August 24, 2009
Hi all,
Thanks for organizing this [an email list]. I did not even know David had passed away until after his funeral, but wished I was there. (I know stuff like that gets crazy when someone dies). David and I met at UVa, where I remember becoming friends when we shared a class in the history of modern art. He has been such a loyal friend, always keeping in touch, always remembering my birthday, which was just the week after he died.
When I moved from California to Boston in 1990, he and I had a great plan to drive my '76 orange Honda station wagon across the country together. He flew out, but then my car died a terrible death in the airport parking garage while picking up my dad for my med school graduation. Fortunately, David had bought a round-trip plane ticket, just in case. We got to visit, and the pictures Joe Grady shared of David at Lake Tahoe were from that trip of his. I ended up moving to Boston by plane.
Periodically, I'd go down to NY to see my sister, who lives in Westchester, and make a trip into the city and get together with David, who knew all the gluten-free restaurants where we could go (sushi and Indian were among his favorites). Often I'd have my kids in tow or others. We walked around Manhattan a lot. One year, for his birthday, I sent David an Amtrak ticket to Boston, but unfortunately, he never used it :-(.
In the months after 9/11, I was hanging around NYC with David, who really could not stop talking how those terrible events has deeply affected him. We rode the Staten Island ferry, just to relax and chat, and he told me how things were in NYC around that time. He apologized for talking about it so much, but I was glad to hear it from him; it impressed me how deeply these events affected him.
Later, when I got interested in breastfeeding advocacy, David always sent me articles about the links between not-breastfeeding and subsequent development of celiac. He was also just so thoughtful!!
Anyway, I will so totally miss him. I can't even believe he is gone. Sometimes I see things that remind me of him, and I'm still in disbelief.
Melissa Bartick
Showing posts with label College. Show all posts
Showing posts with label College. Show all posts
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Meeting David's parents
August 12, 2009
All,
On the scale of amusing David stories, this one rates pretty low, but please indulge me. I drove to Sunday's service with Cari Howard. Cari, David, my wife Liz, and I all lived in the same dorm during our first year at UVA. David and I were suitemates while Liz and Cari lived in suites on the floors above us. I was telling Cari that I could recall meeting David's parents only once, on move-in day at the dorm in Aug 1980. I don't remember what I said or did on the occasion, but David later told me that his parents always had a certain fondness for me. At least I thought they did. The memory was so hazy and lacking in specifics that as I was talking to Cari I began to wonder if I had manufactured the whole conversation with David in my mind or perhaps I was confusing his parents with those of another friend.
After the service, back at the Fischers' home, I introduced myself to Mrs. Fischer and said I had met her and her husband that very first day at UVA at the dorm. Her expression grew distant and I could tell she was searching her own memories. After a beat, she said she remembered a boy sitting in front of the suite with his feet propped up on the balcony. Then it clicked. That was me. Now I have no idea why anyone would find that behavior on my part to be particularly endearing, charming, or memorable, and, alas, David is not around anymore to fill me in. But Mrs. Fischer was clearly pleased to be reminded of the episode and I was tickled, too, that we were able to share that memory, however indistinct it was in both our minds.
Anyway, it was a lovely service and very reaffirming to meet so many of David's friends from all phases of his life.
Jeff Seiken
All,
On the scale of amusing David stories, this one rates pretty low, but please indulge me. I drove to Sunday's service with Cari Howard. Cari, David, my wife Liz, and I all lived in the same dorm during our first year at UVA. David and I were suitemates while Liz and Cari lived in suites on the floors above us. I was telling Cari that I could recall meeting David's parents only once, on move-in day at the dorm in Aug 1980. I don't remember what I said or did on the occasion, but David later told me that his parents always had a certain fondness for me. At least I thought they did. The memory was so hazy and lacking in specifics that as I was talking to Cari I began to wonder if I had manufactured the whole conversation with David in my mind or perhaps I was confusing his parents with those of another friend.
After the service, back at the Fischers' home, I introduced myself to Mrs. Fischer and said I had met her and her husband that very first day at UVA at the dorm. Her expression grew distant and I could tell she was searching her own memories. After a beat, she said she remembered a boy sitting in front of the suite with his feet propped up on the balcony. Then it clicked. That was me. Now I have no idea why anyone would find that behavior on my part to be particularly endearing, charming, or memorable, and, alas, David is not around anymore to fill me in. But Mrs. Fischer was clearly pleased to be reminded of the episode and I was tickled, too, that we were able to share that memory, however indistinct it was in both our minds.
