I won’t say much on the Donald Trump incident since it’s a developing story.  I know everyone responds differently in a crisis.  But I seriously doubt that in such a situation my first words would be, “Let me get my shoes!”  On the other hand, I have nothing to hide about my height.  Biden, Trump, Obama, Clinton and Bush called for unity and condemned violence.  I’m sure many join my sigh of relief that Trump is OK.  Not only do I not want the former president to be martyred, but I fear he’d be replaced by Marco Rubio…who’d win by a landslide.  If I had another hand, I’d be somewhat skeptical about this whole thing.  Or maybe I’ve just seen Moon Over Parador one time too many.

We typically don’t cover celebrity deaths (or even near-deaths) this early in a column, but my heart is heavy due to a trio of passings.  As I was editing this column, I got word from a mutual friend that Shannen Doherty lost her long, arduous battle with cancer.  It’s all the more admirable that it’s been a particularly busy year for Doherty.  She started her popular Let’s Be Clear podcast – where she not only went public with her side of past scandals and feuds, but also opened up to fans about her ongoing health issues with disarming honesty.  She started attending both Charmed and 90210 conventions with her former castmates.  And just last week, she relaunched the House of Halliwell podcast with Holly Marie Combs, Brian Krause, and Drew Fuller.  In the first episode, she even outlined hopes for a reboot of Charmed.  Only weeks ago, Shannen discussed her inevitable funeral.  She wanted it at her house and she wanted it to be a party.  “I want my funeral to be like a love fest.  I don’t want people to be crying or people to privately be like, ‘Thank God that bitch is dead now.’”  Rest in peace, Shan.

One of the earliest and most glittering AIDS fundraisers took place on April 29, 1986.  It was organized by the fashion industry and was billed as The World’s Largest Photo Session, and it took place at NYC’s Jacob Javits Center.  After an enormous buffet, we were directed to an adjoining area where the celebs would congregate for the photos and meet the press.  Having my priorities in check, I lingered at the now-abandoned buffet.  And then, ensconced by a phalanx of security guards, came Elizabeth Taylor.  Suddenly it was just the two of us – me at the chateaubriand and Liz at the fried chicken!  She smiled at me as she tore into a thigh when she was summoned to speak to the press.  “For Christ’s sake – can’t I even get a piece of meat in my mouth?”  Truer words…

What was the point of this story?  Oh, yes – the dead celebrity.  This was my first time around that many famous people at once, and I was unfortunately alone.  Having nobody to take photos of me hobnobbing with the stars, I spent most of my time clicking away at Dina Merrill, Donna Karan, Bianca Jagger, Brooke Shields, Andy Warhol, Peter Allen, Barbara Cook, Grace Jones, and loads of others.  And then, I looked down and spied Dr. Ruth Westheimer.  This was the apex of Dr. Ruth mania.  She had a popular television show and was a media darling.  She seemed approachable, so I asked if I could take a photo with her.  She was delighted, so I took what might have been my first selfie.  Admittedly, I had to get on my knees to do it.  As if on cue, Calvin Klein walked over and…well, then the story takes a turn best left for another time.  Dr. Ruth passed away last week at the ripe old age of 96.

Last week was Richard Simmons’ birthday.  He posted on Facebook, “Thank you…I never got so many messages about my birthday in my life!  I am sitting here writing emails.  Have a most beautiful rest of your Friday.”  Less than 24 hours later, he was dead at the relatively young age of 76.  The last decade of his life had been shrouded in mystery and controversy.  But prior to that, we interacted somewhat frequently.  When I was embarking on a road trip, he personally burned me dozens of CDs of his favorite songs for the occasion.  And when my beloved dog Jufka got hit by a car, he was one of the many people who generously donated to the surgery that saved her life.  Shortly after that, Richard stopped making public appearances, shuttered his Los Angeles Slimmins workout studio, and retreated from the world.  Rumors circulated that he was being held hostage or, at the very least, under some sort of nefarious control from his housekeeper, Teresa.  It led to numerous reports, including one from The National Enquirer, claiming he had undergone botched gender-reassignment surgery.  This led to Simmons filing a suit, which he lost – the upshot seeming to be that calling someone transgender is not defamation.  The last I heard, he was appealing that ruling.  As we went to press, the news of his death was reported as “natural causes” – which seems odd.  And then my eagle eyes noted that the 911 call was made by Simmons’ “housekeeper”.  Hmm…