I never know how to write about funerals. You can't really say "I had a good time," at least not in the sense you can have a good time at a great movie or play. You're there because a loved one died and even if — as in the case of our pal, Dave Stevens — death means an end to the agony of dying, it's still not a festive occasion. Try as you may to think of it as a beginning of something better (or of anything), your mind keeps coming back to the loss of a friend…and in this case, the untimeliness of it all. Dave was only 52 and when it was my turn to speak, one of the things that spilled out was, "Like all of you, I don't understand why we have to do this now, instead of forty or fifty years from now, as might make sense."
Obviously, you now know where I was today. It was quite a journey. The memorial for Dave was in Turlock, California — a little more than 300 miles north of Los Angeles, and we drove up in the morning and back in the evening. "We" in this case is myself and the fine illustrator, and Dave's close friend and former studio-mate, Bill Stout. And actually, Bill drove while I navigated and regaled him with anecdotes. It's fortunate I have a lot of anecdotes because it was five hours each way.
We weren't the only ones who made the trip. A number of Dave's comrades in the comic art community converged on Turlock, including Mike Richardson, Bob Chapman, Bud Plant, Bernie Wrightson, William Wray, Kayre Morrison, Jim Silke, and Richard and Alice Hescox. We were all made to feel quite welcome by the Stevens family and their local friends, who arranged a totally appropriate and moving tribute, complete with a fine display of Dave's artistry. I shouldn't write too much about this because it was, after all, a private ceremony…but we go to funerals, at least in part, to say with our presence that the deceased mattered a lot to us. So I wanted you all to know that Dave mattered a lot to a lot of people.
We also go for a sense of closure…and while I will never be entirely comfortable with the whole concept of losing a great guy like Dave Stevens, nor should we ever be, I am a bit more at peace with the idea than I was before. (For those of you in Southern California who need a similar release: There's talk of a local, public memorial in a few weeks. I'll announce it here if it happens.)