OF A GOLDEN AGE

Oh, bother. Michael Crichton, progenitor of Jurassic Park and its resulting sequels and movie franchise, has died of cancer at age 66.

What Star Wars likely is to you and your childhood, Crichton is to me and mine. Crichton meant the world to me because JP and his other novels were the way I learned about the huge ups and downs possible through the application of human brilliance. His characters were smart and flawed, sometimes greedy, sometimes overwhelmed, and his stories were near-future cautionary tales against reckless science.

Then of course he created ER, one of the most successful television shows ever, based on his own training and expertise as an MD.

This is especially sad because Crichton helped bridge the gap between pop fiction and something deeper and more stimulating.

As a side note, he was 6’9″, a fact that I greatly appreciated as a 5’11″, thirteen-year-old girl. He would have towered even over Abraham Lincoln, my perennial childhood hero. But not over Lincoln’s hat. Barack Obama, by the way, made three Lincoln shoutouts in his victory speech, holding Lincoln up as the catalyst of the Republican party and an example of cross-partisan ideals. I suspect we are on the way to something wonderful.

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