"Dave's Not Here, Man."

On the morning of May 27, bleary-eyed from a good night’s sleep, I checked my Twitter feed for news of the upcoming Formula 1 Grand Prix in Monaco. Reading the tweets from various drivers, teams and sports reporters intensified a resolve to travel to Monaco for next year’s race. All I needed was a travel companion and I knew just the person: my friend David Patterson.

David's 40th Birthday with me and Mom. I'm wearing his necklace.

David was the perfect choice! He was an avid race fan, traveling every year to The Indy 500 for his birthday. I dialed his phone number with the intention to wish him both a happy birthday and a safe trip to Indianapolis... and, oh, by the way, how would you like to go with me to the Formula 1 Grand Prix in Monaco next year? There’ll be good looking women there!

The selection of his name from my smart phone contact list resulted in the familiar (and slightly annoying) “chirping” that precedes the robo-message reporting a landline number had been disconnected. ‘That’s odd,’ I thought. Perhaps I had incorrectly entered his number in my phone, so I checked it against my ‘old school’ phone book. No. There was no mistake. I had the number right.

Knowing David’s parents both had health issues, I thought (God forbid) something might have happened to one of them. Maybe he had gone to live with one of them. Instinctively, I checked the online local listing of recent obituaries to search for his parents’ names. Instead, I found David’s obituary.

Shock. Stunned. Disbelief.

“No...no...no...” Tears streamed down my face as I read more details that only confirmed the worst I could have imagined. Not only was my friend David gone...I had just missed his funeral. I could not have felt lower.

Getting ready for work was difficult. The grief washed over me in waves. My eye makeup dissolved away faster than I could apply it.

Mom was awake before I left for the office. “I have some bad news...,” I began when I told her what happened. “I’m sorry,” Mom said as she hugged me. We cried together. “Are you sure you were awake this morning?” she asked, trying to rationalize what I’d just reported. “Maybe you only dreamed it. You know you have very vivid dreams,” she reasoned, “and you remember every little detail of them.” I appreciated her attempt to ease my heart and mind. “Mom,” I assured her, “I was fully awake. It’s real.”

We sat at the kitchen table for a little bit, and we talked and remembered David.

The David I Knew

I met David Patterson in May 2001 when I was hired at a small local printing company. David was the lead pressman and I was the senior graphic design professional.

Press crew: Mindy, me, Tracy, Kim, David, Rikk (seated) & Zack.

David was very skilled at what he did. He had to be. At that time, he was printing 4-color jobs on a 2-color Ryobi press, not a very conventional nor efficient way of running a full-color print job. It required feeding the sheets of paper through the press twice: laying down the Yellow and Cyan inks first, then completely washing up the press units, and filling them again with Magenta and Black. Because of this unusual process, David developed a good eye for laying the right amount of ink to specific types of paper. It made him persnickety about bleeds, trapping and registration. He also had an acute aversion to anything that wasted paper.

On the day the printing company took delivery of a 4-color Hamada printing press, it was like Christmas Morning for David! He was bustling about the press room, clearing an area out for the newest acquisition, hauling cartons of paper, moving tables and sweeping floors. When the machine arrived, David stood on the loading dock, guiding the delivery truck and taking pictures. He was so focused and protective, like the father of a newborn child entering the world.

No one could blame David for such enthusiasm. After all, this piece of equipment was going to allow him to fully run larger 4-color jobs with the speed and efficiency they were meant to run. David would not have to “baby-sit” the new Hamada the way he did the old Ryobi. There would be little need to stand guard and monitor ink levels and watch for paper jams on the Hamada. It had all the “bells and whistles” for that. Additionally, David could run smaller jobs on the Ryobi and larger ones on the Hamada simultaneously. He could even leave the press room for a few minutes to heat his coffee in the company microwave.

As a designer, I was aware of the press process, however, David taught me the finer points of press work. It made me a better and more efficient designer when setting up my final files for plating. When I was hired, our boss told me, “If the presses aren’t running, we’re not making any money.” For his part, David made sure that the company was making money.

From my office, I could hear David’s favorite music blaring from his radio over the rhythmic “shhupp...shhupp...shhupp” of the press. It was a soothing sound except when the rhythm broke because of a rare misfeed. “Dammit!” David’s voice would rise above the din.

There were days when I would be engrossed my “design zone”, David would take the opportunity to sneak into my office and shake the back of my chair. I really hated that. It would startle the heck out of me and he’d laugh. When a person is truly your friend, you can tell them anything without fear of hurting the friendship. I told David I didn’t mind his little visits, but “Please don’t do that.” “Aw, come on!” he said with his big voice and his even bigger grin, “You know that’s just how I am!” I sighed, “Yeah, I do...but, eh, just dial it back a bit, okay?” And--to borrow from Pirate parlance--we had an accord.

We worked well together, and I recall the day David and I became friends. Within the first couple weeks of being with the printing company, I spent an afternoon with him doing piece work. I can’t remember exactly what the chore involved (inventory, packing brochures?) but it allowed us time to chat and I got my first real, good look at David as a person.

“Hippie Dave”

David at the EAA Fly-In, Oshkosh, WI. (Photo by Tony Plewa)

David Patterson was a throw-back. He was a “Hippie” caught in an increasingly “Millennial” world. He didn’t have a computer and when asked why, he’d say, “I don’t do email.”  He’d probably scoff at this blog! I don’t believe David owned a cell phone. His standard answer ­­­-- “If I’m not at home, you know where to find me” -- indicated that he’d be at one of his favorite Downtown West Allis pubs.

When I first met David, his mode of transportation was the city bus. Once, I gathered the courage to inquire about the circumstances. David told me he’d lost his license some years back...a driving violation. When he was eligible for his license again, David never pursued it because riding the bus was convenient and money-saving for him. He didn’t have to make car payments or buy auto insurance or a parking permit or pay for gas or repairs. David was simply content with the arrangement. Years later, he decided to reapply for his driver’s license. When he received his license, we made plans to go to lunch and HE drove. It was fun!

David loved wearing tie-dyed t-shirts. “They hide the ink stains,” he would laugh. David wore comfy, faded jeans that fit him nicely (not that horrible saggy-baggy trend) and also displayed splashes of ink. An army green cap sat atop his coarse auburn hair which he usually wore long enough to touch his shirt collar. More often than not, David sported facial hair of some sort, ranging from a full beard to a meticulously trimmed goatee.

I rarely saw David’s freckled face without a broad smile, and there was always a sparkle in his bright blue eyes.

David’s denim printer’s apron was the kind that hangs around the neck, covering the chest and thighs. When tied at the waist, it accentuated his lean physique. (Yeah, that’s right. I looked. So sue me.) David’s shoulders were in just the right proportion to his waist, and his arms were strong from lifting and hauling heavy cases of paper stock. His strength was evident when he would hug people. His embrace was like the crushing grip of a Grizzly Bear. David could lift you off the floor and take your breath away. I don’t think he realized his own strength!

David at Indy 500 in 2010. He loved the ladies!

Outside of the print shop, David would still sport a t-shirt of some sort: auto racing, vintage rock band or tie-dyed sans the printer’s ink. On special occasions he would wear button down shirts and nice trousers. I’ve seen him wear a necktie for high holidays. There were a few times he had his hair cut short and his face was clean shaven. It was then that he looked the most handsome to me.

Whatever one thought of David’s appearance, it was his boisterous personality that made him endearing.  David’s voice was deep and gravely, and his laugh was loud and hearty. His answering machine message remained the same for years: “Ahh, you know the drill...” And when he would call you back, he’d ask, “Who’s your buddy, who’s your pal?”

A Man’s Best Friend

David's Best Friend, Worf.

A fan of “Star Trek”, David had a dog he named “Worf.” Worf was a big hairy beast, and like his master, Worf was gentle and loving. David was perpetually covered with Worf’s fur. When David would ride in my car, it was as if Worf had been in the vehicle, too! And when David hugged you, he left a little bit of Worf behind.

Once as David lay relaxing on the couch one night watching television, Worf had jumped up on the couch with him. The dog had stretched out alongside him, snuggling close to him. David pet Worf’s fur, and after a while he looked at the dog’s face and laughed, “I love you, Pal, but, why aren’t you a woman?” What a classic sense of humor!

