Masashi Ozaki aka Jumbo is the most successful golfer ever on the Japan Golf Tour. He has 40 more wins than the next highest player. He was nicknamed Jumbo because of his power off the tee and his size (5’11” 198lbs)
Japanese golf icon Masashi “Jumbo” Ozaki, widely regarded as the greatest player in the nation’s history, passed away on Tuesday after a battle with sigmoid colon cancer. He was 78.
The Japan Golf Tour Organization (JGTO) confirmed the news on Wednesday, noting that Ozaki had been diagnosed with the disease approximately one year ago. A family funeral has been held privately, with plans for a public farewell event to be announced in the future.
Born on January 24, 1947, in Tokushima Prefecture, Ozaki initially pursued a career in professional baseball, pitching and playing outfield for the Nishitetsu Lions (later Seibu Lions) from 1965 to 1967. At age 23, he transitioned to golf, turning pro in 1970 and quickly establishing himself as a dominant force.
Nicknamed “Jumbo” for his imposing 181 cm, 90 kg frame and booming drives—evoking the Boeing 747 jumbo jet that debuted around the same time—Ozaki amassed an unparalleled record. He secured 94 victories on the Japan Golf Tour, the most in its history, along with additional wins for a career total exceeding 110 tournaments (sources vary slightly between 112 and 114). His triumphs included five Japan Open titles and six Japan PGA Championships.
Ozaki’s charisma shone through dramatic comebacks, including four victories where he erased eight-shot deficits. “What made him charismatic was the fact that he won four times in which he came back from eight shots behind,” the JGTO has noted on its website. “He pulled off some incredible shots a number of times.”
Internationally, Ozaki made his mark early, becoming the first Japanese golfer to finish in the top 10 at the Masters Tournament with an eighth-place result in 1973. He competed in 19 Masters, 13 U.S. Opens, and represented the International Team at the 1996 Presidents Cup. His best major finish outside Japan was a tie for sixth at the 1989 U.S. Open, and he reached a career-high world ranking of No. 5.
He claimed the Japan Golf Tour money title a record 12 times, including a streak of five consecutive seasons from 1994. At 55, he became the tour’s oldest winner by triumphing at the 2002 ANA Open.
In 2011, Ozaki was inducted into the World Golf Hall of Fame, joining Isao Aoki as the only Japanese men to receive the honor. “Ozaki is often thought to be to Japanese golf what Arnold Palmer is to American golf,” the Hall of Fame website states. “His success has spawned an entire generation of Japanese golf professionals, both male and female.”
Upon his induction, Ozaki reflected: “I am very happy, very honoured and appreciate everyone who has supported me since I turned pro in 1970. My only regret is not playing more outside of Japan, but I dedicated my life to Japanese golf and am extremely grateful the voters thought I was worthy of this honour.”
Ozaki came from a golfing family; his younger brothers Tateo (“Jet”) and Naomichi (“Joe”) also enjoyed successful professional careers, ranking among the tour’s all-time money leaders.
The golf world has mourned the loss of a pioneer whose power, personality, and perseverance elevated the sport’s popularity in Japan and inspired countless players worldwide.
Dick Cheney, America’s most powerful modern vice president and chief architect of the “war on terror,” who helped lead the country into the ill-fated Iraq war on faulty assumptions, has died, according to a statement from his family. He was 84.
“His beloved wife of 61 years, Lynne, his daughters, Liz and Mary, and other family members were with him as he passed,” the family said, adding that he died due to complications of pneumonia and cardiac and vascular disease.
“Dick Cheney was a great and good man who taught his children and grandchildren to love our country, and to live lives of courage, honor, love, kindness, and fly fishing,” the family added.
“We are grateful beyond measure for all Dick Cheney did for our country. And we are blessed beyond measure to have loved and been loved by this noble giant of a man.”
The 46th vice president, who served alongside Republican President George W. Bush for two terms between 2001 and 2009, was for decades a towering and polarizing Washington power player.
Bush described Cheney in a statement Tuesday as a “decent, honorable man.” “History will remember him as among the finest public servants of his generation – a patriot who brought integrity, high intelligence, and seriousness of purpose to every position,” Bush said.
In his final years, Cheney, still a hardline conservative, nevertheless became largely ostracized from his party over his intense criticism of President Donald Trump whom he branded a “coward”and the greatest-ever threat to the republic.
In an ironic coda to a storied political career, he cast his final vote in a presidential election in 2024 for a liberal Democrat, and fellow member of the vice president’s club, Kamala Harris, in a reflection of how the populist GOP had turned against his traditional conservatism.
Cheney was plagued by cardiovascular disease for most of his adult life, surviving a series of heart attacks, to lead a full, vigorous life and lived many years in retirement after a heart transplant in 2012 that he hailed in a 2014 interview as “the gift of life itself.”
Cheney, a sardonic former Wyoming representative, White House chief of staff and defense secretary, was enjoying a lucrative career in the corporate world when he was charged by George W. Bush with vetting potential vice-presidential nominees. The quest ended with Cheney himself taking the oath of office as a worldly number two to a callow new president who arrived in the Oval Office after a disputed election.
While caricatures of Cheney as the real president do not accurately capture the true dynamics of Bush’s inner circle, he relished the enormous influence that he wielded from behind the scenes.
Cheney was in the White House, with the president out of town on the crisp, clear morning of September 11, 2001. In the split second of horror when a second hijacked plane hit the World Trade Center in New York, he said he became a changed man, determined to avenge the al Qaeda-orchestrated attacks and to enforce US power throughout the Middle East with a neo-conservative doctrine of regime change and pre-emptive war.
“At that moment, you knew this was a deliberate act. This was a terrorist act,” he recalled of that day in an interview with CNN’s John King in 2002.
Cheney reflected in later years on how the attacks left him with overwhelming sense of responsibility to ensure such an assault on the homeland never happened again. Perceptions however that he was the sole driving force behind the war on terror and US ventures into Iraq and Afghanistan are misleading.
Contemporary and historic accounts of the administration show that Bush was his own self-styled “The Decider.”
From a bunker deep below the White House, Cheney went into crisis mode, directing the response of a grief-stricken nation suddenly at war. He gave the extraordinary order to authorize the shooting down of any more hijacked airliners in the event they were headed to the White House or the US Capitol building. For many, his frequent departures to “undisclosed” locations outside Washington to preserve the presidential chain of succession reinforced his image as an omnipotent figure waging covert war from the shadows. His hawkishness and alarmist view of a nation facing grave threats was not an outlier at the time – especially during a traumatic period that included anthrax mailings and sniper shootings around Washington, DC, that exacerbated a sense of public fear even though they were unrelated to 9/11.
The September 11 attacks unleashed the US war in Afghanistan to overthrow the Taliban, which was harboring al Qaeda, though the terror group’s leader Osama bin Laden escaped. Soon, Cheney was agitating for widening the US assault to Iraq and its leader, Saddam Hussein, whose forces he had helped to eject from Kuwait in the first Gulf War as President George H.W. Bush’s Pentagon chief.
The vice president’s aggressive warnings about Iraq’s supposed weapons of mass destruction programs, alleged links to al Qaeda and intent to furnish terrorists with deadly weapons to attack the United States played a huge role in laying the groundwork for the US invasion of Iraq in 2003. Congressional reports and other post-war inquiries later showed that Cheney and other administration officials exaggerated, misrepresented or did not properly portray faulty intelligence about weapons of mass destruction programs that Iraq turned out not to possess. One of Cheney’s most infamous claims, that the chief 9/11 hijacker Mohamed Atta, met Iraqi intelligence officials in Prague, was never substantiated, including by the independent commission into the September 11 attacks.