Anyway, it was a lovely service and very reaffirming to meet so many of David's friends from all phases of his life.
Jeff Seiken
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Memories
August 9, 2009
I hope I can add to the photographs...in the meantime, my memory in words. It got long...
I met David my first day of college. I must have met dozens of others too, including Jeff and people who became life-long friends, but where those memories of first encounters have grown hazy, my first impression of David remains vivid. He was standing on the steps in front of the 130s, wearing his Mao cap, eager to talk. He was brimming with confidence and ideas and strong opinions.
Much later, after we both moved to New York after graduation, he told me that New Yorkers all claimed him as their own. Jews identified him as Jewish, Puerto Ricans as Puerto Rican and African Americans thought he was black. When I first met David, I knew that college students were supposed to be people who were interesting and fun and went to free events. David was all of that. We spent hours in conversation and this, I knew, was exactly how college students were meant to pass the time.
I struggled to keep up with David. He talked about the youth orchestra trip to China as if I had played trombone and unloaded instruments right beside him. He spoke of filmmaker Buneul and his “Andalusian Dog” and something that sounded to me like “Lodge Door.” Was he already a fan of Henry Miller? I think so. We saw “Clockwork Orange” together at Wilson Hall. When I wanted to see the made-for-TV movie of Marilyn French’s “The Women’s Room,” David accompanied me to the TV lounge in a nearby dorm. I also got to know Howie and Sue and Dave and Joy—almost as if they were characters in a book I had yet to read. (And it was a full cast of characters…if your name doesn’t appear here, it’s my failure of memory, no doubt.)
David and I auditioned for Pep Band the same afternoon. David, of course, was selected. I failed to win a spot playing clarinet and was sorry but not surprised. I knew how poorly I played. But David took it to heart. He didn’t argue with me about my ability, but he mourned with me my lost opportunity at making music with other people. He was so articulate in how there should be such opportunities, even for third-rate players, that forever after that I thought of David whenever I heard about a “no-audition” community orchestra.
David had firm ideas about so many things. I was never quite able to negotiate his forceful certainties and so we argued. We were romantic for just a moment—perhaps from his birthday to Thanksgiving--but he remained a generous friend for years. I owed my part-time job working in the UVA music department to him. He selected a Robert Graves poem to read at Jeff’s and my wedding: “The Starred Coverlet.” Later, when we were both establishing ourselves as freelance writers, he passed along freelance jobs that he thought suited my strengths. My work for Millbrook Press began thanks to an introduction from David.
If David and I drifted apart in the last 10 or so years, the fault rests with me. Jeff is traveling with Cari Howard to the funeral today. Right now I dearly wish I could attend. Instead I am home with a toddler and a teenager who made a 1,400-mile roadtrip to the midwest with me. I hope many, many stories of David’s fabulous sense of humor get shared this afternoon. He had a special appreciation for visual jokes. Maybe Jeff will get a chance to share the sea cucumber story.
I think now, if David were the first person to greet me in some vast ecumenical heaven, that I would be pleased. Who better to point out the most interesting corners! And if, by chance, he insisted that Buneul be the first soul that I meet, that would be ok too.
Liz Marshall
I hope I can add to the photographs...in the meantime, my memory in words. It got long...
I met David my first day of college. I must have met dozens of others too, including Jeff and people who became life-long friends, but where those memories of first encounters have grown hazy, my first impression of David remains vivid. He was standing on the steps in front of the 130s, wearing his Mao cap, eager to talk. He was brimming with confidence and ideas and strong opinions.
Much later, after we both moved to New York after graduation, he told me that New Yorkers all claimed him as their own. Jews identified him as Jewish, Puerto Ricans as Puerto Rican and African Americans thought he was black. When I first met David, I knew that college students were supposed to be people who were interesting and fun and went to free events. David was all of that. We spent hours in conversation and this, I knew, was exactly how college students were meant to pass the time.
I struggled to keep up with David. He talked about the youth orchestra trip to China as if I had played trombone and unloaded instruments right beside him. He spoke of filmmaker Buneul and his “Andalusian Dog” and something that sounded to me like “Lodge Door.” Was he already a fan of Henry Miller? I think so. We saw “Clockwork Orange” together at Wilson Hall. When I wanted to see the made-for-TV movie of Marilyn French’s “The Women’s Room,” David accompanied me to the TV lounge in a nearby dorm. I also got to know Howie and Sue and Dave and Joy—almost as if they were characters in a book I had yet to read. (And it was a full cast of characters…if your name doesn’t appear here, it’s my failure of memory, no doubt.)
