Last night I learned of Jack LaLanne’s passing and thought for sure it would be followed by Mark Twain’s great quote “reports of my death are greatly exaggerated” with Jack raucously laughing in the background, because if ANYbody appreciated a good joke, it was Jack, especially if he was the one telling it.

They say that the 1914 Atlantic hurricane season was the least active on record.  I’m going to say it was simply because Jack was born smack in the middle of it.  Apparently, even nature needed to back off when this human typhoon came into existence.  To be in Jack’s presence was to witness all of the oxygen being sucked into one corner, wherever he was holding court.  With a smile on his face, a song in his heart and a joke on his lips (when he wasn’t singing) Jack LaLanne would leave you breathless, even without making you exercise.

Jack’s anti-sugar stance was legendary (his son Danny and I once laughed to the point of tears about how we both lived in homes where sugar was verboten, but understood the benefit of friends and neighbors as our go-to sources/suppliers for sugared cereals) – but if Jack was against sugar, it could have had something to do with the fact that he was one of the sweetest men ever.  Not an ounce of fat on his lean, well-muscled body but Jack was genuinely sweet to his gooey center.

I would say, “Rest in Peace, Jack” – but I know better.  You’re probably cleaning out heaven’s pantry right now, seeing that they’re sufficiently stocked up on eggs and sushi (and a smidge of red wine), making sure that all of the angels get up off their wings and get going (before dawn, of course)… and, whirling bundle of energy that you are, you’re providing loads of laughter with all that cardio.  If the National Hurricane Center notices an increase of activity this coming year, I won’t be surprised.  Because I know Jack.