But Cheney insisted in 2005 that he and other top officials were acting on “the best available intelligence,” at the time.
While admitting that the flaws in the intelligence were plain in hindsight, he insisted that any claim that the data was “distorted, hyped, or fabricated” was “utterly false.”
The conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan also led the US down a dark legal and moral path including “enhanced interrogations” of terror suspects that critics blasted as torture. But Cheney – who was at the center of every facet of the global war on terrorism – insisted methods like waterboarding were perfectly acceptable.Cheney was also an outspoken advocate for holding terror suspects without trial at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba – a practice that critics at home and abroad branded an affront to core American values.
Cheney became a symbol of the excesses of the anti-terror campaigns and the fatally false premises and poor planning that turned the initially successful invasion of Iraq into a bloody quagmire. He left office reviled by Democrats and with an approval rating of 31%, according to the Pew Research Center.
To the end of his life, Cheney expressed no regrets, certain he had merely done what was necessary to respond to an unprecedented attack on the US mainland that killed nearly 3,000 people and led to nearly two decades of foreign wars that divided the nation and transformed its politics.
“I would do it again in a minute,” Cheney said, when confronted by a Senate Intelligence Committee report in 2014 that concluded enhanced interrogation methods as brutal and ineffective and responsible for damaging US standing in the eyes of the world.
Of the Iraq war, he told CNN in 2015: “It was the right thing to do then. I believed it then and I believe it now.”
Cheney’s aggressive anti-terror policies fit into a personal doctrine that justified extraordinary presidential powers with limited congressional oversight. That was in line with his belief that the authority of the executive branch had been mistakenly eroded in the aftermath of the Vietnam War and the Watergate scandal that led to the resignation of his first presidential boss, President Richard Nixon.
Yet in his final years, Cheney emerged as a fierce critic of a man who had an even more expansive view of the powers of the presidency than he did – Trump. Cheney had supported Trump in 2016 despite his criticism of Bush-Cheney foreign policies and his transformation of the party of Reagan into a populist, nationalist GOP. But the ending of the president’s first term, when his refusal to accept his 2020 election defeat led to the January 6 insurrection, caused Cheney to speak out, in a rare, public manner.
The former vice president’s daughter, then-Wyoming Rep. Liz Cheney, meanwhile, sacrificed a promising career in the GOP to oppose Trump after his attempt to overturn the 2020 presidential election and the US Capitol insurrection on January 6, 2021. In an ad for his daughter’s unsuccessful campaign to fight off a pro-Trump candidate’s primary challenge in 2022, Dick Cheney – who was, by then, rarely seen in public – looked directly into the camera from under a wide brimmed cowboy hat and delivered an extraordinary direct message.
“In our nation’s 246-year history, there has never been an individual who is a greater threat to our republic than Donald Trump,” Cheney said.
“He is a coward. A real man wouldn’t lie to his supporters. He lost his election, and he lost big. I know it. He knows it, and deep down, I think most Republicans know.”
Richard Bruce Cheney was born January 30, 1941, in Lincoln, Nebraska. While living in the small mountain town of Casper, Wyoming, he met his high school sweetheart and future wife Lynne Vincent. Cheney was accepted to Yale University on a scholarship, but he struggled to fit in and maintain his grades. By his own admission, he was kicked out.
He returned West to work on power lines and was twice arrested for driving under the influence. In a turning point for Cheney, he was given an ultimatum from Lynne, who had “made it clear she wasn’t interested in marrying a lineman for the county,” he told The New Yorker. “I buckled down and applied myself. Decided it was time to make something of myself,” he told the magazine.
Cheney went back to school and earned a bachelor’s and master’s in political science from University of Wyoming. The couple was married in 1964.
Cheney is survived by Lynne, his daughters Liz and Mary Cheney and seven grandchildren.
A veteran Washington power broker
Cheney began honing his inside power game – at which he became a master – as an aide to Nixon.
He was later picked by Donald Rumsfeld as his deputy White House chief of staff under President Gerald Ford and then succeeded his mentor and close friend in the job in 1975 when Rumsfeld departed to become defense secretary. Cheney was instrumental in reviving their partnership in 2001 when he recalled Rumsfeld from the political wilderness to return to the Pentagon. The pair formed an extraordinary backroom alliance in the Bush administration throughout the war on terror and the Iraq war – much to the frustration of more moderate members of the administration including then-Secretary of State Colin Powell and National Security Adviser Condoleezza Rice – who took over from Powell in the second term.
While Democratic President Jimmy Carter was in the White House, Cheney decided to run for Congress and was elected to Wyoming’s sole US House seat in 1978. Cheney served six terms, rising to become House minority whip, and racked up a very conservative voting record.
In 1989, President George H. W. Bush, who had served with Cheney in the Ford administration, tapped him to serve as his defense secretary, calling him a “trusted friend, adviser.” He was confirmed by the Senate in a 92-0 vote.
As Pentagon chief, Cheney showed considerable skill in directing the US invasion of Panama in 1989 and Operation Desert Storm in 1991 to push Iraq’s troops out of Kuwait. Following his stint as defense secretary, Cheney briefly explored a run for president in the 1996 election cycle but decided against it.
During Democrat Bill Clinton’s presidency, Cheney joined Dallas-based Halliburton Co. serving as its chief executive officer.
It wouldn’t be until the younger Bush decided to run for office that Cheney was chosen to lead the Republican candidate’s search for a running mate and, after initially turning down the job, ended up being added to the GOP ticket.
“During the process, I came to the conclusion that the selector was the best person to be selected,” Bush said in the 2020 CNN film “President in Waiting.”
Cheney brought a wealth of knowledge and experience to areas where critics complained Bush was weak. As a former Texas governor, Bush had no elected experience in Washington and little military and foreign policy background compared with Cheney.
Early in Bush’s presidency, Cheney led a task force to develop the administration’s energy policy and sought to keep its records secret in a fight that lasted Bush’s first term and went all the way to the US Supreme Court.
He was, however, at odds with Bush over the issue of same-sex marriage, saying that it should be left to the states to decide. In a 2004 town hall, he noted his daughter Mary’s sexual orientation reportedly for the first time publicly, according to The Washington Post. “With respect to the question of relationships, my general view is that freedom means freedom for everyone. People … ought to be free to enter into any kind of relationship they want to,” he said, the Post reported.
His relationship with Bush was complicated in later years, including by Bush’s refusal to pardon Cheney’s chief of staff Scooter Libby, who had been convicted of perjury and obstruction of justice in 2007 after a probe into who leaked the identity of a CIA operative. Libby was eventually pardoned by Trump in 2018.
In one of the most notorious moments in his personal life, which added to his grizzled legend in 2006, Cheney accidentally shot a hunting partner in the face with birdshot, causing relatively minor wounds.
Cheney’s health issues began in 1978, when he had his first heart attack at age 37 while running for Congress. Three more followed in 1984, 1988 and November 2000, just a few days into the Florida presidential ballot recount that resulted in a Bush-Cheney win.
Cheney at the time said that he’d be the “the first to step down” if he learned he’d be unable to do the job and had a resignation letter in case he was deemed incapacitated. Cheney completed both terms under Bush, attending Barack Obama’s inauguration in January 2009 in a wheelchair.
A year after a fifth heart attack in 2010, Cheney received a heart pump that kept the organ running until his transplant in 2012.
After leaving office, Cheney returned to private life, penning two memoirs — one about his personal and political career and the other about his struggles with heart disease as well as a book with his daughter, Liz. He became one of the most strident GOP critics of President Barack Obama, who had based his election campaign on promises to end the wars and other changes from what he called failed policies of the Bush-Cheney administration.
