Some thoughts must be shared.
Not every day does one's childhood idol die. This last week, then, has been one of especial emotional storm and stress. When I first heard that he had perished at the age of fifty, I was naturally devastated and followed the story closely, checking for updates every five to ten minutes, because I understand that nothing is more important in life's rich pageant than bundling heaps of assorted balderdash dressed in the silks of posthumous praise on celebrities to whom "silence sounds no worse than cheers/After earth has stopped the ears." So alas, the King is dead! How can we, hapless denizens of the interregnum, ever recover ourselves? What mundane mimes and pretenders will spawn, what timid new world shall be thrust upon us? To what bottomless depths of fizz and bloody skies of fuzz shall we go? One thing is clear: in these soul-trying times, we must be decisive. We must choose a course and stick to it, through thick and thin, through sick and sin, from the top of flip to the tip of flop. The death of luminaries must dictate our lives; our news must be the mouthpieces of shooting and shot stars. Only then can we continue civilization after the death of this epic man. The man to whom I refer is, of course, Billy Mays.
Billy Mays was a real American hero. I say this not only as a real American, but also as a certified hero. I can relate to Billy on such a personal level that when he died, I felt something like not one, not two, but three "Kabooms!" shudder through my body as a part of me also died. Born in the hot summer of 1958 in small-town Pennsylvania, Billy had a childhood that mirrored my own. He attended elementary school and upon graduation moved on to bigger things like junior high and finally high school. Mainstream media believe that sometime between these events and 1993 he grew a beard. I have yet to grow one.
Billy knew he could not work at a hazardous waste company for the rest of his adult life, so he decided to be a salesman. Billy recounts how he learned the ropes: "I was taught to pitch by a lot of old pitchmen. That's the kind of style I have." Billy's old-pitchman style soon won a large fan base, but troubled waters lay ahead. The ultimate menace was Vince Offer, prominent whore batterer and the nefarious mastermind behind the paltry ShamWow ("you know the Germans always make good stuff," muses this native of Israel). Less keen eyes might not see through Vince's superficiality, but Billy was never fooled by his sly ruses. Seriously, who can trust a man who says, "This tuna looks boring; stop having a boring tuna, stop having a boring life"? O, what shall we do without you, Billy, in these dark ages that the ShamWow has mercilessly forced upon us?
On a more solemn note, beyond the humor and enthusiasm of Billy Mays was something much greater, an embodiment of the American Dream. Nay, I daresay that this man was the American Dream incarnate! Sure, he had those qualities that endeared him to the lonely nightcrawlers watching television in the living rooms of America. But he had something more than a voice that spoke in all caps (projecting, not shouting), something more than the powerful personality--"docile yet omnipotent"--that reminded one of a cross between Smokey the Bear, the Men's Wearhouse guy, and the Allstate man. His profundity owed not to telling 'em Billy sent ya, or turning the drabbest household items into action-packed indispensables, or exclusive TV offers that last for only one day every day. His genius lay not in the friendly manner that could sell stones to the hungry or swine to those with pearls or a starship to God, nor did it find itself in not being done yet, neither yet was it present in tripling your offer if you call before the ten-minute clock that is reset every five strikes zero. For though these won him immediate acclaim, something more allowed him to make Paid Programming more entertaining and uplifting than television shows (certainly the news) and crowned him the undisputed King of Infomercials... his simple American decency and sense of hard work.
Billy was always there for you, cheering you on with a smile and thumbs up. He was always genuinely happy to see you, no matter who you were--couch potato, stylish channel flipper, or bored insomniac. When his commercial popped on, his simple welcome, "Hi! Billy Mays here," was sure to brighten your mood. The sleepy would be enthused, the sad in joy. He was always real and sincere, always eager and excited about his product. The secret is that he was a man of standards, a man who believed in hard work. He worked hard to perfect that Boanerges voice, those convincing motions, that winning smile, as anyone who has seen his bloopers knows. He was slow in anger, quick to laugh, and he believed in his products. He only spoke for ones he used in his own home. He was as honest as you could get, and people loved and trusted him for that. He had no aura of arrogance about him but rather one of reassuring geniality, and he not only accepted parody and self-deprecation but also actively participated in them. He kept the common touch.
Most of all, despite being a salesman, Billy showed that money was not everything. Though he surely had a comfortable salary being perhaps the greatest salesman of all time, he still worked as hard as ever until the day he died. He never diverted from the simple rolled-up blue shirt, khakis, and tennis shoes and always lovingly supported his family. When his son's apartment burned down, he told his son, "Things like this happen and you just have to push on," and helped him build back up.
Arthur Miller once wrote, "Willy was a salesman. And for a salesman, there is no rock bottom to the life. He don't put a bolt to a nut, he don't tell you the law or give you medicine. He's a man way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine." Billy Mays exemplified this; he taught us that if you ever take a long, deep stare at the years behind and think them a waste of breath and that "This is it," you should wait... because there's more! He was a gentle and generous soul, a true inspiration to all, and I call on all Americans to honor him. Billy Mays died on Sunday, June 28, 2009. He leaves behind his wife, son, and young daughter. May he rest in peace.