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:
“The child who enters life comes not with knowledge or intent,
So those who enter death must go as little children sent.
Nothing is known. But I believe that God is overhead;
And as life is to the living, so death is to the dead.”
—Mary Mapes Dodge (1831–1905)
“But, when nothing subsists from a distant past, after the death of others, after the destruction of objects, only the senses of smell and taste, weaker but more enduring, more intangible, more persistent, more faithful, continue for a long time, like souls, to remember, to wait, to hope, on the ruins of all the rest, to bring without flinching, on their nearly impalpable droplet, the immense edifice of memory.”
—Marcel Proust (1871–1922)
“During these fits of absolute unconsciousness I drank, God only knows how often or how much. As a matter of course, my enemies referred the insanity to the drink rather than the drink to the insanity. I had indeed, nearly abandoned all hope of a permanent cure when I found one in the death of my wife.”
—Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849)