17 Celebrities You Didn't Know Died In 2015 (Part 1)

Who?

Stuart Scott, ESPN anchor and reporter.

How?

Appendiceal cancer.

His Story:

"As cool as the other side of the pillow." That admittedly great line from SportsCenter mainstay Stuart Scott soon launched an onslaught of hyperbolic and nonsensical catchphrases from other, lesser anchors. But Scott's were just better and cooler. What else can you say besides "BOOYA!" when showing a highlight of a Ukrainian getting viciously dunked on?

Scott's near-constant presence on the network is made more impressive by the fact that he was far from a healthy man. He suffered from a host of chronic issues with his eyes, which any broadcaster worth his salt will tell you are very important and useful for delivering the news. Making matters worse was taking a football straight to his face while working out with the New York Jets in 2002. The injury was devastating, and he was forced to retrain his eyes to be able to work.

Still, he only missed a couple of months after the injury. He even continued his anchoring career when diagnosed with cancer in 2007. He worked through it, only taking a day off here and there for his chemotherapy sessions. And even then, it wasn't exactly a day off. After receiving his exhausting doses of medication, he would then immediately go work out at a mixed-martial arts gym.

A mere five months before he passed, he appeared on an ESPN awards show to receive an honor of his own. He stood on stage and said a few words, which is remarkable considering he had four surgeries conducted on him in the previous week. Guy was tough, is what we're saying here.

He played other service industry employees in his young career: a mailman in Better Off Dead, a gas station attendant in One Crazy Summer. He was never a star, but the guy stayed busy.

Negron also was an accomplished comedian and playwright. He started working the LA club circuit while he was still in high school. Among the people reading this, he's probably most well known for being the bad guy in the "kinda decent when you're 15, but terrible when you grow up" Bruce Willis vehicle The Last Boy Scout.

Numerous cameos in Seinfeld, Friends, and uh ... The Flintstones In Viva Rock Vegas ensured that his Wikipedia page would be in a steady rotation for curious viewers.

That's when Tony Verna was broadcasting the Army-Navy football game, when a play happened that he found remarkable enough that he was sure viewers would want to see it again. He developed a technique to cue the tape at an exact moment that allowed him to replay it live. Aware that this was a new technology, he actually had to clue the audience in to the amazing shit he was doing, lest they think that the team was instantly scoring again or that they were trapped in a time loop.

Who?

Richard Bonehill, actor and swordsmith who played like, half the parts in Star Wars.

How?

Unknown.

His Story:

The advantage of a fictional universe in which most of the population is either wearing a mask or in heavy monster makeup is that you can use the same actors over and over again. The downside for the performers is that's a pretty hard way to get famous. For instance, not even Star Wars fans know the name Richard Bonehill, despite being probably the busiest actor in the entire trilogy.

Bonehill was basically the Swiss army knife in George Lucas' pocket. Whatever character was needed for a scene, he had the guy for the job. Need an extra Stormtrooper? "Richard! Get in here!" Down one TIE fighter pilot? "Bonehill! Stage three!"

Other roles he assumed in The Empire Strikes Back and Return Of The Jedi were as a rebel fighter, a Tauntaun handler, and, most famously, as Lando Calrissian's co-pilot Nien Nunb. A travelling spaceship's rearview mirror never revealed a more debonair/bewildering sight than the Millennium Falcon approaching from behind:

He wasn't just limited to one franchise, either. He was basically the guy to call if you needed some sword work in your film. A skilled fencer and bladesman, Bonehill instructed actors how best to not murder themselves in films such as Rob Roy, Highlander, and Flash Gordon. But now you know he was the man in the Ree-Yees costume, and his legacy is secure behind that triad-of-dicks mask.

But Wittels' crowning achievement would have to be Parks And Recreation. While he had writing and producing success on shows such as Eastbound & Down, when he began writing (and later producing) Parks after the first season, the show hit its stride. He would become executive producer by season four.

Wittels excelled at self-deprecation. Whether it was shitting on his own B-list material on Comedy Bang! Bang! or documenting his struggles with addiction, he never failed to poke fun at his own humanity.

Who?

Terry Pratchett.

How?

Alzheimer's disease.

His Story:

Terry Pratchett cranked out more than 70 books, and if you like books or laughter at all, you should have read at least one of them by now. He was most famous for the Discworld series, writing 41 novels in a franchise that made him the second-most popular author in the U.K. behind J.K. Rowling. Unlike Rowling, Pratchett never had feature films made of his stories, possibly because they were utterly unfilmable. (Discworld takes place entirely on a giant disc balanced on the backs of four elephants who are themselves standing on the shell of an enormous turtle.)

