Friday, December 30, 2022
What to say about my friend, Wally? Truly I have never met anyone like him—such a sharp mind, defining the term rapier wit, and yes, he could joke about anything. He called me once after I had just put a beloved dog to sleep at the vets. Of course he regaled me with dead dog jokes. Through the pain, I laughed. And I think it was his way of comforting me.
I stayed at his house often, and he was a gracious host, offering me the pull-out couch of death. Certainly the most uncomfortable thing I've ever slept on. I was getting into coffee at the time, Starbucks had just opened in Toronto. So Wally made me a cup of instant Maxwell House, with kind of hot tap water.
I remember asking him what he was going to do with all these weird (and beautiful) animal paintings. He said he didn't know. But when they came out in his award winning book, Alphabeasts, I couldn't stop smiling at the memory of seeing those paintings leaning against the wall of his Mt. Pleasant apartment.
I delighted in his ongoing dialogue with the TV, where he would berate the actors on Star Trek for their bad science. He introduced me to the wonder of the Evil Dead movies, the strange world of the circus, weird underground writers and artists, and of course, the blues. He was the first person who taught me the guitar. I still think of him whenever I play Sister Golden Hair, or Fire and Rain. I still have tapes of me and playing and singing (often badly by me, not him) into the late night, then ordering pizza, and telling long strange stories.
I was so blessed by the last few conversations I had with him. The most recent only a couple of weeks before his death. I always knew of his kindness and the large heart that beat beneath that wickedly funny mind. In our last chat, he was still funny, but he also shared with me some thoughts that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Though, we didn't spend much time together these past years, my whole family knew Wally, because I'd often tell stories about him. My son quoted him to me when I told him Wally had died. "Sure, we're all going to hell in a handbasket. But it's a nice basket."
Man Wally, you got me wet around the eyes just writing this stuff down. But I know wherever you have shuffled off this mortal coil, you're listening, and just poised to tell a dead dog joke.
Love you buddy. You are missed.
