“… I hope the hell when I do die, somebody has sense enough to just
dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me
in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on
Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody.”
-- "The Catcher in the Rye"

John F. Kennedy, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley.

The autopsies of such legends should have been the most painstaking and impartial. But there appears to be substantial evidence to the contrary in these historic cases and others. 

“I might lie a lot, but never in my lyrics.” -- Courtney Love

I’m all I wanna be -- a walking study in demonology. -- Hole, “Celebrity Skin”

Sixteen years ago, on March 4, Courtney Love tried to kill Kurt Cobain for the first time. So believes her own private detective, Tom Grant, as well as other scrupulous investigators.

The Nirvana frontman was in Rome at the time, suffering from bronchitis, laryngitis and exhaustion. On doctor’s orders, he had just canceled the rest of his band’s 1994 European tour.

You’re fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight.
There’s no escapin the jaws of the alien this time –
This is the end of your life.
-- Michael Jackson, “Thriller”

This April, in what many predict will be the most watched criminal proceeding since O.J. Simpson’s, Dr. Conrad Murray will be tried for involuntary manslaughter of Michael Jackson, the King of Pop. Meanwhile, the California Medical Board is filing a motion to revoke the cardiologist’s medical license

Twenty-three years ago, on Feb. 4, 1987, Vladziu Valentino Liberace had his final curtain call. According to the original death certificate, signed by his personal physician, Dr. Ronald Daniels, the cause was cardiac arrest.

However, the county medical examiner ordered an autopsy, which concluded that America’s beloved Mr. Showmanship had died of cytomegalovirus pneumonia -- due to the AIDS virus. His estate’s executors filed a libel suit against the coroner’s office. They lost.

The two Immortals sit on their golden thrones, watching the 52nd

Grammy Awards. A full moon hangs between them, and the CBS satellites fly close at hand. So the reception on heaven’s live Blu-ray is crystal.

Sixty-four years ago, on Jan. 8, 1946, Gladys Presley gave her beloved only son a guitar for his 11th birthday. The high-spirited boy had wanted a bicycle, but his ever-protective mother feared he might hurt himself.

A decade later, Elvis rehearsed “Heartbreak Hotel” on his birthday and, two days later, recorded it at RCA Studios in Nashville. The tune became the biggest hit of 1956, turning the former Crown Electric truck driver into the King of Rock 'n' Roll himself.

At this time of the year, the magic of the season can be seen everywhere. But nowhere is the gaity and goodwill stronger than among the new hardcore carolers: rock stars.

The pregnancy hadn’t been an easy one. Due to her size and his shake, rattle & roll, the King’s mother thought she would have him around Christmas. But she didn’t go into labor until January 8, 1935.

At her bedside were her husband, the midwife, and the doctor whose $15 delivery fee would be paid by the state of Mississippi.

"The phony must die, says the Catcher in the Rye.
Don't believe in John Lennon.
Imagine John Lennon is dead, oh yeah, yeah, yeah!”
--Mark David Chapman’s chant, overheard by his wife, days before the murder.