The Memorial Wall

• Radio presenter Richard Cartridge diagnosed with Parkinson's disease in 2016
• His family claim the BBC treated him as a 'weak old man' following his diagnosis 
• Daughter Lucy claims he felt 'bullied' by colleagues and received £20 cut in pay 
• The 72-year-old died just six weeks into his retirement during pandemic in 2020

The BBC has launched an investigation after the family of a radio presenter who died two months into retirement complained about his treatment following a life changing diagnosis. 

Richard Cartridge, 72, who was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease in 2016, worked at the BBC for 47 years, but his family claim he was treated as a 'weak old man' following his diagnosis.  

His daughter Lucy claims he was treated differently in the workplace by senior staff, had his pay cut by £20 and felt 'bullied' by his colleagues, according to The Sun.

The 32-year-old said she feels the BBC is 'directly responsible' for his death, six weeks after he left his job. 

She claims issues began when her father requested to work as a BBC Radio Solent host from home but was refused. 

Several months in the coronavirus pandemic, in June 2020, he was told his contract with the BBC would not be renewed. 

In his final broadcast, he told listeners: 'I don't know what I'm going to do now.' 

Mr Cartridge, who had left a staff job at the organization in 2006 and had returned on a freelance basis, was admitted to hospital shortly afterwards and died just six weeks later. 

Daughter Lucy said her father was a 'shell of a person' when she last saw him and added that he received 'no care or empathy' from the BBC. 

She has now written directly to Director General of the BBC Tim Davie.  

A spokesperson for the BBC said: 'Richard Cartridge was a much loved presenter and our sympathies are with his family. We have spoken to his daughter Lucy and remain in contact.'

Mr Cartridge was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease in 2016 - four years before his death. 

The disease is a long-term degenerative disorder which affects the central nervous system, in turn affecting the motor system. 

Symptoms of the disease usually emerge slowly and as it progresses, non-motor symptoms become more common. 

Early symptoms include tremors, rigidity, slowness in movement and difficulty in walking. The person may also experience cognitive problems, which may present with depression, anxiety and apathy. 

Parkinson's Disease dementia also becomes common in the advanced stages. 

His dyspeptic morning show helped make WBAI-FM in New York a vibrant, eccentric, alternative radio haven. “I was the first angry man in morning radio,” he said.

Larry Josephson, a cranky practitioner of free-form radio on noncommercial WBAI-FM in New York who helped shape the station into a vibrant, eccentric, alternative radio haven, died on Wednesday in Manhattan. He was 83.

His death, at a nursing facility, was most likely caused by complications of Parkinson’s disease, said his daughter, Jennie Josephson.

Mr. Josephson, who later in his career produced and hosted public radio programs, mixed personal confession, satire, political talk, phone calls, music and puns in his morning program. He was considered a pillar of the station, along with his fellow hosts Bob Fass and Steve Post.

“But I was the first angry person in morning radio, and it was genuine,” Mr. Josephson told Newsday in 1989. “I couldn’t get used to getting up at 5 a.m., so, on the air, I’d slam down the telephone, throw fits, be late and be guilty that I was late.”

He added: “Today, Howard Stern is doing a bad imitation of ’60s me and getting a million dollars a year for it. I am getting nothing for ’90s me.” (He never earned much in public radio and died with very little money, his daughter said.)

Marty Goldensohn, a former news director at WBAI, said in a telephone interview that Mr. Josephson had been an independent thinker who “was not simplistic in his embrace of progressive ideas.”

“He didn’t go for rightist or leftist claptrap,” he said.

Soon after Mr. Josephson began hosting his show, “In the Beginning,” in 1966, The New York Times radio and television critic Jack Gould described him as “really less a disc jockey than an aural happening.”

He was inspired, for example, to play the Beatles song “Lady Madonna” over and over for two hours after its release in 1968, and to spend two days playing every available recording of “Celeste Aida,” from the first act of Verdi’s opera “Aida.”