David and I auditioned for Pep Band the same afternoon. David, of course, was selected. I failed to win a spot playing clarinet and was sorry but not surprised. I knew how poorly I played. But David took it to heart. He didn’t argue with me about my ability, but he mourned with me my lost opportunity at making music with other people. He was so articulate in how there should be such opportunities, even for third-rate players, that forever after that I thought of David whenever I heard about a “no-audition” community orchestra.
David had firm ideas about so many things. I was never quite able to negotiate his forceful certainties and so we argued. We were romantic for just a moment—perhaps from his birthday to Thanksgiving--but he remained a generous friend for years. I owed my part-time job working in the UVA music department to him. He selected a Robert Graves poem to read at Jeff’s and my wedding: “The Starred Coverlet.” Later, when we were both establishing ourselves as freelance writers, he passed along freelance jobs that he thought suited my strengths. My work for Millbrook Press began thanks to an introduction from David.
If David and I drifted apart in the last 10 or so years, the fault rests with me. Jeff is traveling with Cari Howard to the funeral today. Right now I dearly wish I could attend. Instead I am home with a toddler and a teenager who made a 1,400-mile roadtrip to the midwest with me. I hope many, many stories of David’s fabulous sense of humor get shared this afternoon. He had a special appreciation for visual jokes. Maybe Jeff will get a chance to share the sea cucumber story.
I think now, if David were the first person to greet me in some vast ecumenical heaven, that I would be pleased. Who better to point out the most interesting corners! And if, by chance, he insisted that Buneul be the first soul that I meet, that would be ok too.
Liz Marshall
College roommates expose Fischer truths!
August 8, 2009
[[I'm jealous of you New Yorkers/East Coasters who'll get to join together and commemorate David this weekend. I offer the second draft of what will be a perpetual work-in-progress, and a fairly crummy (but relatively recent!) photo of David (in a sushi restaurant in Baltimore) in '05. -Ben ]]
The weather is 103ยบ as I write this, after a record-breaking month of July here in Austin. It reminds me of another instance of heat-related “What was I thinking?,” when in August 1987 David and I drove from Bloomington, Indiana, where I was in grad school, to New Orleans. We traveled the historic Natchez Trace Parkway on the way down, sweated a lot in the cemeteries and streetcars, and saw a great funk band, Bad Mutha Goose, at Tipitina’s. On the way back David lobbied for us to divert to Metropolis, Illinois, which had some kind of Superman museum, but I nixed it. Sorry, David. Anyway, the highlight of the trip occurred in Indiana, where the possibly sadistic operator of a horse trail set us atop two wild stallions who lunged through the thick woods as we held on for dear life.
That David and I voluntarily undertook a hot summer driving vacation showed how our friendship had matured and solidified, after being forged under stress our junior year at the University of Virginia. We shared a small bedroom in the Lambeth Apartments. Sharing an apartment is one thing, but it’s rather inhumane to force college students to share a bedroom. I wasn’t particularly focused or happy back then, and I’m sure it was no picnic for David. Years later he said “I must have driven you crazy.”
Two David phrases that drove me crazy: “Cheer up.”
And “Do what you want.” I *will*, David.
And when I made one of my pathetic attempts at cooking, as soon as I served it up you’d start doctoring it, what nerve! But David, plenty else other than you was driving me crazy back then – take a smidgen of blame if you must.
Luckily we didn’t kill each other, and even voluntarily lived together our senior year in a six-person group house at 1311 John Street. It was my best year of college, and one of the best years of my life. I’m no actuary, but it seems improbable that 25 years on, two of we six are no longer living, and another had open-heart surgery. Not unfair, but improbable.
It was me, Mr. Skinny Non-Smoker, who had the quadruple bypass less than three months ago. David was the first person I spoke with on the phone afterwards. It was around 6:30am, the morning after the operation, and I was still in the ICU, with a few tubes sticking out of me. But I had definitely come out the other side. Selfishly I was thinking practical: one “I’m OK” call to the guy who gets the word out, without fail. David was reliably great at that, and he must have enjoyed doing it.
In the friendship ledger, *David* owes *me* a phone call from the ICU.
