R.I.P. RICKY JAY

Alas, alas, Ricky Jay has passed. 

We can remember our old friend only with a 900-page folio, or a medieval dream-chant. We know which way he would go.

Ye gentle swans, that haunt the brooks and Springs,

Pine with sad Grief, and drop your sickly Wings: 

In doleful notes the heavy Loss bewail;

Such as you sing at your own Funeral. 

Such as you sung when your loved Orpheus fell. 

Come, all ye Muses,  

come, adorn the  Shepherd's hearse.

With never-fading Garlands,  

never-dying verse. 

One of the best profiles of Ricky appeared years ago in The New Yorker,  when his star was still cresting. We had the pleasure of producing his card-throwing segment on the premiere broadcast of the legendary CBS Morning Program, and of meeting him backstage and offstage periodically after that. We hope that God and all the devils can figure out how he makes that Knight's Tour routine work so beautifully! We were always certain it was an antiquated dud until we saw him do it brilliantly On the Stem.

We're holding this post over for a while, in honor of late-breaking remembrances like this one.

And this one: David Mamet's Eulogy.

While we take a week off to recover from our own shortcomings, here's a little-known Ricky Jay comedy exclusive: Lost Masterpieces of Pornography: