From Portland, Oregon

August 10, 2009

David,

It has always been difficult for me to write for you. As I write today, your service is taking place on Long Island and I am sitting in a hotel room in Portland, Oregon wishing I could be with you, your family and friends. In a way, we are both home right now and I feel as close to you as anyone in attendance at your memorial.

I think you knew I struggled when I was writing something for you to read or edit. Though I pride myself on written expression, I was always more nervous turning in something to you than to any other. Our relationships (yes, plural) made sharing our skills an exercise in maintaining a delicate balance. I'm sure you remember that when we met you were the assistant to my predecessor as director of an editorial department. You trained me in my new job before I promoted you to the artists publicity representative position in which you excelled. Together, we computerized the department while setting new standards for editorial discipline. You flourished in the role and kept me honest when I was tempted to be lazy about pushing the status quo.

We bonded that first year by enthusiastically following the Mets' unbelievable road to the 1986 World Series. I was in awe of your ability to impersonate the batting stance of so many of the players. One would not think that a batting stance would be memorable. The truth is, your takes on Mookie and Darryl and Gary and Keith and Ray and Lenny were not only spot on but totally hilarious. I've not met anyone since who could do it.

Within a year, our department added a top-drawer wordsmith. Naomi came to us with a Duke degree in Latin and a grad degree in Classics from UNC along with a Southern upbringing. Her cubicle was next to yours. There were tiffs, brawls and battle royals concerning proper usage. My favorites were the grudge matches where one of you would come back days later with the coups de gras over some issue of editorial disagreement. You cared so much about the job and it made us all better.

When you left Columbia Artists for Life Magazine, our interest in the arts and particularly independent film kept us in touch. I soon stopped being amazed when, at a screening of an obscure film by Tati or Fassbinder (or a Chuck Jones fest), wife Susan would poke me and say, "look, there's David in the next row!" It was during this period that you asked me to contribute to a story to a book you were compiling. In editing, it was then that you instructed me to “murder your darlings” (a phrase first coined by Arthur Quiller-Couch or Fitzgerald or Twain depending on who you believe). I have remembered that since thank you, though not today.

Our last stint as co-workers ended 7 1/2 years ago though it seems like many fewer. Again, editorial content and computers were involved as we led a team to create internet lessons for travel agents. Again, you were the standard bearer for quality and correctness and I for expediency and productivity. I am so glad that you won most arguments and that the product we helped develop is still going strong all these years later. Once more, my association with you made me a better person.

Most recently I have been a fan, and sometime participant, enjoying "Blog About Town" and your other online endeavors. Your work once again has been instructive to me and I've used some of your postings in my own classroom.

So, here we are. You have assembled an amazing group for your memorial which is not in the least surprising. If anything, you always knew how to bring people together. I am here in my home town, sorry that I could not share my thoughts in person but glad to hear of the great outpouring of feelings and memories. And now, I am past deadline and you are (I hope) waiting patiently.

David, I am going to miss you a lot. I have a feeling that you know you are a unique and exceptional person. I hope you know that your influence will live on with me and with so many others. I also know that if you could, you would cut this piece of writing in half. You would eliminate cliches and unmix metaphors. Not today David. Today I am sending this out just as I wrote it. I am sending it out just as I feel it. I hope you understand.

Godspeed,
Dolph Timmerman