Years later, Cheney was decrying his own party — especially its leadership’s response to the attack on the Capitol — when he returned to the US Capitol with then-Rep. Liz Cheneyon the one-year anniversary of January 6, 2021.
“I am deeply disappointed at the failure of many members of my party to recognize the grave nature of the January 6 attacks and the ongoing threat to our nation,” he said in a statement.
In a remarkable moment, Democrats lined up to greet the former Republican vice president and shake his hand. Former Democratic House Speaker Nancy Pelosi hugged Cheney. The former vice president slammed Republican leaders in Congress, saying they do not resemble the leaders he remembered from his time in the body.
It was a scene that would have been unthinkable two decades earlier and an illustration of how the extraordinary changes in American politics wrought by Trump had made former bitter political foes find common cause in the fight for democracy.
“It’s not leadership that resembles any of the folks I knew when I was here for 10 years,” Cheney said at the Capitol in 2022.
Cheney continued his criticism of Trump in the following years and went as far as to endorse then-Vice President Kamala Harris, a Democrat and Trump’s opponent in the 2024 presidential campaign. He said he would vote for Harris because of the “duty to put country above partisanship to defend our Constitution.” Cheney emphasized his disdain for Trump at the time and warned that he “can never be trusted with power again,” though Trump would go on to win the presidency a couple of months later.
Tristan Rogers, who played legacy character Robert Scorpio on ABC’s “General Hospital,” died Friday, less than one month after he made a special appearance on the soap opera. He was 79.
“The entire ‘General Hospital’ family is heartbroken to hear of Tristan Rogers’ passing,” said Frank Valentini, the show’s executive producer, in a statement. “Tristan has captivated our fans for 45 years and Port Charles will not be the same without him (or Robert Scorpio).”
Born in Melbourne, Australia, Rogers’ first foray into performing was in his early twenties and playing drums in a rock band with a group of friends. They weren’t successful so Rogers turned to commercial work and modeling to earn some money. When the band dissolved, Rogers decided to give acting a try. After various roles in Australia, he also worked as a DJ and eventually moved to Los Angeles to try to break into Hollywood. He said casting directors were initially turned off by his accent but he eventually landed a two-day role on “General Hospital” in 1980.
“I had no idea at the point how big the show was,” Rogers told fellow “General Hospital” actor Maurice Benard on the YouTube show, “State of Mind with Maurice Benard” in 2022.
“I had no name. I was brought in expressly to beat up the hero, Luke, (played by Anthony Geary), and then disappear,” Rogers said. His first day was half-over when then-executive producer Gloria Monty asked if he would like to stay on. They had no character written for him so for three weeks Monty asked him to just appear in scenes “looking furtive, looking suspicious” until they came up with a storyline. It was decided he would play a spy known as “CK8” and eventually he was given the name Robert Scorpio. The character would remain a fixture in Port Charles for the rest of Rogers’ life, even when he wasn’t a current cast member.
Scorpio’s on again/off again romance with Emma Samms’ character, Holly Sutton, remained a favorite among fans. Scorpio also had a romance, and many storylines with another spy, Anna Devane, played by Finola Hughes. Scorpio and Devane shared a daughter, Robin, played by Kimberly McCullough. Samms returned to the show for a stint last fall where it was revealed that Scorpio was the father of her adult daughter, Sasha Gilmore (played by Sofia Mattson.)
Rogers and Samms left the show together in November 2024 in scenes taped with a nod to “Casablanca.” He returned to the show in July for one episode when Sasha arrived to his home in France with her new baby. It was then revealed that Rogers had lung cancer
Rogers’ other acting credits include “The Bold and the Beautiful,” “The Young & the Restless” and “Studio City,” which won him outstanding supporting actor in a digital drama series at the Daytime Emmy Awards. He is survived by his wife, Teresa Parkerson, and a daughter and a son.
Hulk Hogan, the towering, charismatic figure who revolutionized professional wrestling in the 1980s and became the first true household name in the sport, passed away on Thursday at the age of 71. His death, confirmed by longtime partner Eric Bischoff and other sources close to the wrestling legend, was reportedly due to a cardiac arrest. Hogan’s passing marks the end of an era for both wrestling and popular culture, where his influence transcended the ring.
Hogan — born Terry Gene Bollea on August 11, 1953, in Augusta, Georgia — changed the landscape of professional wrestling, helping it become a mainstream entertainment spectacle. In a career that spanned over four decades, Hogan became one of the most recognizable celebrities in the world, known for his larger-than-life persona, trademark yellow trunks, bandana, and his signature move, the leg drop.
A Wrestling Legacy Like No Other
Hogan’s journey to wrestling superstardom began in Florida, where he was first discovered by wrestling scouts while playing in local rock bands and pitching for Little League baseball teams. Trained by Hiro Matsuda and inspired by legends like Dusty Rhodes, Hogan’s early career was marked by several lesser-known ring names, including Super Destroyer and Sterling Golden, before settling on the iconic Hulk Hogan.
Hogan’s WWE debut in the 1980s heralded the beginning of Hulkamania, a cultural phenomenon that spanned beyond the squared circle. He became the face of the WWE, winning the WWE Championship six times and headlining WrestleMania an unprecedented eight times. His most memorable moment came in 1987 when he faced his mentor, Andre the Giant, in a historic match at WrestleMania III, where Hogan body-slammed the 520-pound Giant before a then-record crowd of 93,173 fans in the Pontiac Silverdome.
Hogan’s connection with the audience was unparalleled. He embodied the spirit of the American hero, often invoking his “Real American” entrance theme, flexing his 24-inch pythons, and posing with an American flag to the thunderous cheers of his fans. Hogan’s catchphrases, like “Whatcha gonna do when Hulkamania runs wild on you?” became as famous as his wrestling bouts.
Hollywood and Beyond: The Wrestler Who Became a Pop Culture Icon
Beyond the ring, Hogan’s acting career took off when he starred as Thunderlips in Rocky III (1982), marking his big-screen debut opposite Sylvester Stallone. His larger-than-life personality translated to Hollywood, where he appeared in films like No Holds Barred (1989), Suburban Commando (1991), Mr. Nanny (1993), and Santa With Muscles (1996). He also starred in the syndicated TV series Thunder in Paradise (1994).
Hogan became a fixture in popular culture, appearing in iconic TV shows such as The A-Team, Baywatch, Gremlins 2: The New Batch (1990), and even voicing characters in Robot Chicken and American Dad! He co-hosted Saturday Night Live with Mr. T in 1985, solidifying his place in the mainstream entertainment world.
But it wasn’t just acting that defined Hogan’s legacy. He became a beloved figure, especially for charity work — notably for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, where he was one of the most requested celebrities for children facing life-threatening illnesses.
Hogan’s personal life was as tumultuous as his wrestling career. In 1994, he admitted to using steroids for 13 years, a moment that would mark one of the first of many controversies in his life. Twelve years later, he was embroiled in scandal after a sex tape was leaked, containing racial slurs that led to his removal from the WWE Hall of Fame. However, Hogan made a dramatic comeback in 2016, when he won a $140 million lawsuit against Gawker after the website released the tape. The legal victory sent shockwaves through the media world, leading to Gawker’s bankruptcy and eventual sale to Univision.
Hogan was reinstated into the WWE Hall of Fame in 2018, cementing his status as one of the most influential figures in wrestling history.
In recent years, Hogan stayed active in the wrestling world. In April 2025, he and longtime partner Eric Bischoff launched the Real America Freestyle Wrestling League, securing a TV rights deal with Fox Nation. Despite his age, Hogan remained passionate about promoting wrestling to new generations, never straying far from his roots.
