Death
Moore died at age 71 on 13 December 1958 of pulmonary tuberculosis in Los Angeles, California, four days after his birthday. There was no money to pay for his hospital care or for his funeral, Moore having received his final $65.00 residual payment from Amos 'n' Andy in January 1958. At one time, Moore had made $700 per week.
After a large funeral at Mt. Sinai Baptist Church, he was buried at Rosedale Cemetery. 10,000 fans and mourners passed his open coffin; attendees included Freeman F. Gosden, Charles Correll, Spencer Williams, Jr., Alvin Childress, Ernestine Wade, Amanda Randolph, Johnny Lee, Lillian Randolph, Sammy Davis, Jr., Eddie "Rochester" Anderson, Andy Razaf, Roy Glenn, Mantan Moreland, Earl Grant. Sammy Davis, Jr. later related that Frank Sinatra organized the effort to pay Tim Moore's funeral expenses. Moore's grave remained unmarked from the time of his burial until 1983; fellow comedians Redd Foxx and George Kirby raised funds for a headstone. There is now one marking the graves of Moore and his wife, Vivian, who died in 1988.
Paying tribute to one of its favorite sons, the Rock Island Public Library held "Tim Moore Day" 16 July 2008. Moore's relatives in the area participated by sharing their memories of his life and work.
Read more about this topic: Tim Moore (comedian)
Famous quotes containing the word death:
“If I had my life over again I should form the habit of nightly composing myself to thoughts of death. I would practise, as it were, the remembrance of death. There is no other practice which so intensifies life. Death, when it approaches, ought not to take one by surprise. It should be part of the full expectancy of life. Without an ever- present sense of death life is insipid. You might as well live on the whites of eggs.”
—Muriel Spark (b. 1918)
“Nor has his death the world deceiv’d
Less than his wondrous life surpriz’d;
For if he like a madman liv’d
At least he like a wise one dy’d.”
—Miguel De Cervantes (1547–1616)
“He should be as vigorous as a sugar maple, with sap enough to maintain his own verdure,... and not like a vine, which being cut in the spring bears no fruit, but bleeds to death in the endeavor to heal its wounds.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)