During his 62-year reign, Japan rose in arms, then rose from the ashes to economic supremacy.
The bug-eyed Spaniard with the coiled mustachio was surrealism’s kitschiest exponent.
“Come on along,” he said, and we did, to White Christmas, Easter Parade and God Bless America.
We love her still in reruns, and her ebullient slapstick made her the greatest comedienne of all time.
Hanger-thin, Vogue’s editor was fashion’s oracle.
A. Bartlett Giamatti
A Renaissance Yalie was baseball’s eloquent and honorable Commissioner for all seasons.
Robert Penn Warren
Our first poet laureate’s novels also won hearts and hosannas.
He ignited a holy war, then was almost torn apart at his own funeral.
A young actress’s flame was snuffed by a crazed fan.
Fighting to save Africa’s wildlife, the co-hero of Born Free lost his own to the guns of poachers.
A solitary firebrand, The Group’s author ignited intellectual sparks about Vietnam and Watergate.
Gunsmoke’s kindly saloonkeeper Miss Kitty became Hollywood’s first noted actress to die of AIDS.
As an actor in The Dirty Dozen or our main cinema verite director, he made grittiness memorable.
The All-Star pitcher invented the eephus, a cockamamy curve only Ted Williams could clobber.
Buoyant to the end, the loopy Saturday Night Live comic bowed to cancer with dignity and courage.
Still first by a long shot, the Triple Crown winner finished as the greatest racehorse of his time.
Copying Monroe to excess, the British impersonator even duplicated Marilyn’s death by pills.
In Dark Victory, All About Eve and on TV, she was one of our grandest—and often baddest—dames.
In Hamlet, Othello and Henry V, England’s greatest actor stole the show, even from Shakespeare.
The age’s most dazzling pianist performed wizardry on the same keyboard for seven decades.
He left his main mark as Zorro, TV’s swashbuckling champion of the poor and downtrodden.