Hogan’s Impact on the Wrestling and Entertainment Industry
The impact of Hulk Hogan’s death reverberates across both the wrestling industry and entertainment. His transformation from a regional wrestler to a global sensation helped propel WWE into the mainstream, and his legendary rivalries with wrestlers like Roddy Piper, Andre the Giant, Ric Flair, and Macho Man Randy Savagebecame the stuff of legend. His heel turn in 1996, as the leader of the New World Order (NWO) in WCW, remains one of the most shocking moments in wrestling history.
Hogan’s influence on professional wrestling is immeasurable — he helped shape the modern spectacle of wrestling, where entertainment and athleticism go hand in hand. His “Hulkamania” became a symbol not only of pro wrestling but of the broader entertainment culture that exploded in the 1980s and 1990s.
Hogan is survived by his wife, Sky, whom he married in 2023, and his two children, Nick and Brooke, from his first marriage to Linda Claridge. He was also married to Jennifer McDaniel from 2009 until their separation in 2021.
For the millions of fans who followed his career, Hulk Hogan was more than a wrestler — he was an icon, an inspiration, and a symbol of perseverance. In his own words, “Hulkamania will live forever.” Now, as the world mourns his passing, it is clear that Hogan’s legacy will continue to endure, immortalized in the hearts of fans and the annals of professional wrestling history.
In 1955, the singer signed a recording contract with MGM Records. (Getty Images)
Francis was further propelled to stardom through hits like “My Happiness,” “Lipstick on Your Collar” and “Among My Souvenirs.” (WireImage)
Francis earned her stripes as one of the most successful female singers in the 1950s and 1960s. (Bettmann Archive)
Iconic singer and New Jersey native Connie Francis, known for hits such as “Pretty Little Baby” and “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool,” has died at 87.
Francis’ death was confirmed on social media by her friend and copyright manager Ron Roberts Thursday — two weeks after she was hospitalized due to “extreme pain.”
“It is with a heavy heart and extreme sadness that I inform you of the passing of my dear friend Connie Francis last night,” Roberts wrote on Facebook. “I know that Connie would approve that her fans are among the first to learn of this sad news.”
The chart-topping vocalist, who earned her stripes as one of the most successful female singers in the 1950s and 1960s, was rushed to the hospital in Florida July 2.
“I am back in hospital where I have been undergoing tests and checks to determine the cause(s) of the extreme pain I have been experiencing,” Francis wrote.
In a series of posts on July 3 and 4, Francis said she was “feeling much better” during her hospital stay.
The following week, the singer — born Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero — told fans she remained under the watchful eye of doctors and nurses as they determined the cause of her pain.
The “Stupid Cupid” songstress said in May that a hip injury had landed her in a wheelchair.
Despite retiring from the music industry in 2018, Francis’ track “Pretty Little Baby” had recently gone viral on TikTok — over six decades after she released the song as part of her 1962 album “Connie Francis Sings.”
“To tell you the truth, I didn’t even remember the song!” Francis said about the track’s resurgence in popularity. “I had to listen to it to remember.”
“To think that a song I recorded 63 years ago is touching the hearts of millions of people is truly awesome. It is an amazing feeling,” the “Jamboree” actress said. “It’s an honor. To see that they’re paying homage to me is just breathtaking.”
“It’s truly awesome. I never thought it was possible. It’s a dream come true. To think that kindergarten kids now know my name and my music? It’s just thrilling,” she added.
In one of her final social media posts, Francis thanked various celebrities — including the Kardashian-Jenner clan, Timothée Chalamet, Ariana Grande and Taylor Swift — who had listened to her viral track on social media.
“There have been many wonderful artists who have paid tribute to me by singing ‘Pretty Little Baby,’ ” the singer said in a TikTok video shared June 26.
Born in Newark, New Jersey, in 1937, Francis’ love affair with music started at the age of 4 after she took part in various talent contests and pageants in her neighborhood.
She later dipped her toes into TV work, landing a prominent spot on NBC’s “Startime Kids” during which she assumed her stage name, Connie Francis.
Her glittering music career boasts a slew of hit tracks, including Top 10 singles “Who’s Sorry Now?,” “My Heart Has A Mind Of Its Own,” “Where the Boys Are” and “Don’t Break The Heart That Loves You.”
She was the first female singer to reach the No. 1 spot on the Billboard Hot 100 charts with her 1960 song “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool.”
In 1955, she signed a recording contract with MGM Records, but the partnership proved unsuccessful, as most of Francis’ songs didn’t get traction.
Just as the label was gearing up to drop her in 1957, her father — who had been her biggest fan and supporter — convinced her to record a version of “Who’s Sorry Now?” as a last-ditch attempt to salvage her music career.
Luckily, the singer’s career took great strides in the years that followed, as she was able to rise to stardom through hits like “My Happiness,” “Lipstick on Your Collar” and “Among My Souvenirs.”
What’s more, her 1959 album, “Connie Francis Sings Italian Favorites,” proved a treat with her fans, paving the way for her hit 1960 track “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool” to top the newly established charts.
As the 1970s arrived, Francis’ music career appeared to wane after she suffered several personal setbacks.
In addition to becoming a rape victim, Francis temporarily lost her voice in 1977 following nasal surgery. On top of that, her brother George was murdered by the Mafia in 1981.
Still, she attempted to channel her hardships through new songs at the time, though these were unsuccessful.
Her mental health took a hit, prompting her father to commit her to multiple psychiatric hospitals.
After surviving a suicide attempt in 1984, Francis released a tell-all memoir titled, “Who’s Sorry Now?”
Following her personal struggles, the musician had partnered with Ronald Reagan’s presidential administration on a task force on violent crime. She was also a voice for rape victims.
Francis further raised awareness of the effects of trauma through her partnership with Mental Health America in 2010.
As for her private life, Francis had dated singer Bobby Darin in the early years of her career — much to her father’s dismay. She considered Darin, who died in 1973 at 37, the love of her life, though her father had kept them apart for reasons unknown.
Shigeo Nagashima, Japan’s most celebrated baseball player and a linchpin of the storied Tokyo Yomiuri Giants dynasty of the 1960s and 1970s, died in a Tokyo hospital on Tuesday. He was 89.
He died of pneumonia, according to a joint statement released by the Giants, the Yomiuri Shimbun newspaper and Nagashima’s management company.
A star from the moment he signed his first professional contract in 1957, Nagashima instantly made a splash with his powerful bat, speed on the basepaths and catlike reflexes as a third baseman. He notched numerous batting titles and Most Valuable Player Awards, and he was a key member of the Giants’ heralded “V-9” teams, which won nine consecutive Japan Series titles from 1965 to 1973.
More than any player of his generation, Nagashima symbolized a country that was feverishly rebuilding after World War II and gaining clout as an economic power. Visiting dignitaries sought his company. His good looks and charisma helped make him an attraction; he was considered Japan’s most eligible bachelor until his wedding in 1965, which was broadcast nationally.
Nagashima signing with the Yomiuri Giants in 1957. (Asahi Shimbun/Getty Images)
The news media tracked Nagashima’s every move. The fact that he played for the Giants, who were owned by the Yomiuri media empire, amplified his exploits. He wore his success and celebrity so comfortably that he became known as “Mr. Giants,” “Mr. Baseball” or, sometimes, simply “Mister.”
“No matter what he did or where he went there was a photo of him — attending a reception for the emperor, or coaching a Little League seminar, or appearing at the premiere of the latest Tom Cruise movie,” Robert Whiting, a longtime chronicler of Japanese baseball, wrote about Nagashima in The Japan Times in 2013. “People joked that he was the real head of state.”