In 2007, Pratchett announced to the world that he had Alzheimer's disease via an online post titled simply "An Embuggerance," assuring readers that he could still get a few more books done before his mind went. The final messages posted under his name on Twitter were:

The record-buying public wasn't the only group that had trouble with the hard-to-discern lyrics. Rumors began to swirl that some of the words were of a pornographic nature, especially if one slowed the record down. Even the FBI stepped in to investigate.

It turns out, the song is merely about a sailor who misses his gal back home. The titular "Louie" is a bartender that has to hear about the poor guy's problems. The FBI either realized this fact or just plain didn't care in the end, as they came to the conclusion that the lyrics were "unintelligible at any speed."

Who?

Ellen Albertini Dow.

How?

From having lived 101 freaking years.

Her Story:

Any aspiring actors out there bummed that you haven't landed a film role yet? Well, Ellen Albertini Dow didn't get her first role until she was freaking 72 years old, after spending decades teaching theater and dance. She pursued acting as a retirement project ... then proceeded to work for another three goddamned decades. If you don't know her from the "Rapper's Delight" scene in The Wedding Singer ...

... you saw her as the foul-mouthed granny in Wedding Crashers:

She was also in a bunch of movies that didn't have "Wedding" in the title, but you get the idea.

King didn't do anything halfway; he had 15 kids with 15 women, which equals the busiest Christmas mornings in the history of everything. He gambled profusely, especially after moving to Vegas in the mid-70s. Though he left school early, he studied language and mathematics well into his later life. He was also an avid Internet user and tech enthusiast, so much so that he schooled a young reporter on how to rip vinyl albums to make MP3s.

King's death was not without controversy. Two of his daughters fervently claimed that he was poisoned by two of his closest assistants. Doctors, who have studied medicine for some time, instead pointed their fingers at the Alzheimer's, diabetes, coronary disease, and heart failure that had ravaged his 89-year-old body. In other words, poison would likely have been the least of his problems.

Who?

Dusty Rhodes, professional wrestler.

How?

Stomach cancer.

His Story:

Virgil Runnels was just a man who wore polka-dot wrestling shorts, utilized a vicious "Bionic Elbow" finishing move, and garnered numerous championships in both the NWA and WWF wrestling leagues. Wrestling fans know him better as Dusty Rhodes, "The American Dream." Rhodes was not a sculpted model of physique like Hulk Hogan, but what he lacked in any muscle tone whatsoever, he made up for with charisma.

He made "our country is dying because a mean dude owns a gold belt" seem like the most sensible point ever.

Rhodes was up for anything, be it barbed wire or cage matches, or free-for-all Battle Royals, he brought his exuberance and facial blood to every gathering. Rhodes observed that in some of these brutal encounters, he would have to "feel around and see if my nose is still on my face, look up in the morning, and see if my ears are still on my head."

Rhodes went on to be enshrined in the Hall Of Fame in several wrestling leagues, and even had two of his sons follow in his footsteps, albeit in slightly better physical shape.

Who?

James Horner, Academy Award-winning composer.

How?

Plane crash.

His Story:

James Horner was an absolute movie music giant: Aliens, Field Of Dreams, Glory, Apollo 13, Braveheart, freaking Titanic ... he's the guy who created those big, emotional scores that made you want to start bawling before you even knew what the movie was about. Nominated for 10 Oscars, which seems a little on the slim side, his scores each had a singular theme that burrowed its way inside your brain. In all, he composed the music for over 150 films.

Or, for a lot of people, one film 150 times over.

Oh, and Horner also had a hand in crafting the adventures you grew up with, including An American Tail, Willow, and Jumanji.

The saddest mouse-related story since that time Jerry laid down for an oncoming train.

Horner learned the piano at age 5, was doing the scores for low-budget movies right after he got out of college, and a few years after that, he was scoring Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan. Probably three-fourths of the Earth's population has heard at least one Horner tune in their lives and, unless they paid close attention to the credits, the vast majority of them never knew his name.

All told, he arranged the rescue of 669 children by train, just before Germany formally invaded and took over Poland. That closed off the borders of neighboring countries completely, and made Winton's efforts much too risky, a fact that he struggled to live with, even after doing so much.

But quietly live with it he did. And by quiet, we mean that he told no one of the heroic deeds he made happen. Even after the war was over and it was safe to maybe be a little boastful and go "I SAVED ALL THESE KIDS BTW," Winton remained modest.