Whether for birthday, Christmas or Halloween­­, every greeting card David sent was signed with Love from him and Worf.

A Patron of the Arts

Label for David's home-brewed beer.

David had commissioned me to draw a portrait of himself as a gift for his mother. It depicted David at different ages, and yes, the central drawing included Worf. The project was a fun one and I felt like I got to watch David grow up.

Another project for which David had hired me was an annual calendar highlighting the past year of his life. He gave these to family and friends as Christmas gifts. When he tried his hand at home brewing, David also had me design a label for his own brand of beer. The beer was yucky, but it looked really awesome!

David bartered one project with me for a case of Smirnoff Ice. The liquor lasted a couple of years, which he thought was hysterical. It was a running joke between us, long after I drank the last bottle.

A Generous Soul

David was a generous person with a kind heart. Every St. Valentine’s Day he would buy chocolates from a local candy store for all the ladies in the shop. Likewise, he would bring cookies from a local bakery for them on Sweetest Day. For Christmas one year, David bought plaid scarves for each of us. He always brought back souvenirs from his annual trips to visit his parents in Florida: seashells, starfish, blowfish, sand dollars, and a necklace with a little flip-flop on it.

Personally, David had given me the most thoughtful gifts. He had given me a St. Catherine medallion on a chain. “Do you get it?” he asked. “St. Catherine is the patron saint of artists; Kathryn is your Confirmation name, aaaaaaaand,” he explained with a gleam in his eye, “Kathryn is also my mother’s name.” I was dumb struck at the depth of thought he put into something so simple.

Barbie from David with dress sewn by his mom.

Another gift from David was a Barbie doll for my collection. She was wearing a red and white bandana-patterned Country Western dress his mother had sewn. He chose this particular doll for me because I had been in the Miss West Allis Western Days Pageant a few years before. The doll was shoeless and he explained, “I figured that didn’t matter because you’d probably have a pair of boots for her already. Plus, she was the only one wearing big earrings... like you do.” David was right. I did have a pair of black cowboy boots for the doll among the accessories, and I do love big earrings! David knew me well in so many ways.

When he was redecorating his bathroom, David mentioned buying a new shower curtain with lighthouses on it. The curtain came with matching rugs and toilet seat cover. Everyone began buying lighthouse-themed knickknacks for him. I bought him a lighthouse wind chime. “Enough with the lighthouses already!” he said one day. “I don’t really like lighthouses.” He proceeded to explain that he simply bought the shower curtain with the lighthouses because that’s the only design the store had. “I just needed a shower curtain!” Turns out he didn’t much care for wind chimes, either.

After 4 years with the print shop, I had the opportunity to take a position as Art Director for a national magazine. On my last day, David gave me a framed photo of him and me, together with my Mom (as seen in the opening paragraphs of this blog post). The picture had been taken at his 40th birthday party just days before. “You’ve seen me every day for the last four years.” he said, “This is for you to keep on your desk, so you can still see me.” The photo was on my desk along with photos of my family.

Raggedy Ann doll from David.

A couple years after I had left the print shop, David came to take me to lunch for my birthday. As he drove to the restaurant, I opened the package he had given me. In it was a Raggedy Ann doll exactly like the one I had as a little girl. I had forgotten that I once told David in detail about the doll I regretted having thrown away when I was younger. My original doll was so well-worn with love that her hands and her feet had holes in them. I had hand-sewn shoes for her with dark blue fabric stitched with lime green embroidery floss. I examined the doll David had given me. Although she was in better condition than my original ‘Annie’, I noticed her hands were worn with holes in them. “I-I don’t remember telling you about this,” I said in amazement. David looked at me with his bright blue eyes. He smiled and in the softest tone said, “I do.” David’s gift was more than the doll. The real gift was the incredible friendship behind it.

Common (and Uncommon) Interests

David would have loved this!

