Shame upon shame

You wanna know something that I think is really a doggone shame? It's how American tragedies grow barnacles, and then other sad things attach themselves thereunto.

John Travolta and his wife suffered an incalculable loss last week. Their 16-year-old son, Jett, died. We know that much for sure. We don't know, nor are we really entitled to know, just how it happened, all the details, all the who-did-whats and whens. Media reports are speculating on what sort of developmental disorder the young man may or may not have had, whether said disorder contributed to his demise, and whether appropriate measures were taken to try to save him.

I've spent enough time in hospital emergency rooms for myself ("Well, Doc, it was like this.") and with others ("Well, Doc, she said it was like this.") and I have never seen any citizens going from bed to bed in the ER, quizzing doctors and families about the care being given to people who are strangers to them. But we feel qualified to speak of - to question - the circumstances surrounding this untimely demise.

John Travolta is an entertainer; his work in that vein is enjoyed by millions. His wife is in the same line of work, to somewhat lesser acclaim. When the firefighting movie "Ladder 49" was being filmed in Baltimore ("shot", as we Hollywood insiders say), Travolta and his coterie set up shop here in eastern Baltimore County, and he made himself available for a lot of people for a lot of causes. He socialized with the locals, showed up at firehouse functions, and did some charity events - partly to promote the movie, but more because he just seems like a very nice man. His religion, his beliefs, the way he lives with his wife and children are so not any of our business that it's stunning to see what you'll see when you click here.

I stumbled across this online, and it would seem that Billy Ray Cyrus, father to Miley of teen pop fame, offered his condolences to the Travoltas and is being rewarded with a barrage of comments about his sincerity, intelligence, and right to speak on the matter.

One wants to assemble all the people who wrote these crackpot (for the most part) emails about Travolta, Cyrus, and their families, and recommend that they go read a book, experience a poem, view a sunset or a snowy pine tree, share a real feeling, fall deeply in love, send a thank-you note to someone who did them a favor...anything but continue to peck away at a keyboard like crows on carrion. Someone died. His parents are in mourning. That's all we know, and all we need to know.