I’ve been sitting at my desk for a while, trying to figure out how to put into words memories of a man I (and many others of us) unfairly hardly got to know. I was only really in Don’s presence a handful of times. Normally, I wouldn’t feel comfortable adding my small piece here. But, Don was anything but normal. From what little I knew of him, I think he’d revel in that short description.
The most memorable of my moments with Don was also the first time I met him. Ginny had invited Darci and Peyton and I to dinner with she and Dennis and Don while Susan was out of town. I was nervous – I was new here, and going to meet all these new people, including my Chair’s partner. I didn’t need to be, which I realized as soon as Don started talking, not because he wasn’t brilliant or witty, but because he wasn’t expecting anything from me but what I had to offer. That night, I learned that Don was an artist, and had shook Joan Jett’s hand and sat on a toilet right after Jodie Foster (which clearly impressed us all). We had a mutual hatred for various systems, and discussed how normalcy propels and authorizes us to do some really, well, idiotic shit. I remember less what we talked about, though, and more how I felt. I felt at home, listened to, respected, invested in. I almost immediately loved these wonderfully idiosyncratic people, my new colleagues and friends. I laughed so much my side hurt, ate way too many cookies, and thoroughly enjoyed the comforting boom of Don’s voice, the raise and lower of stories that came billowing from within and moved out into the night.
A few months ago, Don emailed me to thank me for some cake I’d made. It seems stupid to be writing about a thank you for cake, but minuscule as it may seem, it was this interaction that really shaped how I came to think about Don. I had no idea he’d had any of this particular cake -- there was no need take the time to recognize it at all. Instead, one particularly difficult morning I received his kind email of thanks, and a wish to see me soon. It was short and simple, but it made my day; in fact, I talked about it for days after, not only because of the appreciation, but because of what he reminded me. Don understood, I think, that (as Maya Angelou eloquently said) people will never forget how you made them feel. Even in our small interactions, much as it seems he did with everyone, Don made me feel I mattered and was appreciated, and in doing so reminded me how such little signals can be the things that keep us afloat. I kept the email. For a self-proclaimed guy who hated people, he also seemed to love them, deeply, a favor clearly and easily returned again and again.
The world is certainly dimmer without Don, that’s about the only other thing I can say for certain. I’m devastated for us all, for those of us who barely got to know him, and especially those for whom in the great pleasure of knowing him, also fully understand the magnitude of his loss.
With love,
Marie
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