Remember Them Well

Eartha Kitt, 81
How bittersweet that Kitt should pass on Christmas Day 2008. The sultry chanteuse's biggest hit was "Santa Baby," recorded in 1953. For six decades, she vamped and purred her away across cabaret stages, Broadway, television and the big screen. The last of her three autobiographies was titled "I'm Still Here: Confessions of a Sex Kitten." And that's how she will always be remembered.

Bernie Mac, 50
How do you pay tribute to a man who once said that after he died, he didn't want anybody "banging my wife"? Mac was one of the four "Original Kings of Comedy," the costar of movies including "Soul Men" and the star of "The Bernie Mac Show." But his best material always came from his own family. When his sitcom character told one of the children, "I'm gonna bust your head until the white meat shows," you know he'd said something like it in real life. With love, of course.

Michael DeBakey, 99 He was still in medical school when he invented the roller pump, which paved the way for open-heart surgery. That was just the beginning. DeBakey also pioneered bypass surgery and the MASH units used in the Korean War. He was even among the first doctors to make a link between smoking and cancer. He somehow ended up on Nixon's "enemies list," but guess who the president called when he needed medical advice?

Randy Pausch, 47 You have six months to live—what do you do with your time? That's what Pausch asked his students at Carnegie-Mellon, and with a special urgency. He had been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. An amateur video of "The Last Lecture," as the joy-filled, pity-free talk came to be known, became a YouTube phenomenon and later a bestselling book. Pausch lived twice as long as doctors expected. His inspiration lasts even longer.

Margaret Truman Daniel, 83 Was she the greatest singer of the 20th century? Uh, no. But when a music critic wrote in 1950 that she "cannot sing very well" and is "flat a good deal of the time," he got a letter from her father. "I have never met you," President Truman wrote, "but if I do you'll need a new nose and plenty of beefsteak and perhaps a supporter below." Margaret's singing career—and, later, her nonfiction—flourished.

Gene Upshaw, 63 If you want to know about his 15 standout years as an Oakland Raider, go to the NFL Hall of Fame. But if you want to know what made him a football legend, look at any player's contract. As the head of their union, Upshaw brought free agency to the league and made its members rich. How'd he do it? No one wants to make a Raiders lineman mad.

Cyd Charisse, 86 She was born Tula Ellice Finklea, but that clearly wasn't elegant enough for the greatest dancer to partner with Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. She refused to say who was better—"It's like comparing apples and oranges"—but it doesn't matter. The main thing is that Charisse, and her endless legs, helped make the movie-musical sing.

Yves Saint Laurent, 71 It was a sensible suggestion—women want to wear pants —but it changed fashion forever. He took basic men's attire—the tuxedo jacket (le smoking, in French), the peacoat and trousers—and adapted them to women's proportions. He was the first major French designer to produce a ready-to-wear line, and he won a lifelong following among fashionistas who couldn't get enough of his mix of practicality and luxe. He made le smoking haute.

Jesse Helms, 86 He served five terms in the Senate, and he never shied from a Southern-fried filibuster to get what he wanted. Or, more precisely, to stop what he didn't want. "Senator No" was against most everything—food stamps, foreign aid, the King holiday, gay rights, modern art and countless judicial nominees—other than tobacco. Even Ronald Reagan called him a "thorn in my side."

Ruth Stafford Peale, 101 Despite the title, Norman Vincent Peale was once so discouraged by publishers' rejection of "The Power of Positive Thinking" that he threw the manuscript in the trash. His wife, Ruth, dug it out—and it went on to sell more than 20 million copies. She was also the one who, at the kitchen table one day, persuaded him to publish his sermons in Guideposts, which is still a successful magazine. She was indeed a very positive woman.

Paul Scofield, 86 Great actors don't tend to be shy, but Scofield turned down most interview requests—and a knighthood. A giant from the old school, he triumphed as Othello, Hamlet and Lear, but also created Sir Thomas More in "A Man for All Seasons," for which he won an Oscar. He played it onstage, too. His castmates had to push him to take a solo curtain call.

Richard Knerr, 82Edison invented the light bulb and the phonograph, but are they really as important as the Hula Hoop and the Frisbee? Knerr was behind both, as the cofounder of the Wham-O toy company. How you feel about him depends entirely on how much Silly String has been shot at you lately.

Sammy Baugh, 94 Quarterbacks threw forward passes before Baugh entered the NFL in 1937, but only in desperation. He turned the play into a football staple and revolutionized the game in the process. But that's not all. In 1943 Baugh led the league in passing, punting and interceptions. The Redskins could sure use someone like him today.

Sydney Pollack, 73 If it weren't for Pollack, we'd never know how ugly Dustin Hoffman looks in a dress. He directed "Tootsie" as well as "The Way We Were" and "Out of Africa," for which he won an Oscar. Pollack sometimes cast himself, too. He plays Dorothy Michaels's agent in "Tootsie"—he's the guy he/she meets at the Russian Tea Room. "I begged you to get some therapy," Pollack tells Dorothy. The scene is a classic. The direction's not bad, either.

Tim Russert, 58 For nearly 17 years, getting elected to high office in America meant shaking hands, kissing babies and trying to escape "Meet the Press" with dignity intact. Russert, a burly son of Buffalo, N.Y., reigned as the all-but-official opposition researcher of the electorate, zealously luring politicians into gaffes, snafus and flip-flops. His whiteboard from the 2000 election now resides in the Newseum, and his nonpartisan fairness outlived him: Barack Obama and John McCain sat next to each other at his funeral, and embraced at the end.