None of that celebrity would have been possible had he not excelled as a ballplayer. Along with his teammate Sadaharu Oh, Japan’s home run king, Nagashima was the centerpiece of the country’s most enduring sports dynasty. He hit 444 home runs, had a lifetime batting average of .305, won six batting titles and five times led the league in runs batted in. He was a five-time most valuable player and was chosen as the league’s top third baseman in each of his 17 seasons. He was inducted into Japan’s Baseball Hall of Fame in 1988.
In his first season, 1958, he led the league in home runs and was second in stolen bases and batting average, earning him rookie of the year honors. And then, early in his second season, he made history in the first game attended by a Japanese emperor, Hirohito, and an empress, Nagako. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Nagashima hit a 2-2 pitch into the left field stands for a game-winning home run, considered one of the most dramatic sports events in Japanese history.
Nagashima hitting a solo home run against the Kokutetsu Swallows in 1959 in Tokyo. (Asahi Shimbun/Getty Images)
One of Nagashima’s trademarks was his work ethic, a character trait that was particularly celebrated during Japan’s postwar rise. Under the guidance of manager Tetsuharu Kawakami, Nagashima practiced from dawn to dusk, enduring an infamous 1,000-fungo drill that required him to field ground ball after ground ball. In the off-season, he trained in the mountains, running and swinging the bat to the point of exhaustion. He bought a house by the Tama River in Tokyo so he could run there, and he added a room to his home where he could practice swinging.
He was often the Giants’ highest-paid player, showered with hefty contracts and bonuses. By the early 1960s, word of his talents had reached the United States. Bill Veeck of the Chicago White Sox tried unsuccessfully to buy Nagashima’s contract, as did Walter O’Malley of the Los Angeles Dodgers, now home to the Japanese superstar Shohei Ohtani. (Ohtani offered his condolences on Instagram, posting photos of himself with the aging icon.)
After ending his playing career in 1974 (his number, 3, was retired), Nagashima became the team’s manager at just 38. He was far less successful in that role, at least initially. He pushed his players — some of whom were his former teammates — to work as hard as he did. “Bashing the players this year cultivates spirit,” Nagashima told The Japan Times.
In his first season, the Giants finished in last place for the first time. The next two years, they won the Central League pennant but lost the Japan Series. The Giants failed to win their division for the next three years, and Nagashima was let go in 1980.
Shigeo Nagashima was born on Feb. 20, 1936, in Sakura, in Chiba prefecture. His father, Toshi, was a municipal worker and his mother, Chiyo, was a homemaker. Nagashima grew up rooting for the Hanshin Tigers, the Giants’ archrival. He took up baseball in elementary school, but because of wartime shortages, he made a ball from marbles and cloth and used a bamboo stick as a bat. After graduating from high school, he entered Rikkyo University, where he started at third base. Rikkyo, typically an also-ran, won three college tournaments.
Nagashima’s wedding to Akiko Nishimura was Japan’s most-watched television broadcast in 1965. (The Asahi Shimbun/Getty Images)
After graduating from Rikkyo, Nagashima signed a then-record 18 million yen (about $50,000 in 1958) contract with the Giants. As his star rose on the field, speculation about his marital status grew. In 1964, he met Akiko Nishimura, a hostess at the Tokyo Olympic Games who had studied in the United States and spoke fluent English, which were considered marks of status and education. Their wedding was the most-watched television broadcast in Japan the following year. She died in 2007.
Their oldest child, Kazushige, played sparingly for the Giants when his father managed the club and now works in television. Nagashima’s second son, Masaoki, is a former racecar driver, and his daughter Mina is a newscaster.
After Nagashima’s first stint as a manager, he worked as a television commentator. His affable style was matched by his occasionally incomprehensible chatter. But his charisma made him an irresistible target when the Giants were looking for a new manager in 1993. Then 56, Nagashima debated whether to return to the dugout.
“My wife and I were looking forward to a quiet life playing golf, and it was hard to decide to throw myself back into the fight,” he told reporters. “But I was raised as a Giant, and if I have the strength, I will do whatever it takes for the Giants.”
Nagashima, then the Giants’ manager, celebrating with his players after they clinched the Central League championship in 2000. (Kyodo News/Associated Press)
Mellowed by age, Nagashima was easier on his players this time around. He also had the good fortune to manage Hideki Matsui, the team’s cleanup hitter and one of the most fearsome sluggers of the 1990s. (Nagashima would later criticize Japanese players, including Matsui, who joined the Yankees in 2004.) The Giants won two Japan Series titles, in 1994 and 2000, during Nagashima’s nine-year tenure. In his 15 years as a manager, his teams won 1,034 games, lost 889 and tied 59 times. The Giants made him a lifetime honorary manager.
As he was preparing to manage the Japanese team at the Olympic Games in Athens in 2004, Nagashima, then 68, suffered a stroke that partly paralyzed the right side of his body. Though he was seen less in public in the years that followed, he was no less adored. In 2013, he and Matsui were given the People’s Honor Award by Prime Minister Shinzo Abe. Eight years later, they were torch bearers at the opening ceremony at the Tokyo Games. Matsui walked slowly, holding Nagashima, as his old teammate, Oh, held the Olympic torch.
Herbert Migdoll, the official photographer and designer of the Joffrey Ballet for about a half-century, who was admired for capturing the flight of its dancers with his lens, died on April 19 in the Bronx. He was 90.
His death, in a hospital, was announced by the Joffrey Ballet on its Facebook page and confirmed by his assistant, Joseph Rivera.
Mr. Migdoll’s images of the Chicago-based Joffrey Ballet’s dancers helped cement its artistic reputation from the time he joined the company, in 1968, until he retired, in 2016. He eventually became the Joffrey’s graphics director as well, helping to design posters and sets for such notable productions as “Billboards,” a 1993 ballet set to the music of Prince.
Simultaneously, he served as the art director of Dance Magazine, where he was responsible for dozens of covers from the 1970s through the ’90s. In a tribute on its Instagram page, the magazine described him as a visionary.
As the art director of Dance Magazine, Mr. Migdoll was responsible for dozens of covers from the 1970s through the 1990s. (Dance Magazine)
The Joffrey, in its own tribute, called Mr. Migdoll “an extraordinary artist whose vision and photography captured the evolving story of the Joffrey Ballet for more than five decades.” That photography appeared in The New York Times and Life magazine, among other publications.
Even before Mr. Migdoll officially joined the Joffrey, his mid-1960s experiments with time-lapse photography, capturing the soaring acrobatics of the ballet company’s dancers, had caught the attention of its founders, Robert Joffrey and Gerald Arpino.
“All I wanted to do was time-lapse,” he said in a 2017 talk at Northwestern University, for the Chicago Dance History Project, “which meant leaving the shutter open, and letting the dancer move through space, and whatever got caught was it.”
“Metamorphosis #7,” an undated work by Mr. Migdoll. (Herbert Migdoll/Sarazen Editions)
He added: “If it was beautiful, I kept it.”
One of his works was impressive enough to make the cover of Time in 1968: a montage documenting the Joffrey’s erotic ballet “Astarte.”
He considered it a breakthrough. “The idea of a cover on Time magazine was unbelievable,” he said.
The ballet itself, a distinctively American blend of specially commissioned rock music — the psychedelic style then in vogue — film and eros, meshed perfectly with Mr. Migdoll’s sensibility.
One of Mr. Migdoll’s works was impressive enough to make the cover of Time in 1968: a montage documenting the erotic ballet “Astarte.” (Herbert Migdoll/TIME)
“Bob wanted to bring film and ballet together at a time when interaction between the arts was a big thing,” he said in a 2002 interview in The Chicago Tribune.
Like Mr. Joffrey, Mr. Migdoll believed that “ballet could be an art form that grows out of the environment it is coming from,” he said.
