There I am, rocketing along in my nicked-up C30 Volvo, belting out the chorus to Jeff Healey’s Angel Eyes: So tonight I’ll ask the stars above / “How did I ever win your love?” / What did I do / What did I say / To turn your angel eyes my way. To fully appreciate this, you have to understand that I can’t sing. The choir master at the boarding school I briefly attended asked me to sing softly. Healey died at 41 from the same cancer that stripped him of his eyesight at age two. What a mensch.
Tad Jones had an anger problem. He was also mistrustful of authority. He figured the best thing was to go into the woods, where the tree giants were, and live there in a self-built shack. He also took a vow of silence which he kept for 40 years. Tad died this year, age 74, burned alive by one of California’s worst wildfires. They found his body in the middle of the road, alongside his two canes. “A slow, rusty death”—no, this was not for Tad, his sister said.