A memorial for someone who deserves to be remembered.
In April '92, one of my dearest friends--Ed Clark, Jr.--died of AIDS in Orange Park, Florida, and I didn't know it until a few weeks ago when I called his parents' home and spoke with his mother.
I last saw Ed in Los Angeles in '84. He was still living in Florida, but was in L.A. visiting a friend. I must have sent him news of my marriage with our phone number and address. My then-husband is homophobic and because I'd informed him of Ed's bisexuality, he chose to wait out our visit in another room.
Eight years later, Ed Clark, Jr. would be dead, and I would have no idea until 20 years after the fact. In '92 the Internet was a gleam in computer geeks' eyes. Nowadays the swift availability of online info has made it possible for me to find many old friends -- many whom I'd feared dead. So it was a bit of a shock when his mother told me, although the difficulty in finding any info at all about a man who was an artist, playwright and philosopher did make me suspect he might no longer be on this earthly plane.
No one in my life ever made a deeper impression or changed my life so radically. I have never loved anyone more easily than I loved Ed.
The purpose of this Memorial Blog is to honor him. To give him a place on the Internet, and therefore a kind of tombstone. For he does not exist online, except as a footnote in his father's passing last September. And that's just not right. I'm sorry. He deserves better.
The conversation with his mother (a Steel Magnolia beautiful lady now in her 80s) went something like this:
Me: Can I please speak to Ed Clark, Jr.?
Mother: I'm sorry to tell you that Ed passed away 20 years ago.
Me: I'm so sorry, Mrs. Clark. I didn't know. We went to school together at Florida State. I lost touch, but we were very good friends. I met you and your husband a couple times.
Mother: Well, my husband just passed in September.
Me: Oh I'm sorry to hear that. He was a wonderful man, I remember. It must be so hard for you.
Mother: Yes.
Me: Um. Could you tell me how Eddie died? (His parents called him "Eddie")
(slight pause)
Mother: He had AIDS.
Me: Oh no! No! How terrible. I'm so sorry. I have some other friends who died of AIDS. We just didn't know...We had no idea back then. (slight silence) Could you- could you tell me where he's buried.
(another slight pause)
Mother: Orange Park Cemetery. He was cremated and his ashes are scattered there.
I've been looking all over the Net for an obit. Maybe there was one and it's not online? All I know is that the Orange Park Cemetery displays his father's obit (career Navy man who saw action in WWII, Korea, etc.) on their website but not his. I wrote to ask if there was one. They didn't reply.
I know it may seem rather obsessive (my friend Tom, to get me to stop crying, said, "Everybody dies."), but I feel the need to make this memorial and honor his life, who he was.
Granted we were out of touch for several years, but the basic beauty of the man remains.
Here then, to start off is the letter I mailed to his mother today for Christmas/New Year's--a packet that included photos from our college days in Tallahassee, Florida, and a photo of a portrait he did of me, which I know he didn't have.
I include it on this site not just for Mrs. Clark, but for mothers who might be tempted feel shame at how their sons died, especially if it was from AIDS. Just one more note: I had some trouble writing the first draft and left it for a day. I might not have gone back to it so quickly except last night I heard a radio program while I was making dinner, about a new film entitled "Pariah"--about the stigma LGBT kids suffer their whole lives. And I felt Ed nudging me...to do it.
Here it is:
December 21, 2012
In April '92, one of my dearest friends--Ed Clark, Jr.--died of AIDS in Orange Park, Florida, and I didn't know it until a few weeks ago when I called his parents' home and spoke with his mother.
I last saw Ed in Los Angeles in '84. He was still living in Florida, but was in L.A. visiting a friend. I must have sent him news of my marriage with our phone number and address. My then-husband is homophobic and because I'd informed him of Ed's bisexuality, he chose to wait out our visit in another room.