“Joffrey was very inclusive in his idea about what the ballet should be,” he added.
Mr. Migdoll’s preoccupation with the human body in motion spilled over into yet another career — as a painter. Among his notable works was a 275-foot-long mural of Joffrey stars swimming; it was installed in 2002 above the waterline of the Chicago River. An earlier work, a 40-foot painting called “Swimming Dancer,” was exhibited at the 1995 Venice Biennale, floating in a Venetian canal.
Among Mr. Migdoll’s notable works was a 275-foot-long mural of Joffrey stars swimming that was installed above the waterline of the Chicago River in 2002. (Herbert Migdoll/Sarazen Editions)
“He had a passion for things in motion,” Fabrice Calmels, a lead dancer with the Joffrey, said in an interview. “Herb was putting us in the forefront, before we even reached the stage.”
For “Billboards” — described by the dance critic Anna Kisselgoff of The New York Times as “the ultimate crossover ballet: a sprawling, clever reflection of the uneasy cultural mix of our time” — Mr. Migdoll designed billboards with images of the dancers that were arranged onstage so that they spelled out the names of the choreographers.
That work reflected Mr. Migdoll’s “crazy idea,” he told Northwestern students, that Joffrey and Arpino, “two middle-class Americans,” could create a ballet, and it “didn’t have to be from London, Paris or Russia to be exciting.”
Mr. Migdoll, right, with Robert Joffrey, a founder of the Joffrey Ballet, in an undated photograph. (Hybrid Cinema)
Herbert Migdoll was born on May 11, 1934, in Jersey City, N.J., one of five children of Bessie and Louis Migdoll, an electrical contractor.
He studied architecture at Pratt Institute, in Brooklyn, and then painting at the Cooper Union, in Manhattan, graduating in 1957.
Mr. Migdoll began photographing the work of the Joffrey in 1965, when the company was still in New York, and he “essentially fostered the company’s image,” according to a 2011 article in The Times.
The article noted that his paintings and photographs hung “on every floor” of the Joffrey’s building in Chicago. It also noted the “austerity” of his life.
Mr. Migdoll, who never married, left no immediate survivors.
“He was about capturing the emotion attached to the movement itself,” Mr. Calmels, the dancer, said. “It was not about athleticism; it was about art.”
David Cope, a composer and pioneer in the field of algorithmic composition, who in the 1980s developed a computer program for writing music in the style of Johann Sebastian Bach, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and other Classical masters, died on May 4 at his home in Santa Cruz, Calif. He was 83.
The cause was congestive heart failure, his son Stephen Cope said.
Before the proliferation of A.I. music generators, before the emergence of Spotify and the advent of the iPod, before Brian Eno had even coined the term “generative music,” Mr. Cope had already figured out how to program a computer to write classical music.
It was 1981 and, struggling with writer’s block after being commissioned to compose an opera, he was desperate for a compositional partner. He found one in a floppy disk.
The process was straightforward but tedious. Mr. Cope started by quantifying musical passages from his own work, rendering them as numbers in a database that could be analyzed by a pattern-identifying algorithm he created. The algorithm would then reassemble the “signatures” — Mr. Cope’s name for the patterns it found — into new combinations, and he would convert those combinations into a score.
It wasn’t the first time someone had used a computer to create music. In 1957, Lejaren Hiller and Leonard Isaacson had employed a five-ton supercomputer at the University of Illinois to compose “Illiac Suite,” widely considered to be the first computer-generated score. But Mr. Cope’s program took things a step further: By scanning and reproducing unique signatures, his algorithm could essentially replicate style.
After years of troubleshooting and fine-tuning, the program, known as Experiments in Musical Intelligence, was able to produce a full opera in a matter of hours. EMI, or Emmy, as Mr. Cope affectionately called it, was officially born. It was one of the earliest computer algorithms used to generate classical music.
Mr. Cope in “Opus Cope,” a 2021 documentary about his life’s work. (Jae Shim)
Mr. Cope considered the program an invaluable creative resource. He trained it on compositions by Bach, Mozart, Sergei Rachmaninoff and other composers; released albums of EMI-composed music throughout the 1990s and 2000s; and used the program in classes he taught at the University of California, Santa Cruz, where he was a professor of music. In the years since, he has been celebrated as “the godfather of A.I. music.”
In 1987, however, EMI’s compositions in the style of Bach were first performed to a stunned, silent audience. Some computer scientists dismissed his algorithmic compositions as insignificant; outraged composers met the project with bewildered resistance or outright hostility. In Cologne, Germany, after listening to EMI compositions imitating the music of Bach, Ludwig van Beethoven, Johannes Brahms and Béla Bartók, one musicologist pointed at Mr. Cope and announced, “Musik ist tot” (“Music is dead”).
By the late 1990s, Mr. Cope’s skeptical colleagues had a nickname for him — Tin Man, after the walking, talking metallic character in search of a heart in “The Wizard of Oz.”
Still, there was a budding interest in the algorithm’s implications for human creativity. In 1997, Douglas Hofstadter, a cognitive and computer scientist at the University of Oregon, challenged Mr. Cope’s creation to a Turing-style showdown. The Turing test was named for the British mathematician Alan Turing, who proposed in 1950 that the way to evaluate whether computers had achieved human-level intelligence was to play what he called the “imitation game”: to see if a person interacting with a computer could tell it was not a human being.
To test Mr. Cope’s algorithm, a pianist played three pieces of music in front of an audience of students and lecturers at the University of Oregon. One piece was composed by Bach, another was generated by EMI and a third was written by Steve Larson, a professor there.
The New York Times likened it to “a low-key, musical version” of the famous chess match that had been played just a few months earlier by IBM’s Deep Blue supercomputer and the grandmaster Garry Kasparov. At the end of the program, Dr. Hofstadter asked audience members to vote on which one was the real Bach composition. Most chose the EMI version.
“EMI forces us to look at great works of art and wonder where they came from and how deep they really are,” he told The Times afterward. If it were possible to reduce music to little more than various combinations of riffs, he added, then “it would mean that, to my absolute devastation, music is much less than I ever thought it was.”
David Howell Cope was born on May 17, 1941, in San Francisco, one of two children of Howell Cope, an accountant for John Deere, and Charlotte Evlyn (Schleicher) Cope, a piano teacher. Music was part of the fabric of the family: John Cope, an uncle, was a sound technician for movies like “Sunset Boulevard”; the singer-songwriter Warren Zevon was a younger cousin.
The family moved to Phoenix when David was an infant, because his health was delicate — he was diagnosed with asthma and a distended hernia at birth — and a drier climate was thought to be beneficial. As a child, he often lugged around a red Radio Flyer wagon full of 78 r.p.m. records from the library; he adored Bach, but also gravitated to the music of Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky and Rachmaninoff.
Mr. Cope and his wife, Mary Jane, in 2021.(Jae Shim)
After attending Washington High School, where he played cello in the orchestra and started a quartet, David Cope and the Asteroids, he enrolled at Arizona State University. He graduated in 1963 and then studied music composition at the University of Southern California, receiving his Master of Music degree in 1965.
Mr. Cope met Mary Jane Stluka, a concert pianist and piano instructor, while teaching at Cottey College in Nevada, Mo.; they married in 1967. In addition to their son Stephen, she survives him, along with three other sons, Timothy, Brian and Gregory, and four grandchildren.
Mr. Cope went on to teach at the Cleveland Institute of Music and Miami University of Ohio before landing a position in 1997 at the University of California, Santa Cruz, where he taught for the next 30 years.