David and I shared a fondness for the J.R.R.Tolkien Lord of the Rings books and movie series. We could spend hours watching and talking about the characters and their adventures. We watched the first two movies at home, but when “Return of the King” was playing in the theaters, we went to see it on the big screen with a group. We all agreed it was more enjoyable to watch the movies at home. I recently bought a small figurine of the one of the Argonath (the Gate of Kings) which stand sentinnel on either side of the River Anduin at the northern edge of  Gondor in Middle Earth. I had been saving it for his birthday. I never had the chance to give it to him. (Note to self: Don’t wait for a special day or reason to be giving. Life is short.)

David was so full of fun. We both loved Halloween and it was not beneath David to dress in costume. One year several of us on staff decided to dress as pirates. Our boss dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow, and the two of us girls in the design/prepress department dressed as pirate wenches.

First Mate David, Kim, Captain Rikk and me on Halloween.

Dressed head-to-toe, David didn’t disappoint. He wore a red bandana on his head, an eye patch, a carefully trimmed goatee, a shirt and vest with brown corduroy pants, boots and a pistol tucked in his belt. But nothing made him more proud than the authentic Civil War sword that completed his ensemble. He loved Halloween. Every year without fail, David sent a Halloween card to me, even after I left the printing company.

On several occasions, I'd asked David to come with me to karaoke. He always declined, even if he had nothing else to do. His reason was simple, "I hate karaoke." Still, I would try to persuade him, "Come on...YOU don't have to sing," I'd say, "You can watch me!"  David's response was direct, "No offense but that would be boring." Ooo-Kaay. I stopped asking.

The “Jesus Quality”

David and I would often take lunch breaks together. We’d go to Cousin’s to pick up lunch for our coworkers, or run errands to the bank on payday, with an occasional stop at the gas station for his cigarettes.

David and I went to Walgreen’s on one of our mid-day outings. As we were walking into the foyer, a former employer was walking out with her assistant. The office environment had been toxic and the residual effect at seeing her caused me to gasp out loud and grab David by the shoulders. I physically “shielded” myself from her view by hiding behind him. He stumbled backward, as I nearly pulled him on top of me like Harry Potter’s Cloak of Invisibility. “What the hell?!” he exclaimed. He turned to me and asked, “Who WAS that?”

“An old boss,” I said with a little embarrassment. “I didn’t want her to see me.” It sounded stupid as I said it.

David said,“You look like you saw someone from ‘America’s Most Wanted’!” He shook his head and wondered aloud, “What did she do to you?” I’m not sure I had an answer for him, but David said, “What does it matter? You’re with us now.” That was a lovely, gentle slap in the face to me: You’re with US now. I admired how David could see a person at their lowest and not judge. He had a “Jesus Quality” that was accepting of everyone, and his friendship was unconditional.

Glad to Know Ya

David had his share of some truly hard episodes through his life journey, still he found a way to “keep on truckin’.” During his time here on Earth, David lived life to its fullest and on his own terms. If he had any regrets, David sure didn’t waste time dwelling on them.

David (standing center) during a family get-together.

David was dearly loved and well-liked by so many people. Each of them have their own stories to tell and “Dave-isms” to share. I’m glad I knew him. I still can’t believe he’s gone. As the coming weeks stretch into months ­and then into the inevitable years, I’m sure more stories and memories of David will work their way to the forefront of my consciousness.

David’s name is still in my smart phone contacts. There’s no real reason to save it. The answering machine is no longer connected and his voice message is gone. Yet I can’t—or maybe I just don’t want to—delete it. Grief is an odd emotion. For one fleeting and irrational moment, I imagined what might happen if I dialed David’s number. I smiled as if I could hear David chuckle, ‘Dave’s not here, Man’ giving a nod to the old Cheech and Chong skit.

Honestly, I can’t recall if I ever told David how much he meant to me. I hope he somehow knew it. Losing another a friend so young, too soon, only reinforces my resolve to say “I love you” more often to people who are still with me. Time is fleeting. Life is short.

There are three distinct Greek words for “love”: Eros, Agape and Philos. I would describe Eros as the passion between a man and his woman, and Philos is a deep, personal friendship. Agape is a love for everyone else in the community. There's no question I loved him “Agape”; and I certainly loved David Patterson “Philos”.

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To the Patterson Family: deepest and sincerest sympathies from me and Mom. May God's love and blessings give you comfort.