The creators we lost in 2024

A celebration of the great talents we lost this year.

December 19, 2024

Chita Rivera

January 23, 1933 – January 30, 2024

Chita Rivera (no relation, but a gal can wish) wasn’t just a Broadway legend—she was a life force that inspired many. For family and fans alike, her passing in January at age 91 felt like the curtain had come down on an era of magic, resilience, and bliss. For decades, Rivera didn’t just perform; she captivated. Whether as the fiery Anita in West Side Story or the iconic Velma Kelly in Chicago, Rivera brought roles to life with a vibrancy that could never be replicated. Her journey wasn’t always easy. A devastating car accident nearly ended her career, but she returned stronger than ever, proving she was as unstoppable as her onstage charisma. She broke barriers as the first Latina Kennedy Center Honoree and Presidential Medal of Freedom recipient, inspiring countless performers who followed. Rivera leaves behind an enduring and inspiring legacy—and reminds us that art isn’t just performance, it’s passion, and she lived every step of it. We’ll never stop applauding because Chita Rivera wasn’t just a star, she was a constellation, lighting up the lives of everyone lucky enough to witness her brilliance. Her legacy isn’t confined to the stage; it’s etched in the hearts of those she moved, inspired, and empowered. The standing ovation may be over, but her spirit will dance on, forever. —Patty K Rivera, Editorial

James Earl Jones

January 17, 1931 – September 9, 2024

James Earl Jones’s instantly recognizable baritone has been described by his contemporaries as a once-in-a-generation voice. Over his 70+ years in television, film, stage, and voice acting Jones’s impressively diverse portfolio made him an EGOT winner and the namesake for a Broadway theater in 2022. Before he started to utilize this distinctive talent, however, he was effectively mute due to a debilitating stutter. An English teacher in his high school saw great potential in Jones’s poetry writing and encouraged him to overcome his reluctance to speak by having him read his work in class. Without this encouragement we might not have heard such iconic performances as Darth Vader and Mufasa. As a devout Catholic, out of all his credits, Jones considered his narration of The New Testament as his greatest honor. —Jermaine Charles, Creative Development

Image for James Earl Jones Reads The Bible: King James Version

Nelson DeMille

August 23, 1943 – September 17, 2024

Nelson DeMille was unfailingly kind, hard-working, and deliciously sardonic. (My favorite novel of his, The Gold Coast, encompasses a joke he also told me in person: “Question: What’s a real man’s version of group therapy? Answer: World War II.") He had survived—with honor—brutal tours of duty in Vietnam (a subject he revisited in his novel Up Country), and then returned home to start a family and, eventually, a career as a bestselling novelist. For Plum Island, he papered the walls of his office with huge maps of the North Fork, the city limits of Southhold, and the currents of the Long Island Sound. Like earlier novelists (Irwin Shaw, Herman Wouk, and Howard Fast spring to mind), Nelson knew how to tell a story with joyful detail and a sense of time and place. It’s comforting to know that the quality of his stories will delight listeners who didn’t have the pleasure and privilege to know him personally, and that his stories will keep rolling along. —Christina Harcar, Programming

Quincy Jones

March 14, 1933 – November 3, 2024

Quincy Jones—pick any one of his accomplishments during his 91 years on this plane of existence and you'll find what seems like more than what any one person could achieve in a lifetime: producing the bestselling album of all time (Michael Jackson's Thriller), his 80 Grammy Award nominations (and 28 wins), plus his measureless impact on culture through his countless contributions to music, film, and TV, just to name a few. His legacy is all the more impressive when we consider the poverty and abuse he endured as a child, an experience he vividly recounts in his expertly crafted autobiography, Q. I was privileged enough to interview Mr. Jones about his creative process when he released his self-help guide, 12 Notes. Our conversation was handled via email, which at the time I assumed might have had to do with his propensity for, let's just say, speaking his mind. Of all the wisdom he's left us, there's one enduring message from our correspondence that I know he'd want each of his fans to take to heart, “There’s always more to live for, so keep on keepin’ on!” —Rachael Xerri, Editorial

Dr. Ruth Westheimer

June 4, 1928 – July 12, 2024

Though I am not proud to admit it, I recently caught myself blushing after saying the word “tampon” out loud in public. Overall, I consider myself to be a relatively liberated woman with a real knack for oversharing, and yet it still never fails to surprise me how deeply rooted our societal discomfort with speaking about sex really is. However, in those bashful moments, I know I can always turn to Dr. Ruth Westheimer for help finding the courage I need to laugh openly in the face of taboo topics. Through her life-long commitment to dismantling the stigma around sexual literacy, she consistently led guests of her late-night talk shows to surprise themselves as they let their guards down around her charming sense of humor to openly discuss their private lives. And while her joie de vivre surely remains a key element of her legacy, it cannot go unsaid just how much Westheimer accomplished in terms of exposing the truth around more grave matters, too. Whether reminding the world of the horrors of the Holocaust, which her family experienced firsthand, or advocating for gay rights during the AIDS epidemic, Dr. Ruth showed us that we must never stay silent for the sake of respecting the status quo. And today, with so much vulnerability around our reproductive freedoms, it is time we honor her life’s work by speaking loudly about sex. —Haley Hill, Editorial