Mr. Josephson opened one of his shows in 1967 with a version of “The Darktown Strutters’ Ball” and declaring over it: “From the Chutzpah Room of the Hotel Sinai, it’s the music of Gamal Abdel Nasser and his Orchestra. How ’bout that, peace fans!”

Frank Millspaugh, a general manager of the station in the 1960s and ’70s, said listeners had empathized with Mr. Josephson’s eternal grumbling about waking up early. But some board members of the Pacifica Foundation, which owns the station, were displeased with the countercultural tone of Mr. Josephson, Mr. Fass and Mr. Post.

“They wanted a more serious, more respectful sound to the station,” Mr. Millspaugh said in a phone interview. But when they understood how effective those hosts were in raising money for the station, “they softened their criticism.”

In the mid-1970s, Mr. Josephson served for two years as the general manager of WBAI, which routinely operated on a shoestring. During one urgent financial crisis, the station turned to listeners to raise $56,000 to meet its monthly expenses. Within four days, $25,800 had poured in, most of it cash.

“We will survive,” Mr. Josephson told The Daily News in 1976. “We have to raise more money and spend less. It’s just like New York City,” which was dealing with a much larger financial crisis of its own at the time.

Norman Lawrence Josephson was born on May 12, 1939, in Los Angeles. His father, Adrian, at one point owned a woodworking company; his mother, Marian (Tyre) Josephson, was a homemaker.

Larry had loved radio since childhood but did not initially pursue work in it. Instead, he enrolled at the University of California, Berkeley, and studied linguistics, then went to work for I.B.M. as a computer engineer in the New York area. (He did not finish his bachelor’s degree until 1973.) He began volunteering at WBAI in the 1960s and was hired to host the morning show in 1966 because, he said, the station couldn’t find anyone else who would wake up that early.

“I’m a night person myself,” he told The New Yorker in a short profile in 1967, “and the only conscious position I had was to be Against the Morning. What I didn’t realize was that there was a tremendous audience out there — I don’t know how many millions — with a tremendous need for someone to be natural, to be grumpy.”

He left WBAI in 1972 and hosted a program at KPFA, a Berkeley radio station also owned by Pacifica, before returning to WBAI in about 1974. He stayed for several more years, hosting “Bourgeois Liberation” on Sunday mornings before becoming an independent producer.

Mr. Josephson helped revive the comedy team of Bob and Ray by producing their syndicated “Bob and Ray Public Radio Show” and their Carnegie Hall shows in the 1980s. He also produced audiocassettes and CDs of their best routines.

“We’re doing this because I think they should be on radio,” Mr. Josephson told The Associated Press in 1984. “It’s as much for radio as for Bob and Ray. They need each other.”

Over the next two decades, he hosted and produced “Modern Times,” a national call-in show that was distributed by American Public Radio; “Bridges,” on which he interviewed conservatives like Milton Friedman, Charles Murray, Ralph Reed and Norman Podhoretz; and “Only in America: The Story of American Jews,” an eight-part documentary series whose guests included the Supreme Court associate justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

Mr. Josephson produced nearly all of his post-WBAI work from a radio studio that he built in the third bedroom of his Manhattan apartment. He derived income by renting it out to others with projects to pursue, among them the BBC, the Boston Radio station WBUR, Al Gore, Samuel L. Jackson, Garrison Keillor, the CBS newsman Ed Bradley and the Rolling Stones.

The actor Alec Baldwin wrote in an email how pleased he had been to find a studio one block from his apartment. “I recorded countless projects there,” he said, including his podcast, “Here’s the Thing,” “and found Larry to be not just a great historical resource of all things related to radio but a lovely man as well.”

In 2012 Mr. Josephson performed a one-man, one-performance show, “An Inconvenient Jew: My Life in Radio,” at the Cornelia Street Cafe in Greenwich Village.

In 2018 he fractured a vertebra and needed spinal fusion surgery, prompting him, because of his precarious finances, to start a GoFundMe campaign. It raised nearly $28,000 to help pay for a home health attendant.

In addition to his daughter, Jennie, he is survived by his stepdaughter, Rebecca Josephson; his stepson, Gregory Alker; his sister, Susan Josephson; and two grandchildren. His marriages to Charity Alker and Valerie Magyar ended in divorce.

