He was the only person I knew when I moved to New York City. The older brother of a dear friend, I’d long idolized him as the sole person from our small catholic high school to study film at New York University — my holy grail of colleges. He was tall and thin and theatrical and when I finally arrived at Tisch myself he didn’t hesitate to take me under his wing both on campus and off — I shoveled snow as a PA on his thesis film and he invited me to fabulous parties with themes like “Dead Literati” where he introduced me to fascinating people. Yesterday at his memorial service I recounted to someone how I knew Dave and they clasped their hand over their heart and exclaimed with a grin — “what an incredible ambassador to the city!”. He was.
It was an artist’s sendoff — rightfully so, his creativity was permeating and made better artists of everyone around him. The service opened with an old friend singing You Can’t Take That Away From Me, audible sobs repeatedly escaping the congregation in stark contrast with her piano accompaniment and upbeat croon, and continued on as picture perfect as if David had directed it himself. No one tried to hide their pain; My brilliant and beautiful friend Diane eulogized her brother through her tears, knowing full well that composing herself wasn’t an option, making for one of the most raw and heartbreaking farewells to a lost loved one that I’ve ever had the honor of witnessing.
Dave and I weren’t close, but we were kindred spirits — Deep Valley kids matriculating through the same unique pattern of schools and art programs, chasing a love of film with a dark sense of humor.
Sitting in the pews watching the final chapter be written for a life which you sought to emulate is a humbling experience. …continue reading…