Fifty years ago, they began hanging the Stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Or, rather, inserting the Stars bearing the names of film celebrities into the granite sidewalk. The first Star was placed in 1960 to honor Joanne Woodward.
The Walk is homage to the film industry’s greatest contributors. Today it was packed with those seeking the names of favorite personalities. They paused and squatted as their companions furiously snapped pictures for souvenirs. This tradition occurs endlessly, day after day, week after week, decade after decade.
The Walk of Fame is the intersection of the living and the dead. In a cemetery, we expect to see the names who have gone on before. When we view the Walk of Fame Stars, kneeling as we do at a cemetery, something odd happens. The dead and living are united on a single, long plane that extends for several city blocks. Here, with no dates appearing anywhere on the Stars, their contributions are brought alive together, as if all are resurrected.
The devotion and hard-earned contributions of saints living, and saints gone on before, all are viewed together. That’s how I re-frame it. I reassign names and deeds of those who are dearest to me: saints both famous and anonymous, the apostles, my family, friends who walk beside me, mentors and teachers. There, together, they are part of the tapestry that is my life.
My personal Walk of Fame will turn 60 next year. How wonderful if, in time, our names may adorn the Walk of another.