Mr. Josephson said in 1989 that public radio had let him say nearly everything he wanted.

“When push comes to shove,” he told Newsday, “I’d rather work for nothing and do exactly what I want without any interference from vice presidents or format experts.”

Richard Sandomir is an obituaries writer. He previously wrote about sports media and sports business. He is also the author of several books, including “The Pride of the Yankees: Lou Gehrig, Gary Cooper and the Making of a Classic.” 

Closing up one night in 1961, workers at the Original Spanish Kitchen on Beverly Boulevard set out silverware, saltshakers and napkins at each table and neatly stacked the chairs.

And there the settings and chairs remained, unmoved for more than a quarter of a century.

A “Closed for Vacation” sign, hung outside that night, gave no clue that the restaurant would never reopen.

So what happened?

One rumor held that the owner had been shot to death inside and that his wife had wanted the place left undisturbed until the killer was caught.

Some believed the restaurant was haunted. There were stories of knives flying in the night.

The TV show “Lou Grant” set a murder mystery there.

But there was a quieter explanation.

“The truth is,” The Times reported in 1989, “that this decaying building has simply frozen in time a moment of happier days in a love story of an elderly woman who has shut herself off from the world . . . “

The woman was co-owner Pearl Caretto. She and her husband, Johnny, had opened the restaurant in 1932, and it became a favorite of stars such as Bob Hope, Linda Darnell and John Barrymore. Mary Pickford, who had a special booth near the door, would bring in recipes.

Then in 1961, the husband was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and Pearl closed the restaurant to take care of him in their residence on the second floor. He died a few years later, and she could never bring herself to reopen.

“Isn’t it sad how so many people never find their one true love?” she told writer Michael Szymanski, who tracked her down in 1989. At that time the restaurant was still closed, tables still set. “And always, always, it ends in heartbreak. You’ll see.”

Caretto, who has since died, was living in an apartment by then, having moved away from the restaurant after it was vandalized. The family sold the property in the late 1990s.

All of this was a long time ago, and yet the restaurant’s mystique lives on.

Its sign is still standing, though it’s partly covered so that only the “Spa” in “Spanish” can be seen. Perfect for the upstairs occupant, Ona Spa.

“The neighbors wanted it left up,” explained Fabienne Dufourg, co-owner of Ona as well as Prive hair salon, which now occupies the former Spanish Kitchen space. A cafe there shut down.

When Dufourg reopened the building eight years ago, the rumors of ghosts were still alive.

“I am very grounded -- I don’t believe a word about ghosts,” she said. “My husband, he’s an artist. He believed it.”

But she converted one day in August. “It was very hot,” she said, and she was standing inside the building when “I felt like my legs were freezing.”

And, so, she said, “We did a clearing.” In other words, she hired a psychic from Arizona to check for poltergeists.

The psychic found five ghosts. “The ghosts were coming after my mother-in-law -- oh, it’s a long story,” Dufourg said. “There was a nasty one. I think he was a sort of killer from the ‘50s.”

The psychic, who charged $70 an hour, chased out the spirits in an impressive time of 30 minutes. These days, the building is ghost-free, more or less.

“Sometimes I wonder,” said Lane Lenhart, a manager at Ona. “Funky things happen once in a while, lights going on and off...”

Aside from the “Spa” sign, the old place’s name has survived in other ways.

A rock group christened itself Spanish Kitchen and posed by the building for a website photo. The group later dropped the name, but not because of ghosts. It seemed that people kept asking if it was a salsa band.

Meanwhile, a new Spanish Kitchen restaurant materialized on La Cienega Boulevard.

“I wanted to capture some of the romance of old Hollywood,” explained owner Greg Morris, no relation to the Carettos.

He didn’t inherit any ghosts, but he did meet a link to the Original Spanish Kitchen.

“The owner’s daughter came in and gave me a great paella pan with the name stamped on it,” he said.

Morris knows the real story of the old restaurant but enjoys listening to versions told by his older customers.