Eight years later, Ed Clark, Jr. would be dead, and I would have no idea until 20 years after the fact. In '92 the Internet was a gleam in computer geeks' eyes. Nowadays the swift availability of online info has made it possible for me to find many old friends -- many whom I'd feared dead. So it was a bit of a shock when his mother told me, although the difficulty in finding any info at all about a man who was an artist, playwright and philosopher did make me suspect he might no longer be on this earthly plane.
No one in my life ever made a deeper impression or changed my life so radically. I have never loved anyone more easily than I loved Ed.
The purpose of this Memorial Blog is to honor him. To give him a place on the Internet, and therefore a kind of tombstone. For he does not exist online, except as a footnote in his father's passing last September. And that's just not right. I'm sorry. He deserves better.
The conversation with his mother (a Steel Magnolia beautiful lady now in her 80s) went something like this:
Me: Can I please speak to Ed Clark, Jr.?
Mother: I'm sorry to tell you that Ed passed away 20 years ago.
Me: I'm so sorry, Mrs. Clark. I didn't know. We went to school together at Florida State. I lost touch, but we were very good friends. I met you and your husband a couple times.
Mother: Well, my husband just passed in September.
Me: Oh I'm sorry to hear that. He was a wonderful man, I remember. It must be so hard for you.
Mother: Yes.
Me: Um. Could you tell me how Eddie died? (His parents called him "Eddie")
(slight pause)
Mother: He had AIDS.
Me: Oh no! No! How terrible. I'm so sorry. I have some other friends who died of AIDS. We just didn't know...We had no idea back then. (slight silence) Could you- could you tell me where he's buried.
(another slight pause)
Mother: Orange Park Cemetery. He was cremated and his ashes are scattered there.
I've been looking all over the Net for an obit. Maybe there was one and it's not online? All I know is that the Orange Park Cemetery displays his father's obit (career Navy man who saw action in WWII, Korea, etc.) on their website but not his. I wrote to ask if there was one. They didn't reply.
I know it may seem rather obsessive (my friend Tom, to get me to stop crying, said, "Everybody dies."), but I feel the need to make this memorial and honor his life, who he was.
Granted we were out of touch for several years, but the basic beauty of the man remains.
Here then, to start off is the letter I mailed to his mother today for Christmas/New Year's--a packet that included photos from our college days in Tallahassee, Florida, and a photo of a portrait he did of me, which I know he didn't have.
I include it on this site not just for Mrs. Clark, but for mothers who might be tempted feel shame at how their sons died, especially if it was from AIDS. Just one more note: I had some trouble writing the first draft and left it for a day. I might not have gone back to it so quickly except last night I heard a radio program while I was making dinner, about a new film entitled "Pariah"--about the stigma LGBT kids suffer their whole lives. And I felt Ed nudging me...to do it.
Here it is:
December 21, 2012
Dear Mrs. Clark:
We spoke on the phone last month. Your son was a good friend of mine at Florida State University and we kept in touch for years after I left school and Florida
Eddie and I met at FSU in ’70, and although I lost track of him after my marriage in 1984, he has a place in my heart. I still have some of the letters he wrote me over the years and your address in Jacksonville
I apologize if my call might have been abrupt or startling; but he has often been on my mind and I have been trying to find him.
I’m also sorry to hear of your husband’s recent passing, and pray that your family is surrounding you with love during this difficult holiday season.
We met a couple times, and I remember you and your husband. Eddie brought me to your home once, and on impulse decided to cut my hair. I sat in a chair in your backyard while he cut my hair. You and your husband watched, saying:
“We hope you know what you’re doing, letting him near you with a scissors!”
But I had a lot of faith in your son. (P.S. – You can see that bad haircut in the photo of us together.)
In ’72, I saw you and your husband again. It was in Tallahassee
I deeply regret not knowing about his illness and not being able to be there for him.
The last time I saw Eddie was in ’84 here in Los Angeles
I’m writing to tell you how much I admired your son, and hope you will accept my praise for raising such a wonderful man.
