself as a "3rd-rate rock star."
"He knew that most of the critics considered him a lightweight...it never discouraged him," wrote Kornheiser in 1981.
But he wasn't above frequent and serious self examination. Never was this more evident than in the genesis of most enduring musical legacy, the song "Cat's In the Cradle," a haunting ode of a father who realizes too late he's squandered the relationship with his son.
The song actually began as poem, penned by Chapin's wife, Sandy. Though it had many inspirations, one was her fear that the accomplishment-fixated Chapin was missing his son Josh's childhood. In an instructive mea culpa, Chapin proclaimed that the song's lyrics "scared me to death." Then he recorded it, and the responsive chord it struck with America made it his signature hit.
"And the Cat's in the Cradle, and the silver spoon.
"Little Boy Blue, and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad? I don't when.
"But we'll get together then, son, you know we'll have a good time then."
While so many performers today are trying to fabricate an image as something other than human, Chapin embraced his humanity, and it resonated loudly with anyone who'd listen.
Humanitarian
Midway through his singing stardom, Chapin became aware of, then obsessed with the issue of hunger in this country and beyond. Not satisfied with just calling attention to it from the stage, or even organizing benefits, Chapin tirelessly lobbied Congressional members on the subject.
When that didn't feel like enough, he began to donate concert proceeds. Musicianguide.com estimates that in all, Chapin gave about $5 million to charitable causes. When this caused rifts with band members, he'd hit the stage alone with a guitar and his message.
"Harry Chapin could have been a millionaire," Kornheiser wrote. "Maybe should have been."
Story Teller of Very "Human" Beings
What made Chapin most unique, though, was his ability to craft searing commentaries on the human condition in songs that defied radio air-time conventions; they were, in fact, short stories set to chords. In "Mr. Tanner," there's the haunting tale of an Ohio dry cleaner who's heart is made full when he sings -- until his professional debut, where a terse New York Times review encourages another profession.
"He came home to Dayton, and was questioned by his friends.
And he smiled and just said nothing, and he never sang again.
Excepting very late at night, when the shop was dark and closed.
He sang softly too himself, as he sorted through the clothes."
Chapin honed in on the beauty in the imperfections and disappointments of humanity. We related to his characters, certainly; but we also saw through his eyes the grandeur of the human condition. That there are remarkable stories unfolding all around us, if we'll just open our eyes to them.
Even in early morning bar room, where a plain looking night watchman tells an overweight waitress of the beautiful but sad woman who took him to bed, then disappeared forever, leaving these words as the only explanation:
"If you want to (be) with me, then that's alright with me.
"Cause I've been oh so lonely, lovin' anyone is a better way to be.
"Anywhere is a better place to be."
Maybe it's because he had -- and maintained -- the ability to see others' humanity than he never sacrificed his own on the altar of celebrity; and in fact, viewed his fame with equal parts disdain and bemusement, and as an obligation and opportunity.
"I've got nothing against selling out," he told Kornheiser shortly before his death. " But let me sell out for something that matters....so I can leave here thinking I mattered."
So instead of turning that cynicism toward "celebrity" inward, succumbing to self destruction or self parody, he looked outward for a way to make his "15 minutes" matter. Because of the people he helped, and the insights into each of us he provided, Harry Chapin's time isn't up just yet -- even if precious few realize it.
Sources
- Tony Kornheiser, "Harry Chapin's Riches: The Troubador Who Laughed at Fame & Gave Away His Riches." The Washington Post, 1981
- Harry Chapin Biography, MusicianGuide.com
David Burke - David Burke is a Senior Media Producer with State Farm Insurance. In 2001, David won an Emmy Award (National Academy of Television Arts & ...
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