Jonathan Winters died

What a joy he was. I thought he was the funniest man who ever lived. But he paid a high price for this achievement. Like George Carlin, Winters' demons pursued him. Their minds were just too active; they couldn't turn the flow off. It was endless. It's a strain, living with that much creativity. Just ask anyone who's in possession of this rare gift. It ain't easy.

This story about his life is a good one, despite its brevity. I remember this performance as if it occurred last week:

On Jack Paar's television show in 1964, Winters was handed a foot-long stick and he swiftly became a fisherman, violinist, lion tamer, canoeist, U.N. diplomat, bullfighter, flutist, delusional psychiatric patient, British headmaster and Bing Crosby's golf club. 

He was a great comedian, unlike any other (except those who imitated him). I was glad to see that he made it to the age of 87 and was content with his life. That's the one and only prize in life, kids. If you end up happy, you won. End of story.