NEWS

DEATH & HAPPINESS

Sitting at the computer staring into the Photoshop workspace, the phone rang. It was the mother of an old friend from college with the news that he died last month. Colon cancer. Diagnosis and then dead two months later. We’d met in the late 1970s in college, were fellow photography students and friends. We drifted apart, both geographically and in worldviews over the years, but we stayed in touch. What a shock, dead at the age of 51 (the same age as me!).

After graduating college I went to work. He stayed in school. He really liked school. He liked the cloistered environment of college and he really liked women. I’m pretty sure ‘chasing pussy’ kept him school; he was motivated in that way. While I was establishing my studio he was studying architecture. After nine years of college he graduated and took a job as a draftsman in Chicago.

Once when I was in Chicago on assignment, I got together with my old friend. He wasn’t a happy man. He didn’t like architecture despite the pay. He missed the college girls. And at the age of 30-something, he was still doing all the things college boys do, the things I’d long since ‘outgrown.’

So he went back to school and got himself an MFA in photography. Although he had absolutely zero photography experience (never shot a brochure, ad or simple portrait) he had that two-year Master’s degree and got himself a job teaching photography. It seems his dreams had come true, he was back in the sheltered academic environment, and the college-girl pussy was readily available. With those goals met one may think he was a happy guy, but he wasn’t.

A couple of years ago he came through Arizona and stayed with us for one night. During the evening, when I’d left the room, he hit on my wife. I guess that pussy-chasing thing knows no bounds ---or honor. I avoided discussing art with him. He’s a professor and I’m a professional, and the two don’t often agree. I had little interest in his work as it’s done for fellow academics; and he had little interest in mine ---academics don’t respect professionals. He was still a profoundly unhappy person. He’d always held out for something better. He’d refused tenure because he wanted to keep the door open for a better position. He went through women because there might be someone better coming along. He never owned a home because there might be something nicer. He was never settled, never got comfortable with who he was.

Before his visit I checked him out on ratemyprofessor.com. Extremes! Loved or hated (and mostly hated). Aside from the few “wonderful teacher” comments the rest were horrifying; “killed my dreams,” “favors women,” “if you don’t make pictures like his, you’ll fail,” were the common comments. He graded hard. I’ve found that art professors who are unsure of their own talent and ability tend to suppress students and he was one of those. He never tested himself in the marketplace because he might fail, and really couldn’t teach what he did not know.

He took himself and his work seriously --- too seriously to have fun. Now he’s dead at the age of 51. He died alone in a rented house with a body of esoteric personal work that will end up…….. where? In a dumpster? (I hope not.)

Death (especially a young, sudden, death) makes one pause to think of their own mortality. What’s life all about? Does life have intrinsic meaning or do we apply meaning to our lives? Was it worth it for him to always ‘keep that door open?’ Was it worth it, never establishing a long-term loving relationship because something better may be over the horizon? What’s the point of living for tomorrow when tomorrow may never come? I think he had it good and that better thing had come along, but he failed to recognize it. In his lifelong quest for something better, he never seemed to appreciate what he had.

I wonder if he found happiness in death? Doubtful. He’s probably looking to upgrade to a nicer part of Hell or Heaven, and chasing women……. I’m saddened that he’s dead, and sadder that although ‘he died doing what he loved’ he never found happiness.

ALWAYS remember the words of Red Skelton: “Why take life seriously? Nobody gets out of it alive anyway.”

Dale

(Hopefully with 20+ years to go.) August 2010