Eddie was the sweetest, most gifted, intelligent man that I’ve ever known. He was not only well-read and a deep thinker, but an excellent artist and he knew how to have fun.
He stayed with me in Tallahassee
Another time, we organized friends to pick huckleberries and Eddie showed me how to make cobbler afterwards. We also did crazy things like dying thermal underwear. In one of the photos, Eddie is wearing one of those tie-dyed tops.
One time I came home from classes and my roommates were laughing because they’d found over-ripe bananas in the freezer, and were trying to figure out who would do such a thing. Eddie said: “Well, it couldn’t be Marlan. She’s far too rational.” But it was me.
My whole world changed when I met your son. His approach to life was serious and questing. And he was honest, straightforward and loved to laugh. He was never mean or over-bearing with anyone.
We met when he was living at the edge of town in Tallahassee
One day we were sitting and talking, and Eddie was saying that he didn’t think he could draw well. He said, “Here, I’ll show you.” And he drew a portrait of me that was so good, he couldn’t believe it. I’m enclosing a picture of that portrait. An artist friend of mine said it reminds him of the Mona Lisa!
I also have a lithograph of his that I find very beautiful. He only made 3. A visitor saw that lithograph and said, “NOBODY makes only three!” That’s how Eddie was. Humble, when you got right down to it.
When we first met, he used to visit me in my dormitory and he had to wait downstairs. While he waited, he’d play the piano. It sounded like classical music. One day, a mother of a student heard him and said, “You play beautifully!” He said, “I never had a lesson. I just make stuff up.” And she said, “But my dear, you MUST take lessons!” But he was already good.
I’m aware that after college, he had difficulties settling into regular life. And his letters sometimes talk about how hard he was trying. I visited him in Florida after college – can’t remember if it was in Tallahassee or Ft. Lauderdale
I remember the day he put vanilla on steak as an “experiment.”
He came to visit me when I lived in Boston after I left Florida Tallahassee Canada …and never returned to live in Florida
I relied on his wisdom and his sensitivity. Over the years, I wrote him many letters about my life as I traveled and lived in different cities. Years later, he sent me a packet of my letters and said, “I want you to see how much you’ve grown. How much you have to be proud of.”
And he had written responses on them, making up for when he hadn’t written back in some cases. One line that struck me was when he wrote: “I hope in time you’ll come to see that Growth – true Growth – comes with ease and not pain.”
Here is another quote from a letter written while I was still at FSU in 1971:
“You should have more confidence. A person’s merits are in their sincerity. Have faith in your sincerity and it will carry you well. Most doubts and fears are baseless until you act on them. Trust your insights and desires. They are your closest guides.
Relax. Decide on small goals and a determined field of inclusion. Enjoy what you do. Get out of any situation that you do not enjoy by the simplest and most direct method, no matter the cost lest it be worse. Or if it is worse, stay where you are till opportunities change. They will in good time. Then be happy, love what you can and broaden your interests and activities to the limits of your capabilities. Be sincere, inquisitive and relax as often as possible. Dream sweet thoughts and explore your imagination. Go wild with pleasant winds and sweet fragrances. Enjoy yourself and those you can. Imagine the world you want, then find out how to model it. If it changes in the process, all the better. The spice in any cake is added.”
I feel very fortunate to have known him, and news of his early passing is tragic. My prayer is that it was a time of Love and Forgiveness for all who were present, and that he went peacefully.
Mrs. Clark, I would welcome anything you’d like to share with me about your son. And at the same time, I respect your privacy. I just wanted to let you know how deeply sorry I am for your loss.
Best wishes for your Christmas and New Year,
Please write your book. Richard Hicks Nephew of Eddie Ed Clark Jr. ..
ReplyDeleteDear Richard: Your response made me weep. It is exactly what Eddie would have said! Thank you so much for your support. - Marlan
ReplyDelete