Groucho Marx - Death

Death

Marx's children, particularly his son Arthur, felt strongly that Fleming was pushing their weak father beyond his physical and mental limits. Writer Mark Evanier concurred. Fleming's influence on Marx was controversial. Many close to him believed that she did much to revive his popularity. Also, some observers felt the apparent relationship with a young starlet boosted Groucho's ego, adding to his vitality. Others described her as a Svengali, exploiting an increasingly senile Marx in pursuit of her own stardom while reportedly behaving erratically and violently, suggesting mental instability. Marx was hospitalized for pneumonia on June 22, 1977 and died on August 19 at Cedars Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles. Fleming, increasingly mentally unstable through the years, committed suicide in 2003.

He was cremated and the ashes were interred in the Eden Memorial Park Cemetery in Los Angeles. Groucho had the longest lifespan of all the Marx Brothers and was survived only by younger brother Zeppo, who outlived him by two years. His death was somewhat overshadowed by the death of Elvis Presley, which occurred three days earlier. In an interview, he jokingly suggested his epitaph read: "Excuse me, I can't stand up." His mausoleum marker bears only his stage name, a Star of David, and the years of his birth and death.

Read more about this topic:  Groucho Marx

Famous quotes containing the word death:

    We like the chase better than the quarry.... And those who philosophize on the matter, and who think men unreasonable for spending a whole day in chasing a hare which they would not have bought, scarce know our nature. The hare in itself would not screen us from the sight of death and calamities; but the chase, which turns away our attention from these, does screen us.
    Blaise Pascal (1623–1662)

    Our new Constitution is now established, and has an appearance that promises permanency; but in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.
    Benjamin Franklin (1706–1790)

    Time is here and you’ll go his way.
    Your lung is waiting in the death market.
    Your face beside me will grow indifferent.
    Darling, you will yield up your belly and be
    cored like an apple.
    Anne Sexton (1928–1974)