“I’ve heard stories that there was a Mafia killing there,” he said. “Or that the owner was a bullfighter, and his wife was a flamenco dancer and he killed her because he didn’t like her dancing.”

Morris added: “I never correct any of the stories.”

North County resident Gene Shefrin, an entertainment industry publicist who represented such stars as Tony Bennett and Johnny Mathis, has died at age 90.

Shefrin’s son, Paul, said his father died April 6 in Encinitas after a long battle with Parkinson’s disease.

During his career, Shefrin represented the likes of Guy Lombardo, Frankie Laine, Vic Damone, Perry Como, Sam Cooke, author Irving Wallace, Don Rickles, Don Adams, Richard Pryor, Jackie Mason, Peter Falk, James Caan, Monty Hall, Peggy Lee, Kate Smith, Connie Francis, Sarah Vaughan, Freda Payne and Dick Clark.

Gene Shefrin was born in New York City in 1921, graduated from City College of New York, and during World War II served in an Army Air Force bomber group.

He began his career in New York in 1945 and started his own company in Los Angeles in the 1960s. He retired in 1987.

Born Feb. 10, 1921 in New York City, Shefrin attended Townsend Harris High School and then City College of New York from which he graduated in 1942 with a bachelor of social sciences degree. He then joined the U.S. Army Air Force and was initially stationed at Randolph Field in San Antonio, Texas, and was assigned as a reporter on the base newspaper, the Randolph Rookie, according to information provided by his family.

While there, he married Sophie Schwimmer on Jan. 9, 1943. During World War II, he served in the 96th Bomber Group in England and was awarded two battle stars. He was honorably discharged in 1945.

Later that year, he started his career in public relations at Fred Stengel Associates in New York as an apprentice publicist and, the following year, he joined David O. Alber Associates. In 1963 he left the Alber company and soon thereafter moved to Los Angeles, founding Gene Shefrin Associates, which was re-named The Shefrin Company in 1976 when his son, Paul, joined the firm.

Shefrin retired to North County, primarily Carlsbad, where he lived until his death.

He was a longtime member of both The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences and the Publicists Guild.

Shefrin was well-known for his sense of humor, which he maintained until his final days, his family said.

He is survived by his wife of 68 years, Sophie; his son, Paul, along time publicist; and his two grandchildren, Jordan and Michael.

Professionally known as Ian Holm, the versatile British character actor who earned an Oscar nomination for his turn as the athletics trainer in 'Chariots of Fire' and portrayed the hobbit Bilbo Baggins in four movies, has died. He was 88.

Holm died “peacefully in hospital” of an illness that was related to Parkinson’s disease, his agent said in a statement obtained by The Hollywood Reporter.

Holm gained many sci-fi admirers for his performances as Ash, the decapitated android who keeps on going, in Ridley’s Scott’s Alien (1979) and as the office manager Mr. Kurtzmann in another classic, Terry Gilliam’s fantastical Brazil (1985).

Holm was at his subtle best as Gena Rowlands’ emotionally unavailable husband in Woody Allen’s Another Woman (1988) and as an inscrutable big-city lawyer in the tragedy-laced The Sweet Hereafter (1997), written and directed by Atom Egoyan.

At 5-foot-6, Holm was always an excellent candidate to play a certain pint-sized French emperor, and he did so three times, in the 1974 nine-part miniseries Napoleon and Love, in Gilliam’s Time Bandits (1981) and in The Emperor’s New Clothes (2001).

And in one of his rare performances as a leading man, he was excellent as Peter Pan author J.M. Barrie in the 1978 BBC miniseries The Lost Boys.

A member of the Royal Shakespeare Company starting in the 1950s, Holm collected Tony and Olivier awards before a case of stage fright that blindsided him during previews for The Iceman Cometh left him queasy about working in front of a live audience for more than a decade.

Holm cemented his place in British cinema history when he played the eccentric track coach Sam Mussabini in the historical sporting drama Chariots of Fire (1981). The film, one of England’s most beloved, took the Oscar for best picture, and Holm was nominated for best supporting actor (he lost out to countryman John Gielgud of Arthur).