Donald Sutherland

July 17, 1935 – June 20, 2024

When I was young, my family visited Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada, where a local guide shared some facts about the seaside city and its notable people, including screen legend Donald Sutherland. At the time, I could only place Sutherland as Merrick Jamison-Smythe, the fedora-clad Watcher in 1992’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But soon, I’d get even more acquainted with the actor through his captivating, chilling portrayal of despot Coriolanus Snow in the Hunger Games films. Across the years, I’d come across his career highs and was routinely struck by just how fearlessly and seamlessly Sutherland sunk into each role, bringing a depth, humanity, and lived-in feel to a kaleidoscopic range of characters. It was a seemingly effortless endeavor for him to shift shapes in films as varied as Don’t Look Now and Pride & Prejudice. But my all-time favorite of Sutherland’s performances is in Ordinary People, where he delivered an aching portrayal of a grieving father trying to support his struggling surviving son. At one point in the film, Sutherland’s Cal Jarrett muses, “I guess the whole of life’s nothing but an accident…what happens to you, what you do with it.” While I’m not sure just how true that sentiment itself is, there is no doubt that Sutherland lived his life well, in service of a craft that touched many. His artistry, his activism, and his kind presence will be missed. —Alanna McAuliffe, Editorial

Cissy Houston

September 30, 1933 – October 7, 2024

One of my fondest memories growing up in Newark was singing in the church choir. One of my greatest joys was to have Cissy Houston as my choir director. Growing up, I didn't know about Cissy's many accomplishments, I just knew her as our choir director. I was extremely blessed to not only have her in my life, but to sing alongside my childhood friend, her daughter Whitney. I will never forget that experience. Just imagine, I had the pleasure of singing under the directorship of a Grammy Award-winning recording artist! As I grew older, I learned more of Cissy’s background in music. As a backup vocalist, she recorded and performed with a wide range of artists including Aretha Franklin (my favorite is to hear her hit those high notes in the background on the song “Ain’t No Way”), Burt Bacharach, Chaka Khan, Elvis Presley, Luther Vandross, David Bowie, Roberta Flack, and, of course, Whitney Houston. Cissy also appeared in the off-Broadway musical Taking My Turn. One of her last requests was to have everyone that sang in any of her choirs sing at her homegoing service. I had the pleasure to do just that. I will never forget the legendary Cissy Houston. She was not only my choir director, she was my vocal mentor, a friend, and someone who still lives on in my heart. —Denise Davis, Customer Care

Phil Lesh

March 15, 1940 – October 25, 2024

In most rock & roll bands, the bass player takes a secondary role, but Phil Lesh never stuck with the rules. As the bassist and co-founder of the Grateful Dead, Lesh brought his training in classical and avant-garde music into the Dead, which he joined in 1965, and helped change the course of the band and rock itself. Thanks to Lesh and his ever-exploratory leanings, the Dead began using their songs as basis for lengthy improvisations, paving the way for the jam-band scene to come. He also dispensed with the standard walking-bass approach in favor of unconventional fingerpicking that made his instrument nearly a lead instrument. After Jerry Garcia’s death in 1995, Lesh continued that risk-taking part of the band’s legacy in his own offshoots and life. During one of several interviews we conducted over the years, for Rolling Stone or for my Dead bio So Many Roads, we talked about him watching Barack and Michelle Obama dance together at Obama’s 2009 inauguration, where the reunited Dead performed. “My wife and I danced together at the same time,” he said. “Romantic as hell. Even if we maybe violated protocol.” —David Browne, author of Talkin' Greenwich Village

Pete Rose

April 14, 1941 – September 30, 2024

When I think about baseball’s all-time greats, Pete Rose is one of the first guys that comes to mind. With that "Charlie Hustle" nickname, you knew exactly what you were getting—passion and intensity every single game. Pete played with incredible heart and desire. Every at-bat, sprint, slide—it was all-out effort fueled by his love for baseball. The guy didn't have the most talent, but he overcame that with pure hustle and grit. His 4,256 career hits? Insane longevity and consistency. More than the numbers though, Pete inspired with his blue-collar, team-first mentality. In an era of bigger-than-life stars, he was a reminder that true greatness often comes from perseverance and an unshakable devotion to the game itself. Fans adored him because his hustle personified the human spirit of baseball. That's the impression Pete left: an embodiment of the game's sacred traditions through sheer force of will. Pete Rose—your favorite baseball player’s favorite baseball player. —Michael Tirri, Web Development

Nikki Giovanni

June 7, 1943 – December 9, 2024

Nikki Giovanni was a small woman with a big, beautiful mind and an unmatched way with words. Her delivery was, to me, a sort of elegant riff. Gritty at times, always witty, with a comic streak that made a grand, unexpected entrance suddenly. It would just take its place effortlessly no matter what came before it or after. I loved watching her during interviews. Everything she said made sense. My head would nod and nod and nod. I always felt brighter afterward. I also felt like I was hearing a piece of music. I will miss those beats of hers. I read Giovanni's poems before I began listening to them. To hear her out loud in my rooms is almost a luxurious out-of-body experience. I don't like precious poetry that zeroes in on something tiny and tries hard to make it something big and more unique than it could ever be. Take the title of her book, Nikki Giovanni: Love Poems and a Good Cry. We all love to love, but cry? Who loves that? She put the word "good" in front of "cry." And we all know what that could feel like. Now, bring on the love until the next good cry. —Yvonne Durant, Editorial