The great filmmaker and teen angst-translator John Hughes died today of a heart attack at 59. The Times has a heartfelt slideshow. Along with the death of Michael Jackson, this year officially ends my 80’s adolescence. Sixteen Candles. The Breakfast Club. The quirky, underappreciated Some Kind of Wonderful with Ducky in his suspenders and porkpie hat.
When I was in junior high school, I wrote Hughes a letter professing my love for his films and received a smorgasboard of movie posters, buttons, signed photographs, and other paraphernalia for Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. God knows I coveted that movie poster, dragging it all the way from Council Bluffs to the cinder-block walls of my freshman dorm at B.U.
Rest in peace, Mr. Hughes.