He wrote at least 10 books on classical music and composition, including “New Directions in Music” (1971), an influential survey of avant-garde music, and “Experiments in Musical Intelligence” (1997), on the EMI system; three memoirs; multiple novels, plays and books of poetry, including one collection of haikus written by notable Japanese poets accompanied by computer-generated poems; and a number of original musical compositions, includingoperas, symphonies, string quartets and piano sonatas.
Over the course of his career, Mr. Cope aroused the ire of so many other composers that he developed a sort of immunity to it, and even reveled in the discomfort his computer-generated music caused. “I want the negative reaction,” he said in “Opus Cope,” a 2021 documentary about his life’s work. “I feed off it.”
In a 2015 article published by the Computer History Museum, he was questioned about whether machines have the capacity to be creative, and he was adamant in his response: “Yes, yes, a million times yes.”
He added: “Creativity is simple; consciousness, intelligence — those are hard.”
Loretta Swit, in costume as Maj. Margaret Houlihan, on the set of the hit TV series “M*A*S*H” in 1975. (CBS Photo Archive/Getty Images)
Loretta Swit, the Emmy-winning actress who made the high-strung and relentlessly militaristic Maj. Margaret Houlihan human, dignified and, against all odds, sympathetic on the acclaimed television series “M*A*S*H,” died on Friday at her home in Manhattan. She was 87.
Her death was announced by her publicist, Harlan Boll.
In the Oscar-winning 1970 film “M*A*S*H,” directed by Robert Altman, Major Houlihan (whose blatantly sexist nickname was Hot Lips) was played by Sally Kellerman. When the movie became a CBS series, Ms. Swit stepped into the role and made it her own, adding heretofore unseen nuance. She was nominated 10 years in a row for the Emmy Award for best supporting actress in a comedy series, and she won twice, in 1980 and 1982.
“M*A*S*H,” which aired from 1972 through 1983 on CBS, was, like the movie that inspired it, set at a mobile Army hospital during the Korean War. Major Houlihan spent the first five seasons distracted by her open secret of an affair with the sniveling, very married Maj. Frank Burns (Larry Linville).
Around the time Major Burns returned to the United States, she married a handsome officer whom she had met in Tokyo. But he proved unfaithful, and she was soon divorced and newly dedicated to her career as the unit’s head nurse. In a post on social media, her “M*A*S*H” co-star Alan Alda wrote, “We celebrated the day the script came out listing her not as Hot Lips, but as Margaret.”
“It was the greatest time in my career,” Ms. Swit told the British newspaper The Guardian in 2001. Margaret’s ambition throughout the series was to be “the best damned nurse in Korea, and that motivated everything I did, even when it came to sex.” Major Houlihan did seem to be on a flirtatious first-name basis with every general who visited the camp.
As early as Season 2, her nemesis, Capt. Benjamin Franklin Pierce (Alan Alda) — better known as Hawkeye — saw her good side, referring to her as “nurse, friend and all-around good egg.” Col. Sherman T. Potter (Harry Morgan) called her “the finest nurse I’ve ever scrubbed with.”
Ms. Swit with other members of the “M*A*S*H” cast, from left: Larry Linville, Wayne Rogers, Alan Alda (seated front), Gary Burghoff and McLean Stevenson. (CBS/Reuters)
The character only grew in perceived stature as the seasons passed, wrestling violent patients into submission and performing triage in her wedding dress.
Ms. Swit firmly believed that “if you’ve got a long-run series, then there’s always got to be room for growth,” she told The Toronto Star in 2010. “Of all the places you’d be inclined to grow, I certainly think somewhere you’re in danger every day and healing people every day would be just the right place.”
The show explored Major Houlihan’s feelings about her proud military heritage, as the daughter of a general who would have preferred a son. And it looked in on the night of passion — under enemy fire — that she and Captain Pierce shared and, as soon as the morning-after dust settled, never spoke of again.
Loretta Jane Szwed was born on Nov. 4, 1937, in Passaic, N.J., to Lester Szwed, a salesman, and Nellie (Kassack) Szwed.
Ms. Swit at her home in 1971. She was a relatively unknown actress at the time; a year later, “M*A*S*H” would change everything. (Everett Collection)
After graduating from high school in Passaic, Loretta attended the Katharine Gibbs School in Montclair, N.J., and began a secretarial career. Her employers included Elsa Maxwell, the society hostess and gossip columnist.
But she was also preparing for an acting career; she enrolled in the American Academy of Dramatic Arts and studied with the director Gene Frankel.
“That’s kind of all I ever wanted to be,” she recalled in a 2004 Archive of American Television interview. She remembered going to two movie double features a day with her mother, separated only by a dinner break, when she was growing up.
She took voice lessons and dance lessons, but her parents were horrified by her choice of entertainment as an actual career. As Ms. Swit told The Toronto Star in 2010, after they saw her in a play at a small Greenwich Village theater, “My mother said to my father, ‘If you don’t stop her now, she may wind up doing this for the rest of her life.’”
Her Off Broadway debut was in Ibsen’s “An Enemy of the People” in 1961. She was the understudy for the lead female role in the national tour of the romantic comedy “Any Wednesday.”
She also appeared onstage in the musical “Mame,” in the comic role of Agnes Gooch, the lead character’s mousy secretary-nanny, who bursts out of her sheltered existence and comes home pregnant. She appeared alongside Celeste Holm on the national tour and Susan Hayward in the Las Vegas production.
Ms. Swit appeared with Ted Bessell in “Same Time, Next Year” on Broadway in 1975.(Everette Collection)
Later in her career, she also appeared on Broadway with Ted Bessell in “Same Time, Next Year” (1975) as a chronic adulterer and in “The Mystery of Edwin Drood” (1985), replacing Cleo Laine.
Before“M*A*S*H,” Ms. Swit appeared on the television series “Mission: Impossible,” “Mannix,” “Gunsmoke” and “Hawaii Five-O,” all in 1970.
And she kept busy with other projects during the show’s run. She played an obnoxious gossip columnist in a body cast in Blake Edwards’s Hollywood farce “S.O.B.” (1981), with Julie Andrews and William Holden. She was a crime boss’s unfaithful wife in “Freebie and the Bean” (1974), with Alan Arkin and James Caan. She appeared in the television movies “Mirror, Mirror” (1979), “The Love Tapes” (1980) and “Games Mother Never Taught You” (1982). And she made an enemy (temporarily) of Miss Piggy when she guest-starred in a 1980 episode of “The Muppet Show.”
Ms. Swit appeared with Tyne Daly in the pilot of the police series “Cagney & Lacey” in 1981, but her part was played by Meg Foster, and then by Sharon Gless, when the show became a series. (Jeff Goode/Toronto Star/Getty Images)
In 1981, she played Detective Christine Cagney in the pilot of the police series “Cagney & Lacey,” and she was set to take on the role for the run of the new show. But she was unable to get out of her commitment to “M*A*S*H,” and first Meg Foster (for six episodes) and then Sharon Gless ended up with the part instead.
After “M*A*S*H” ended, Ms. Swit played the president of the United States in the satirical British movie “Whoops Apocalypse” (1986). She also continued to be seen regularly on TV series, including “Murder, She Wrote” (1994) and “Burke’s Law” (1995). And she continued her stage career, appearing in regional theater, graduating to the title role in “Mame” and winning the Sarah Siddons Award in Chicago for her performance in “Shirley Valentine.”
She had planned to retire from acting after appearing in the 1998 comedy “Beach Movie,” but she returned to the screen two decades later in “Play the Flute” (2019), about a youth pastor with a wayward flock. It was her last movie.
In 1983, Ms. Swit married Dennis Holahan — an actor who was also a lawyer, and who coincidentally bore an approximation of her most famous character’s surname — after they appeared together in an episode during the final season of “M*A*S*H.” They divorced in 1995.
