One of the best, most honest and loyal friends a person could ever have, a completely generous person, a phenomenal drummer and devotee to the Blues, and my close friend Evan Garfinkel, has died, aged 31. Evan took his own life last week - in his apartment in Las Vegas, after being accepted to a graduate program at UF. Apparently he had an eleventh-hour change of heart about going off to grad school, and was thinking about moving to Kansas. He was found in bed with a picture of his mother.
One of my favorite stories about Evan has to do with his baccalaureate exam at New College. Having slacked for a semester or two, Evan needed to be able to get his shit together and pass his Bacc, or he was going to have to stay in school for another year - which is as close as New College students, for the most part, get to flunking out of school. He had been engaging in Olympic-level procrastination, and needed someone who didn't sleep much to "keep him on target." For four days, I became the most annoying human being on the planet - not much of a stretch, I know. I regulated when Evan got out of bed, made sure he went to the library when he ought to, took him to lunch numerous times, and basically pestered him until he got all of his materials and arguments together for his Bacc. Jim Moore, C, and I were among the people who drove him down to the bay to defend, and when he was done, I shook his hand and said, "Hey, Evan. Passed your Bacc." I said it five or six more times between the bay and my apartment. Evan sat down on one of the sofas, started talking, and then fell asleep for ten hours, awaking in the middle of the night to continue the sentence he had started. I had returned by that time, and reminded him again that he had passed. He fell asleep again with a great smile on his face.
There was also the time EP and I disturbed him in the midst of an intimate moment, and he claimed to have been "taking a little nappie." His tour of the streets of Chicago while driving a car recently splattered with orange paint is also a singular memory. Evan had an encyclopedic knowledge of world geography, and when I was on the road, needed never to consult a map to tell not only where I was going, but what would be available when I arrived. In fact, it was Evan's dread-filled "Ooooh," that let me know initially what I was in for when headed to Bowman, ND. The tai-chi pose above is something Evan really enjoyed doing, and we have no less than three pics of it. Finally, the "blue slip, pink slip" entire pumpkin pie eating evening with Evan is something I will never forget. Only four others were there, and they'll bloody well remember, I'm sure.
I loved Evan Garfinkel, his stutter (which meant his mouth could not keep up with his incredibly fast brain), his completely fucking weird sense of humor, his knowledge of pop culture minutiae, the German lessons, his bent take on everything. From the moment he crashed me in a wheelchair into the bricks of Palm Court (in his famous Russian hockey jersey) to the recent comments here on this blog, I valued his presence in the world. I am shocked to the core by his passing, and am trying equally to get over being mad at him for taking him away. I would have liked a future with Evan in it. He was the sort of person we will need. I am saddened that he did not get to meet my daughter, and that Max will barely remember his huge Uncle Evan of the delicious pastries, cooking advice, brisket, comics, Chesterfields, Blues, comedic timing, and enormous open heart.
I'll miss you, Ev.
