It feels as if there is nothing more tragic than the suicide of the world’s most loveable funny-man. How can it be that behind all of that funny was a tidal wave of hopeless, insurmountable sadness? That makes me so sad.
I sift my mind for my most vital memories of Williams. Ha – there he is climbing out of his big glowing egg in that red and silver suit doing his weird alien salute. I was only a kid, but I loved that quirky Orkan and his rainbow-striped suspenders. But just now, when I looked on the internet for pictures of him in that role it’s hard to equate the handsome young man I see with Williams. It seems I may have retrospectively transplanted Williams at his current age back on Mork. The reverse is true for my own self as I get older. When I look in the mirror I find myself dragging earlier reflections of me across the years into the present – for comparison, commendation, appeasement or scorn, depending on my mood.