A memorial for someone who deserves to be remembered.

Rowing on the corner, making mighty time;

You know, it’s hard to define, your body in your mind.

Rowing on the corner, trying out the line;

You know it’s time to lean, whatever you may find.

Rowing on the corner, looking up to find;

You know it’s hard to find a gentle man of mind.

Rowing on the corner, making up the sign;

You know it’s hard to mind the limits of your crime.

Rowing on the corner, looking up behind;

You know it’s hard to see what’s making up your mind.

  

                  - Ed Clark

Ed Clark, Jr. was a philosophical Sagittarius born December 5, 1949. Passed away April 1992 of AIDS in Orange Park, Florida. B.F.A. in Art from Florida State University. Artist. Playwright. Beloved Friend and Son. 

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 as a kind of "tombstone."

We met in Tallahassee when I was a sophomore at FSU, lived together briefly, had some incredible adventures together, and remained close through letters long after I left Florida. I last saw him in Los Angeles in '84. He showed up out of the blue. My then-husband is homophobic and because I'd informed him of Ed's bisexuality, my then-husband waited out our visit in another room. 

I'd just started classes at USC and Ed wanted to see me dance, so he accompanied me to my dance class.

Eight years later, he would be dead, and I would have no idea until 20 years later. 

I've searched the Internet for years, and finally found an indication that he might be living at home. So I called and here's the conversation with his mother (a Steel Magnolia-type beautiful lady now in her 80s):

Me:  Can I please speak to Ed Clark, Jr.? 

Mother: 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:  It was 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.

Me:  Do you have any of his art?

Mother:  Oh yes. He never sold anything.


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I can't find his obit anywhere on the Net. Maybe there was one way back then and it's just not online? I can find his father's obit (career Navy man who saw action in WWII, Korea, etc.) on the Orange Park Cemetery website. 

Perhaps my need to honor him may come off as rather excessive or obsessive (my friend Tom tried to ease my grief with: "Everybody dies."), but I feel the need to make this memorial and honor his life, who he was. 

Below 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 all mothers who might be tempted to feel shame at how their sons died, especially if it was from AIDS.

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.  It didn’t occur to me to try to find him at your residence until an Internet search indicated that he might still be living with you.

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 in ’72, and I had been taking summer classes at FSU. Eddie came to visit with you both.  You brought the most delicious prune cake or maybe it was plum?  I’ve been looking for the recipe ever since!

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, but I had just gotten married and we didn’t correspond after that.  My then-husband and I moved a few times after that.  I divorced in ’94.

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 one summer, and we used to go on outings with our friends. I’m enclosing a couple photos that I took from one of those outings. One is from when we went out to the woods to study outdoors.

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 th`e edge of town in Tallahassee. He was already out of school and hadn’t yet finished his senior year.  I had never met anyone like him.  And I still haven’t. He was one of a kind.

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.  He was dating a nice woman. And it was great to see him.

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. Then I came back to Tallahassee for a summer. But I decided to go adventuring with a friend to 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,

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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...JUST DO IT.