Missing Don
Posted by Dwight Swanson at his online diary
I can't bear reading any more obituaries of friends, or writing memorial blog posts. Yesterday I found out that my friend Don died, completely unexpectedly and far, far too soon. It still feels like it was just some sort of mistake.
We met as classmates in Rochester, when he became known as the member of the class who could get the rest of us to do just about anything, which is why I ended up "acting" in a 3-D horror movie, and playing keyboards in a band that played at our graduation party. When I moved to Maine a few years later he once again convinced me to buy a set of drums, even though I don't play drums. That band, alas, broke up because of musical differences before our first practice. We managed to fill the time, though, with trips to the truck stop in Bangor (where we had both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners), Trivial Pursuit games, and lots of martinis.
We were housemates together for three years--three years in a small town in Maine that would have been pretty unbearable but for his constant entertainment. That was the only reason I was sad to leave, when I went off for my Milwaukee adventure. I returned, though, to be the best man at his wedding, a favor I only partly returned a couple of years after that when he was the photographer at my wedding (I realize now it was a little less prestigious of a role, but he did get paid--albeit at a cut rate).
This summer I ended up going to Maine to the film symposium instead of Minnesota like I really wanted. I complained about it beforehand and after, but at least I did get to stay with Don and his wife Paige. At the time I wished that Jennifer and I were visiting on a vacation instead of another conference, but I am now obviously very happy that I did go.
Posted by Dwight Swanson at his online diary
I can't bear reading any more obituaries of friends, or writing memorial blog posts. Yesterday I found out that my friend Don died, completely unexpectedly and far, far too soon. It still feels like it was just some sort of mistake.
We met as classmates in Rochester, when he became known as the member of the class who could get the rest of us to do just about anything, which is why I ended up "acting" in a 3-D horror movie, and playing keyboards in a band that played at our graduation party. When I moved to Maine a few years later he once again convinced me to buy a set of drums, even though I don't play drums. That band, alas, broke up because of musical differences before our first practice. We managed to fill the time, though, with trips to the truck stop in Bangor (where we had both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners), Trivial Pursuit games, and lots of martinis.
We were housemates together for three years--three years in a small town in Maine that would have been pretty unbearable but for his constant entertainment. That was the only reason I was sad to leave, when I went off for my Milwaukee adventure. I returned, though, to be the best man at his wedding, a favor I only partly returned a couple of years after that when he was the photographer at my wedding (I realize now it was a little less prestigious of a role, but he did get paid--albeit at a cut rate).
This summer I ended up going to Maine to the film symposium instead of Minnesota like I really wanted. I complained about it beforehand and after, but at least I did get to stay with Don and his wife Paige. At the time I wished that Jennifer and I were visiting on a vacation instead of another conference, but I am now obviously very happy that I did go.
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Finding Heroes: Don Radovich
Posted by Carrie Jones on her Writing Life blog at the Ellsworth American
Sometimes people are heroes in ways we don't always understand. They are heroes just by living their lives in a way that they enjoy.
Don Radovich was one of my best friends. He died yesterday. He was one of my favorite heroes.
The first time I ever talked to him I was working for the Ellsworth American. He was doing a project with the Alamo Theater and we talked on the phone. It was one of the best times I've ever had on the telephone. The conversation was quick witted. It was strange. We talked about movie monsters and Bucksport, Maine. We talked about dungeons and cat tails. It was not a normal interview.
I hung up and the reporter at the desk across from me lifted her eyebrows and said, "Who was that?"
And I said, "That was a strange, amazing man."
I mean strange in a good way. Strange in a quick-mind way. Strange in a gentle, quirky way. I mean strange in the best kind of way.
Don loved cats. He loved horror movies and 3D photography and martinis at Cleonice. He took the most beautiful photos of people. He could always capture their loneliness and their love. I know because we worked together. We worked together at the Ellsworth American. Later, he was my star reporter when I was a newspaper editor. He won a lot of awards. He deserved all of them.
He would study the lighting in a picture for hours. He would tweak a sentence until it was perfect. This wasn't helpful on deadline days, but it was the way Don was. He wanted it to be perfect. He wanted everything to be perfect.
This summer he would drive me to doors for my campaign and we'd talk about the most bizarre things: dragonflies, made-up song lyrics, what it was like for him to be a bonus dad. He had this soft voice, very lyrical. He sang. He played guitar. He wrote a book about Tony Richardson. After the election we were going to start a theater group together. He'd just written a funny, snarky musical. He was full of promise. He could flit from topic to topic and from career to career but he was always a gentleman, always full of wit, always ready to help someone.
He died yesterday.
He died yesterday and the world lost a strange, amazing man. His family lost a beautiful, amazing man.
When Don was a reporter and a photographer he cared so much about the people he wrote about. He cared so much about their stories and the truth of who they were, the truth of what the issues were. He was always adjusting the light to try to show us all what we are really about. That might be the light in a photo or in a story or just the light in our own hearts.
He will be terribly missed.
Posted by Carrie Jones on her Writing Life blog at the Ellsworth American
Sometimes people are heroes in ways we don't always understand. They are heroes just by living their lives in a way that they enjoy.
Don Radovich was one of my best friends. He died yesterday. He was one of my favorite heroes.
The first time I ever talked to him I was working for the Ellsworth American. He was doing a project with the Alamo Theater and we talked on the phone. It was one of the best times I've ever had on the telephone. The conversation was quick witted. It was strange. We talked about movie monsters and Bucksport, Maine. We talked about dungeons and cat tails. It was not a normal interview.
I hung up and the reporter at the desk across from me lifted her eyebrows and said, "Who was that?"
And I said, "That was a strange, amazing man."
I mean strange in a good way. Strange in a quick-mind way. Strange in a gentle, quirky way. I mean strange in the best kind of way.
Don loved cats. He loved horror movies and 3D photography and martinis at Cleonice. He took the most beautiful photos of people. He could always capture their loneliness and their love. I know because we worked together. We worked together at the Ellsworth American. Later, he was my star reporter when I was a newspaper editor. He won a lot of awards. He deserved all of them.
He would study the lighting in a picture for hours. He would tweak a sentence until it was perfect. This wasn't helpful on deadline days, but it was the way Don was. He wanted it to be perfect. He wanted everything to be perfect.
This summer he would drive me to doors for my campaign and we'd talk about the most bizarre things: dragonflies, made-up song lyrics, what it was like for him to be a bonus dad. He had this soft voice, very lyrical. He sang. He played guitar. He wrote a book about Tony Richardson. After the election we were going to start a theater group together. He'd just written a funny, snarky musical. He was full of promise. He could flit from topic to topic and from career to career but he was always a gentleman, always full of wit, always ready to help someone.
He died yesterday.
He died yesterday and the world lost a strange, amazing man. His family lost a beautiful, amazing man.
When Don was a reporter and a photographer he cared so much about the people he wrote about. He cared so much about their stories and the truth of who they were, the truth of what the issues were. He was always adjusting the light to try to show us all what we are really about. That might be the light in a photo or in a story or just the light in our own hearts.
He will be terribly missed.
in memoriam