TV legend Tom Snyder, of Tomorrow fame in the 1970s, died a decade ago at age 71.
Well, that's what he wants you to think.
But Revolution 21 has it on good authority that the impish, acerbic NBC anchorman and interviewer -- last seen enveloped in a cloud of cigarette smoke and wearing a tan leisure suit -- actually snuck off to sunny Florida in 2007.
But he didn't stray far from a TV camera and a microphone.
How?
WELL, we're not sure of all the how-tos and wherefores, but a highly reliable source at a Macedonian investigative-news website says the "death" and re-emergence of Snyder went something like this:
Tom Snyder
Snyder, about 15 years ago, stumbled across the Florida location of Ponce de Leòn's fountain of youth, reputedly located in a remote, uninhabited area somewhere between Cypress Gardens and Legoland. The whole "cancer diagnosis" was a ploy that allowed him, after preliminary planning, to disappear from the public eye. And with his "death," attention shifted away from the one-time media icon who did battle late nights with everyone from Johnny Rotten to Rona Barrett.
Sometime late in 2007, he made his way to central Florida. At some point, he immersed himself in the rejuvenating waters of de Leòn's lost wonder of the New World, then took up meteorology.
Tom Snyder, born again in the magic waters, took on the identity of "Matt Devitt," it is said. The old TV fixture -- once so ubiquitous and recognizable that Dan Ackroyd built a career parodying him on Saturday Night Live -- had undone most telltale signs of his old existence.
Matt Devitt
But not all. He could lose the leisure suits and the cloud of smoke. He could lose the groovy '70s hairdo. He could lose the past several decades, and lose the public's attention. He could lose his old specialty and pick up a new one.
What he couldn't leave behind, though, was that voice. The mannerisms. His way with words. The impishness. "Matt Devitt," WINK television weatherman. Yeah, whatever you say "Mr. Devitt." We'll play along. But you're not really fooling anybody . . . Tom.
We've learned to recognize fake news when we see it. And we damn well know that Tom Snyder will never die. He'll just go to Florida and dunk himself in the old explorer's saving waters as needed.
But don't worry, Tom. We won't tell Rona where you are.
John Lydon of Public Image, Ltd., possessed many skills in 1980. Lip syncing was not among them.
Come to think of it, remembering the lyrics most of the time wasn't part of his skill set, either.
And Dick Clark thought things would go according to plan when the former Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols and his new band, PiL, came for a May 1980 visit . . . why, exactly? Like, dude, this ain't no Fabian or Frankie Avalon you're dealing with here.
WELL, Dick, it doesn't have much of a beat, and you can't do The Hustle to it, so I'll give it a . . . 275 out of 100.
IN JUNE of 1980, on the other hand, the great Tom Snyder of the Tomorrow show wasn't taking any of that s***.
If Lydon was gonna throw curve balls -- or a googlies, if you want to be cricket about it -- Snyder was gonna grab his bat and take his cuts. And not necessarily at the ball.
I've featured the Tomorrow interview before, but it's well worth another look.
After posting this week's edition of 3 Chords & the Truth -- what with my paean to the '80s and "colortinis" -- I got to thinking about the late, great Tom Snyder and his Tomorrow show.
The wasn't anyone the man hadn't interviewed, I don't think. And it was always a late, late show event when he did. Above, we see Snyder with John Lennon on 1975.
AND THEN, with Lennon's producer for Double Fantasy, Jack Douglas. The date: Dec. 9, 1980.
John Lennon had just been murdered the night before.
Douglas said the former Beatle had had a message for people at the dawn of the 1980s.
I think the first single off the album, which was called "Starting Over" -- which we picked while we were doing the album -- was the feeling that he wanted to have for the '80s . . . that we are, in fact, in the '80s, that we are starting over. That it's time to be optimistic about the future. That it's time to write off George Orwell and 1984.
It's time to forget about those things, that in '84, that we can have what we want if we work together and for ourselves.
I MISS an age when we could be so hopeful. Naively hopeful, but hopeful nonetheless.
That was such an improvement over the anger, strife, name calling and hopelessness we wallow in today.
Come back John Lennon.
Come back, Tom Snyder.
We've forgotten how to hope. And we've forgotten how to have a meaningful -- and civil -- conversation. We long to sit back, relax and watch the pictures, now -- hopeful pictures -- as they fly through the air.