Holm later portrayed Bilbo, all for Peter Jackson, in The Lord of the Rings films The Fellowship of the Ring (2001) and The Return of the King (2003) and in The Hobbit installments An Unexpected Journey (2012) and The Battle of the Five Armies (2014).

The chameleon-like actor also played King John in Robin and Marian (1976), the father of the scientist in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1994), a nasty restaurateur in Big Night (1996), a New York City cop in Sidney Lumet’s Night Falls on Manhattan (1996), a holy man in The Fifth Element (1997) and Zach Braff’s psychiatrist father in Garden State (2004).

“I’m never the same twice,” he told the Los Angeles Times in 2000, “and I’m not a movie-star type, so people don’t demand that I’m always the same.”

“I had such a good time and a fruitful one with Ian, and my only regret was not to have worked with him once again,” Scott said in a statement. “Ian talked to me during production quite a lot, which I found to be very helpful. A great talent and a great man — we’ll miss him.”

Ian Holm Cuthbert was born on Sept. 12, 1931, in Goodmayes, England. His Scottish parents worked in a psychiatric hospital; his mother was a nurse and his father a psychiatrist and early innovator in the technique of electroshock therapy.

In a 2004 interview with The Independent, Holm said he spent a great deal of time around the asylum as a youngster.

“I wasn’t allowed near any of the dangerous patients,” he noted, “but I do remember one who was called Mr. Anderson. He was always immaculately dressed and, most days, he would fill a wheelbarrow with soil and then spend the rest of the day picking every grain of soil out of the wheelbarrow and putting it on the ground. I rather liked that.

“My childhood there was a pretty idyllic existence. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was happy, but it passed without too much trauma.”

Holm studied at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, then spent more than a decade at the Royal Shakespeare Company starting in 1954. In a 1959 production of Coriolanus, Laurence Olivier cut Holm’s finger during a sword fight, and he wound up with a scar that he was quite proud of.

He made several appearances on British television in the early ’60s, including a stint as King Richard III in the BBC miniseries The Wars of the Roses.

In London in 1965, Holm starred as Lenny, one of the sons of a retired butcher, in the first staging of Harold Pinter’s eerie The Homecoming. He accompanied the play to Broadway two years later and won his Tony award, then reprised the role for the 1973 film adaptation. (All three versions were directed by Peter Hall.)

“He puts on my shoe and it fits!” Pinter once said of Holm. “It’s really gratifying.”

Things did not go as smoothly for Holm in 1976 when stage fright struck during work on Eugene O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh.

“I got into my first preview, which I just managed to get through,” he recalled in 1998. “Then in the second preview, on the following night, I just walked off the stage and into the dressing room and said, ‘I’m not going back. I cannot go back.’ And they had to put the understudy on. My doctor said, ‘The Iceman goeth.’

“Something just snapped. Once the concentration goes, the brain literally closes down. It’s like a series of doors slamming shut in a jail. Actors dry up all the time. Well, I wasn’t just drying; I was stopping. My fellow actors were looking at me in amazement.”

Holm starred in Pinter’s Moonlight in 1993, then completed his stage comeback four years later when he disrobed completely in Richard Eyre’s acclaimed RSC production of King Lear and won an Olivier award.

Holm’s big-screen résumé also included The Fixer (1968), Oh! What a Lovely War (1969), Mary Queen of Scots (1971), Juggernaut (1974), Greystoke — The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes (1984), Dreamchild (1985), Henry V (1989), Hamlet (1990), Naked Lunch (1991), The Madness of King George (1994), A Life Less Ordinary (1997), Joe Gould’s Secret (2000), The Aviator (2004) and Strangers With Candy (2005), and he voiced the grumpy chef Skinner in Ratatouille (2007).

For all this, Holm was named a Commander of the British Empire in 1989 and knighted nine years later. He published his memoir, Acting My Life, in 2004.

Survivors include his wife, Sophie. He was married four times (his third wife was Downton Abbey actress Penelope Wilton), was in another yearslong relationship with a photographer, and had five children.