Anthony Clark, the "Yes, Dear" star who grew up the son of a factory worker in rural Virginia, died Nov. 10 at 62 — and the establishment press proved again it would rather gush over celebrity mourning than tell you who this man actually was.
Only the Daily Caller reported that Clark died from complications of pneumonia. The Los Angeles Times, Variety, and Deadline all omitted the cause, with the Times stating it was "not immediately provided." Whether that's laziness or deference to Hollywood PR, the public doesn't get the full picture.
What most outlets also buried: Clark's roots. The LA Times, alone among the four, noted he was born in Lynchburg, Virginia, raised in Gladys, and was "the son of a factory worker and a general store owner" who joked he was expected to become a trucker. That's not a throwaway detail. That's the story of a working American who made it out. Clark worked the Boston comedy clubs while earning a degree in mass communications at Emerson College before heading to Los Angeles.
Instead, the press served up Hollywood tributes. Co-star Mike O'Malley announced the death on social media, calling Clark "a hilarious guy" and "one of those comics who is laughing along with you at the absurdity of his stories and observations." O'Malley said they spoke by phone three weeks ago and Clark "had us laughing loudly once again." Manager Barry Katz told the Times Clark was "one of the funniest and most talented comedians and actors I have ever had the pleasure of watching."
Clark broke through in HBO's 1995 Young Comedians special alongside Dave Chappelle and Louis C.K., hosted by Garry Shandling. He appeared in films including "Dogfight" and "The Thing Called Love" with River Phoenix, and Deadline noted he played a flamboyant barber who cut Sean Connery's hair in "The Rock." He led NBC's "Boston Common" and CBS' "Soul Man" before landing his signature role as Greg Warner on "Yes, Dear," which ran six seasons and 122 episodes on CBS starting in 2000.
Variety noted the show "never garnering major acclaim among critics" but survived as a "little-comedy-that-could." The critics hated it. Working Americans watched it anyway, for six straight seasons.
And that's the point the press keeps missing. When a factory worker's kid from Gladys, Virginia, sells out comedy clubs and stars in a show critics despised but audiences loved for six years, that's not just a Hollywood obituary. That's an American story. But the same outlets that flood the zone with celebrity death coverage can't be bothered to tell you the part that matters — and they wonder why nobody trusts them.