No immediate family members survive.
As for concerns like aging and mortality, she shrugged them off in an interview with The Express, the London newspaper, in 2020.
“I don’t think about the passage of time,” Ms. Swit said, “just what I’m doing with it.”
Bill Aitken, a self-described “founding father of the hippies” who hitchhiked from England to India in 1959 and became a literary guru for generations of wanderers with books that explored the subcontinent’s rivers and railways and the spiritual quest that shaped his life, died April 16 at a hospital in Dehradun, India. He was 90.
Mr. Aitken’s death, from injuries suffered in a fall at his home in the shadow of the Himalayas, was confirmed by Karan Madhok, editor of the Chakkar, an Indian arts journal.
His more than a dozen books — mixing travelogue, history, and doses of his dry wit and self-reflection — became staples in the contemporary Western syllabus of Indian adventures. Yet the Scottish-born Mr. Aitken was also widely celebrated in India’s literary circles as among the European writers who strove to see poetry in something as simple as a little-used rail spur or as grand as a mountain vista.
In “The Nanda Devi Affair” (1994), Mr. Aitken described the life-changing moment in October 1961 when, as a young sojourner with no fixed plans, he first gazed upon the Himalayan peak rising more than 25,640 feet and decided to remain in India.
“There was something commanding in the Devi’s beauty as she lay before my eyes, essentially royal and feminine,” he wrote. “All the clichés about Nanda as queen surrounded by courtiers were appropriate for she towered above the rest with a regal detachment.”
In his later years, Mr. Aitken was an éminence grise of the hill station Mussoorie, which has drawn European writers since the 19th century for its panorama of the Himalayas to the north. He regaled visitors with stories and parables from his wide travels across India and recounted the kismet that led him from Scotland.
“I am one of those awkward customers who swims the wrong way,” he told author Malcolm Tillis in “New Lives” (2004), an oral history of Westerners who settled in India.
One day in 1959, when he was 25, he stood at the English Channel port of Dover in a kilt. He had just broken up with his girlfriend and had left his teaching job. For years, he had struggled with personal questions of faith and spirituality as a student of comparative religion, he recalled.
He decided he needed to roam and planned to hitchhike around the world. The kilt, he thought, was a nice touch of Scottish pride and the unusual outfit might help him get a lift. He set off on what would become the Hippie Trail a decade later: the overland circuit that brought thousands of adventurers — and probably even more copies of Jack Kerouac’s “The Dharma Bums” — to India before the 1979 Islamic Revolution in Iran and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan closed the way.
He got rides on “an astounding assortment of transport,” Mr. Aitken told the Yorkshire Post, “that included lifts by a Danish scooterist, an Austrian TV salesman, a Greek melon transporter, an American oil rig team in Turkey.” He ditched the kilt in Istanbul. The heavy wool was not suited forthe warming weather.
Weeks later, he arrived in Kolkata (then known as Calcutta), where he planned to catch a steamer across of the Bay of Bengal to Malaysia to continue what he called a “spiritual pilgrimage.” The snag was that he was nearly out of money.
He landed a teaching job and, while browsing at the Asiatic Society Library one day, he started reading the 1934 book “Nanda Devi” by mountaineer Eric Shipton, who traversed the summits that surround India’s second-tallest peak.
“Nothing now mattered save the urgent need to follow in Shipton’s footsteps,” he recalled. That led to the trip to the mountains in 1961, staying on the floor of a simple guesthouse after a supper of water and a lump of molasses. He awoke the next morning to see the clouds pull back to reveal Nanda Devi. He called it a “spiritual striptease.”
“The peaks and particularly Nanda Devi spoke so directly and emphatically that there and then I made the decision to leave Calcutta and come and live among them,” he wrote.
Mr. Aitken spent most of the 1960s working at ashrams within sight of the Himalayas. The first was run by the former Catherine Heilman, a woman from England who took the name Sarla Behn and was known as one of the “British daughters” of Mohandas K. Gandhi during the struggle for Indian independence from Britain in 1947.
Mr. Aitken then entered an ashram run by Krishna Prem, a former British military pilot during World War I who had been born Ronald Nixon. Mr. Aitken stayed seven years, becoming known locally as a skilled baker.
In 1969, he was asked to help sort out some legal paperwork of Prithwi Bir Kaur, a London-educated member of the former rulers of the Sikh principality of Jind, which became part of India in 1948. Mr. Aitken became her secretary and moved into her home, known as Oakless, which was filled with stately antiques and mounted deer heads from long-ago hunting expeditions.
They were companions until her death in 2010 and often embarked on long rail journeys across India with special attention to narrow-gauge secondary lines and outposts. The trips were recounted in books including “Travels by a Lesser Line” (1993) and “Branch Line to Eternity” (2001), written two years after Mr. Aitken and Mark Tully, then the BBC’s New Delhi bureau chief, founded the Steam Railway Society that saved several steam locomotives from the scrapyard.
Mr. Aitken used train travel as both a vantage point to observe India and also as a metaphor for his spiritual explorations, wrote best-selling Indian novelist Anuradha Roy in a 2001 essay in India’s Hindu newspaper. She described, with awe and reverence, how Mr. Aitken was able to wrap bigger questions of life around the chug of a slow-moving train or the chaos of a bus stuck in the mud. “A profound air of beatitude settled on both mind and body,” Roy wrote. “At such moments, you know exactly what eternity feels like.”
Mr. Aitken liked to joke: “I came to India to study comparative religion, but I found comparative railways much more interesting.”
Studied religion
William McKay Aitken was born in Tullibody, a village about 30 miles from Edinburgh, on May 31, 1934. He would often recall that on that same day in India, the mountaineer Shipton was part of team that was believed to be the first to cross the peaks ringing Nanda Devi. (A separate group of Anglo-American climbers reached the summit in 1936.)
As a child, he liked to climb to the top of the nearby hill. “I hated going to church but loved sitting on top of that peak,” he told the Indian site Firstpost. “I felt like one with the universe. And I thought, this is divinity.”
His father, a coppersmith, moved to England to find work, and the family was reunited in Birmingham after World War II. Mr. Aitken studied comparative religion at the University of Leeds and went on personal faith shopping as he worked his way toward a master’s degree.
“I had Holy Communion with the Quakers, the Mormons,” he recounted. “I went to the High Anglicans, the Low Anglicans.” Nothing seemed to fit. His planned round-the-world trek was a chance to sample other ways of worship.
His last book, “Sri Sathya Sai Baba: A Life” (2006), is a biography of the leader of a Hindu-influenced religious movement that Mr. Aitken followed. In “Seven Sacred Rivers” (1992), Mr. Aitken looked beyond the mighty Ganges to journey along India’s other waterways such as the Brahmaputra high on the Tibetan plateau and the Krishna that slices across southern India.
His other books include “Footloose in the Himalaya” (2003) and “Divining the Deccan” (1999) about accounts of his travels through India by motorcycle.
Mr. Aitken, who became an Indian citizen in 1972, commented frequently on environmental damage in India as the population swelled and use of plastics became common. In recent years, he assailed the Indian government for expanding military facilities in the regions near Tibet amid growing tensions with China.
“India’s own defense forces have caused much greater and irreversible damage to the Himalayan environment than any invader could,” he wrote. (In 1988, the Nanda Devi area became a UNESCO World Heritage site.)
Mr. Aitken, who had no immediate survivors, often allowed his home to become a hub of the cultural and literary community in Mussoorie. Yet he revealed his yearning for solitude when asked once about his favorite time of year.
The monsoon season, he told the Hindustan Times. “That is one time not many people knock on the door,” he said, “and one can sit quietly and write.”
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