Now I’m walking around like nothing ever happened except this scar on my chest. Death came after both of us this summer. And I flatter myself thinking I’d take half the hit with you, just so we’d both still be standing, or at least sitting. But those deals are only ever offered in fiction, as you the fiction maven know.
As my disability leave was drawing to a close in July, I floated the idea of a four-way John Street reunion, comprising as many as possible out of me, David, Harris and Joe. (Tiffany resides in Hawaii and comes mainland infrequently.) David set up a spreadsheet-like application, and we all input our availability, but the best we could do was three of us, in Rhode Island, without David, whose still-busy schedule was now occupied with possibly resettling his mother in Maryland.
College buddy reunions are already fertile ground for reminiscing, but when Joe cracked open a box of old photos, the floodgates opened. We basically recounted much of our whole college experience, invoking many memories of David. Sure we were sorry David wasn’t there right then in Joe’s backyard. But really there was only joy, in what was our unwitting rehearsal for this new ritual.
And I find myself returning to your drive-me-crazy phrase: “Cheer up.” I *will*, David, for your sake and for ours.
Ben Kim
Austin, TX
From Los Angeles
August 7, 2009
Hi, all. Just wanted to say how truly devastated I am at the sad news of our loss of David. For all of us, it has come as such a surprise. In the words of James Taylor, "Thought I'd see you one more time again." I haven't seen David in a long time. I'm in L.A. now although I lived in NYC after we all graduated from University of Virginia. Anne and I shared our apartment called the "Hotel Carmine." Those were exciting years! At UVa, I had the lucky opportunity to take classes with David, but the class that stands out is author Ann Beattie's fiction writing workshop. (I know a few people on this list went through this traumatic experience, too.) Later, after college, when I moved to NYC and worked for Vogue, David became a good friend. As Frank so aptly described, he had "...an enormous heart and a wonderful mind." Since I learned David was so ill, memories of our friendship have flooded back. On Sunday evening, I happened to turn on the movie "Rock n' Roll High School." Believe it or not, I'd never seen it! Knowing David was in the ICU, I'd felt a sense of sadness all day. Then, I saw this one character in the film, and a casual remark I'd long since forgotten David had made so many years ago rushed back: He'd told me that his friends said he looked like the character in "Rock n' Roll High School." But at the time I hadn't known what he meant as I'd never seen the movie. It's true! For a moment there was David on the big screen. So even though I wasn't able to be near him in NYC, a casual remark he'd made so many years ago somehow transported him to me. That's just one incident the universe has given me this last week. Like all of you, I loved David. He was a good friend. Since I'm in L.A., I don't think I can attend his service on Sunday. But I'm there in Spirit. And David will always hold a special place in my heart. I will light a candle and meditate, knowing he's not that faraway, just over the bridge...
Peace and Love,
Hilary Iker
Hi, all. Just wanted to say how truly devastated I am at the sad news of our loss of David. For all of us, it has come as such a surprise. In the words of James Taylor, "Thought I'd see you one more time again." I haven't seen David in a long time. I'm in L.A. now although I lived in NYC after we all graduated from University of Virginia. Anne and I shared our apartment called the "Hotel Carmine." Those were exciting years! At UVa, I had the lucky opportunity to take classes with David, but the class that stands out is author Ann Beattie's fiction writing workshop. (I know a few people on this list went through this traumatic experience, too.) Later, after college, when I moved to NYC and worked for Vogue, David became a good friend. As Frank so aptly described, he had "...an enormous heart and a wonderful mind." Since I learned David was so ill, memories of our friendship have flooded back. On Sunday evening, I happened to turn on the movie "Rock n' Roll High School." Believe it or not, I'd never seen it! Knowing David was in the ICU, I'd felt a sense of sadness all day. Then, I saw this one character in the film, and a casual remark I'd long since forgotten David had made so many years ago rushed back: He'd told me that his friends said he looked like the character in "Rock n' Roll High School." But at the time I hadn't known what he meant as I'd never seen the movie. It's true! For a moment there was David on the big screen. So even though I wasn't able to be near him in NYC, a casual remark he'd made so many years ago somehow transported him to me. That's just one incident the universe has given me this last week. Like all of you, I loved David. He was a good friend. Since I'm in L.A., I don't think I can attend his service on Sunday. But I'm there in Spirit. And David will always hold a special place in my heart. I will light a candle and meditate, knowing he's not that faraway, just over the bridge...
Peace and Love,
Hilary Iker
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