The Furious Spinner

One of my oldest and dearest friends died yesterday. I've spoken of him here, most often as our poet friend. Or by his name, David Johnson. When we moved out West in 1982 and landed in Bandon, Oregon, he was one of the first people we met. I believe the first time I saw him he was working on a printing press in the back of the historical museum. I can still see him there. Smiling. A twinkle. He always seemed to have a twinkle back then. And a way with words and a turn of a phrase that could even put Tom Robbins to shame. He kept his private life close to him, as many Westerners do, but he could talk about poetry and writing until the cows came home. I loved him immediately. The three of us began a writing group back then and others came and went but Dave was always there.

I don't remember which of us moved away from Bandon first. Except for a few lost years, we stayed in contact. The lost years happened to be when he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. He called us about a year after the diagnosis when he was living in Eugene. He moved up to Portland, and we loved it because we got to see him a lot. When we reunited in Portland, we had both mellowed with age, and we became much closer because we saw that we now shared chronic illness—something both of us hated yet we both continued to write, continued to surf the creative flow, although his journey was much rougher than mine, far more filled with peril.

I never saw him feel sorry for himself. I saw him frustrated. Trying to convince the appropriate agencies that yes he really did have a brain tumor so he could get medical treatment and disability was not a fun time. Having a stroke and wandering around lost in his building was not fun. Having another stroke while getting chemotherapy was very difficult. He had to learn to walk and use his hand again. Getting another brain tumor on his tumor was really not a good time. Not to mention the side effects of his medication, etc. But he continued to write. He fell in love and got married. He moved to Russia. He got kicked out of Russia. His wife left him. He kept writing.

We saw him just before we left for Arizona. Took him to the Tao of Tea. A couple of weeks ago, he finished his last round of chemo for the tumor on the tumor which had disappeared last year. He was so excited about ending that. He was so excited about a couple of readings he was doing in a couple of months. Plus he was coming out with a new poetry book. He had a new girlfriend. He was supposed to get knee surgery yesterday, and we had promised to bring food to the hospital and hang out with him during rehab.

He never made it to surgery. His ex-wife found him in his one-room apartment after the hospital called wondering where he was. We don't know why he died yet. And it doesn't matter. I've talked so much about his illness, but he was more than that. He was poetry. He was the bard. He knew everyone, in a laidback kind of way. (Never heard him brag about nuthin' his whole life.) He was charming and good looking. (He would be very pleased I said so.) We loved him truly, dearly, absolutely, and we still do. We cannot imagine the world without him. 8 comments

8 Comments:

I'm so sorry for your loss. What a lovely tribute you've written for your friend. It sounds like he lived life fully. Beautiful.

By  Inanna, at 7:48 AM  

Thanks, Inanna. I'm afraid I'm quite speechless about it all. So I appreciate your words.

By  Kim Antieau, at 11:06 AM  

Beautiful. Sad.

It is so true that our friends are only on loan to us.

Peace.

By  Tom Marshall, at 1:41 PM  

Sending love, dear Kim, as you and Mario grieve over the loss of your beautiful friend. It sounds like his death is a loss to us all.

By  Patricia, at 8:58 PM  

Thanks, Tom and Patricia.

By  Kim Antieau, at 8:36 AM  

Oh, honey, I am in tears and I never met this wonderful soul. I am terrible with names, but I certainly remember you talking about your friend with the brain tumor. I am greiving for you here in the south, wondering if being creative somehow opens us up in ways that make our bodies vulernable, so many creative people struggling with health issues. Hang on!

Pam

By  Anonymous, at 8:15 PM  

Dearest Kim and Mario,

I am still in shock over Dave's quick departure. Was looking forward to drinking rum and recouting our trip to Belize with him. Belize was one setting in his work in progress. Now I am off to synagogue to recite the Kaddish for him.

I feel all the more close to you both now that this has happened. We have lost a beloved member of our greater family. What will become of his 'children', his manuscripts.

I send you kindest regards,
Rachel

By  Anonymous, at 9:43 AM  

Thanks, Pammy and Rachel. Hope to see you soon, Rachel. We're concerned about his manuscripts too. I'm glad you're saying Kaddish for him. On Monday during the New Moom, Mario and I will do a ceremony for him. I think we should all get together and do a poetry reading of his work. Something. We'll talk soon.

By  Kim Antieau, at 9:54 AM  

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