Three Blind Mice

Unlike yesterday, which was hero-less today is awash in them, so I decided to break new ground and crown multiple heroes, mainly because I could not pick between the three. The first is the quill holding fellow to the left, one Denis Diderot born this day 1713, in Langres, France, and we shall tackle him first since he would be the oldest of the group. He is the highbrow pick of the three, and the one that makes me look half way intelligent by picking him. M. Diderot was first going to study law after obtaining a master of arts degree in philosophy (seriously what else could he do, after all McDonald's had not been invented yet). The attempt to study law did not go well, and he threw it over to become a writer. Much like I would love to do if I just had one tenth of his talent, and wasn't glued to ESPN 20 hours a week. His refusal to grow up, and enter a "learned" profession got him disowned by his father, and for the next decade M. Diderot lived the bohemian life style of a writer in Paris. Sounds like a rough life. Actually it was a bit of a rough life, Diderot's writings, while of a high quality, never brought in the money to keep body and soul together. He failed to obtain any position that would allow him to live a comfortable life. In fact, he had to sell his library in order to provide for his daughter's dowry. He wrote some lovely prose, but his major claim to hero status is because of his work on the Encyclopedie. A work of staggering magnitude it comprised 35 volumes, with 71,818 articles, and 3,129 illustrations. The first 28 volumes were published between 1751 and 1766. This was in the 1750's when you could not just go to Wikipedia, and thieve your information with the old "cut and paste" method. So for living parts of my dream by being the starving artist down on his luck in Paris, and providing the world with over 71,000 learned articles Denis Diderot (October 5th, 1713- July 31st, 1784 of a gastro-intestinal complaint at the age of 72), you are my (first) hero of the day.

Onward and upward as they say, though my next hero the wild haired fellow in the middle would probably be considered a step down on the intellectual ladder. He is one Louis Feinberg, a.k.a. Larry Fine, born this day 1902, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Men of a certain age will know him immediately by sight. He is Larry the middle stooge. The one between the bossiness of Moe, and the childishness of Curly. The one that, in most of their films, is reacting rather than acting. It seems Larry had some actual musical talent, and only the outbreak of World War I prevented him from being sent to Europe to train as a classical musician. In any of the Stooges films when you see them playing violins, Larry is the only one actually playing for real. I guess the fortunes of war can be a somewhat a good thing for while Europe might have been deprived of a musical genius, America was gifted a comical genius. His was the voice of reason in the Stooges, and he remains my favorite Stooge. He was also, by all accounts, a extremely generous man who would freely give his money to other actors that were down on their luck without expecting repayment. He also was a degenerate gambler betting large sums of money at the track. Got to love a man who loves the ponies. His profligate ways, and his wife's dislike of housekeeping meant that for years and years they lived in hotels. Now isn't that the life? The best appraisal of Larry was, in my opinion, by Peter Farrelly when he offered his theory of Stooge appreciation: “Growing up, first you watched Curly, then Moe, and then your eyes got to Larry. He’s the reactor, the most vulnerable. Five to fourteen, Curly; fourteen to twenty-one, Moe. Anyone out of college, if you’re not looking at Larry, you don’t have a good brain.” Well said, and it is all you need to know about why men are still drawn to watching the Stooges. I love them, and I am a comedy snob. So, for being the voice of reason when eye pokes and hammers upside the head were the norm, Larry Fine (October 5th, 1902-January 24th, 1975 at the age of 73), you are my (second) hero of the day.

Finally we come to the fellow on the right in the above photo spread. He is one Patrick Roy, born this day 1965 in Sainte-Foy, Quebec, Canada. Although the picture above is of him in a Colorado Avalanche jersey, his claim to my hero status is as the last goal keeper to lift the Stanley Cup for the Montreal Canadiens in 1993. You see the downward progression of my train of thought. A writer of undeniable talent, to a guy getting paid to be hit by a hammer in the head, to a fellow paid to keep a 6 ounce piece of frozen vulcanized rubber out of a net. M. Roy has been voted the best goaltender of all time, and his trade to Colorado has been called one of the 25 worst moves in hockey history, and Montreal has not lifted the Cup since he left. It is made worse by the fact that the year Montreal traded him, he lifted the cup with Colorado. He is the only player in NHL history to win the Conn Smythe trophy three times, and hold the record for most win (combined regular season and playoffs), with 702, and my team traded him for a bag of chips. Good stuff, and may they burn in hell for such a miserable deal. There we go from highbrow, to low brow, to no brow all in one post. So, for stopping all those nasty pucks, and helping my team lift the Cup for the 24th time, Patrick Roy (October 5th, 1965-present), you are my (third, and final) hero of the day.