Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Heart-Jinxed Condition
by Ken Houghton
It won't be happening, and we are all the lesser for that.
When I first started going to conventions and conferences in the mid-1980s, David and his wife Alex were two of the people I saw most often. A common appreciation of nocturnal life and good Scotch got us through several multiple-party evenings.
He wrote incessantly, on several subjects, appearing in places such as Biblical Archaeology Review and writing for Steve Jackson Games. (iirc, he created games, not just documentation, for them.) He played music. He grinned. He laughed. He brightened a room.
In recent years, I haven't seen him as much; two young children re-prioritize convention attendance, and other matters have interfered. Mostly, I would see him at the "Mill & Swill" (SFWA Writers and Editors Reception; I believe he was the first person to use that phrase to describe it to me).
I ran into Alex, coincidentally, on a train to New Jersey last Autum. (I was going to class; she was working with an Orchestra in, maybe, New Brunswick.) She mentioned his heart attack (telling it as only someone who has come through the other side can) and that he was recovering.
By mid-November, he was up and about, playing a few places in the area in support of his new CD, but really just making people happy.
I don't think I have anything more to say, but I don't think I would have enjoyed the past twenty years—and especially 1987-1999—anywhere near so much if David hadn't been a part of it.
Rest in peace. Play a gentle tune.
Two days from now, David Honigsberg is scheduled to perform at the Pussycat Lounge.
It won't be happening, and we are all the lesser for that.
When I first started going to conventions and conferences in the mid-1980s, David and his wife Alex were two of the people I saw most often. A common appreciation of nocturnal life and good Scotch got us through several multiple-party evenings.
He wrote incessantly, on several subjects, appearing in places such as Biblical Archaeology Review and writing for Steve Jackson Games. (iirc, he created games, not just documentation, for them.) He played music. He grinned. He laughed. He brightened a room.
In recent years, I haven't seen him as much; two young children re-prioritize convention attendance, and other matters have interfered. Mostly, I would see him at the "Mill & Swill" (SFWA Writers and Editors Reception; I believe he was the first person to use that phrase to describe it to me).
I ran into Alex, coincidentally, on a train to New Jersey last Autum. (I was going to class; she was working with an Orchestra in, maybe, New Brunswick.) She mentioned his heart attack (telling it as only someone who has come through the other side can) and that he was recovering.
By mid-November, he was up and about, playing a few places in the area in support of his new CD, but really just making people happy.
I don't think I have anything more to say, but I don't think I would have enjoyed the past twenty years—and especially 1987-1999—anywhere near so much if David hadn't been a part of it.
Rest in peace. Play a gentle tune.