It wasn't until the 1980s, when his wife found an old scrapbook full of the kid's pictures and evacuation plans that he was compelled to tell his story. He reconnected with many of the children, and was lauded as kind of a "British Oskar Schindler." Oh yeah, if you feel like your tear ducts have been suffering from acute dryness lately, here's a clip of Winton being surprised on a television show, by many of the children for whom he made an entire lifetime possible:

That's Burt Shavitz, the co-founder of the company, and the man who got screwed out of its success. Or maybe he screwed himself out of it? He created the small company with his lover, Roxanne Quimby. The two soon had a falling out -- rumors claimed he banged an employee -- and Quimby bought out Shavitz with a $130,000 house. Which might sound like a lot of money, until you realize that, five years later, Quimby sold 80 percent of her share of the company for 173 million fucking dollars. Then Clorox bought Burt's Bees for $925 million, which gained her another $300 million on top of that.

Shavitz, to his credit, was more than happy to retreat back to Maine, away from the business world. He did receive some compensation in later years from Quimby and for promotional appearances for the brand that still bears his hirsute likeness.

Who?

Satoru Iwata.

How?

Cancer.

His Story:

Satoru Iwata was one of the first corporate titans of gaming who actually grew up as a gamer. He grew up playing Pong and became president of Nintendo at the tender age of 42. He had some big shoes to fill, too -- the guy he succeeded (Hiroshi Yamauchi) had sat in that chair for 53 years and was the one who, back in the '80s, had the weird idea that Nintendo should try making video games for a change.

Iwata guided Nintendo through the GameCube, Wii, and DS years, and never came off like a "suit." Maybe that's because he wasn't -- he was a programmer by trade and, right out of college, worked on games like Earthbound and Kirby, and an early prototype of what would become Super Smash Bros. He often took to YouTube to address fans in a series of awkward and adorable videos:

Honestly, if we'd previously been forced to create a mental picture of how Nintendo's president looks and acts, it would pretty much be exactly that -- Luigi hat and all.

As a kid, she got started reading about science due to a lack of friends (since she was, "the only black girl in pretty much an all-white school"), and decided she wanted to go into journalism. She switched to an engineering major after her parents said they wouldn't pay for her college unless she got a degree in "something useful." Ouch.

Who?

George Coe.

How?

From a "long illness," but mostly from being 86.

His Story:

If you're an Archer fan and thought that Sterling's heroin-addicted butler Woodhouse was performed by some comedian doing an old man voice, think again. That was the voice of George Coe, who acted for half a century and was one of the original, if sporadic, cast members of Saturday Night Live. After five decades in the biz, he got what was almost certainly his best part:

Based on how a real-life Alfred would react to his friend dressing as a psychotic bat every night.

Poor Woodhouse. The character was actually recast in season five (voiced by Tom Kane) and will continue to be a big part of the show. Some fans presumably never knew anything changed, so the next time you catch an episode, take a moment to appreciate a Hollywood veteran who was doing cool stuff right up to the end.

Who?

Dick Maugg, contractor and TV spokesman (kind of).

How?

Cancer.

His Story:

A quick "Did you grow up in the '80s" test is whether or not you remember the "Bartles & Jaymes" ads that ran during seemingly every commercial break. The premise of the ads were that these were the two awkward old dudes who actually owned the company. One guy stared into the camera and delivered stilted lines, the other sat in dead silence. They were amazing.

The Teller to Frank Bartles' Penn, Dick Maugg played Ed Jaymes as the stoic, steadying force of the duo. While Bartles would wax poetic, Maugg would shake his head as needed and carry on about his business. He never spoke a word in the commercials, but he said a thousand things in our hearts:

Mostly variations on "just how drunk is this guy?"

Maugg actually fell into the role completely by accident. Prior to the success of the beverage, he was actually a pretty successful contractor. In fact, he had just finished with the construction of the Bartles & Jaymes ad agency in San Francisco, when his childhood friend, who happened to work for the company, suggested that he go for the role of Jaymes, as no one had yet been cast for it and shooting was just about to begin.

When the 1990s hit, and wine coolers and their flashy extravagance began to fade, so too did the advertisements. Ole' Bartles took to his own grave in 1996, after which we hope that Maugg went to the funeral and didn't say a few words in his honor.

Holy shit, we're only up to July! Come back tomorrow for the rest of the list!

Check out the previous installments of this series in Where Aren't They Now? 11 Overlooked Deaths of 2014 (Pt. 1) and Where Aren't They Now? 10 Overlooked Deaths of 2014 (Part 2).

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