This morning brought sunshine and bad news. The night had claimed a longtime, precious and irreplaceable friend. I stumbled out onto the streets and everything was moving in slow motion. Even the cars. It was as if the world was lit by moonlight, devoid of color. As if something vital had leaked out and evaporated. The regular laughter and music of the streets was like stormy night static on the radio. The small children, who always say hello and goodbye to me in the same breath, did, but I couldn’t summon up a reply. I felt like doing a war dance. Lighting a bonfire in a public park. Painting my face red and howling out my pain. Instead, I bought a large package of Chinese bereavement incense that glows red but irregularly throws off tiny sparks like memories flashing to life, and I watched it for hours, playing out the sad blues of remembering. Donald ‘Buzz’ Schwall was a holy man, not saintly mind you, but a more earthly, hedonistic kind of holy man, devoted to art, simplicity, good works, and soulful fellowship. I remember his grin more than I do his laugh because the grin was always there. And while Buzz would scoff at me calling him a holy man, he truly was. He had fine-tuned simplicity into an artfulness. He never bought new clothes that I was ever aware of, and if he did, they always looked old on him. That is not to say that he was without style, just that he didn’t care about clothes, having a car—you know, all the usual torments, what he cared about was creativity and craft and the free time he needed to allow a resurrection of himself from the confines of personal ordinariness. He was the epitome of Alaskan reinvention. He came from somewhere back East, had some substance abuse problems, whatever—to be honest I never paid attention, that was so common in Alaska, people came up for another chance, to leave one kind of past behind for the chance at creating a new past, and he readily embraced the transformative nature of the 49th state. Though it’s hard to say exactly when I met him because he was always around, I think it was when he was working at Side Street Espresso. He had a background in construction but developed carpal tunnel syndrome and at the time he was casting about for something else to do. That affliction turned out to be his salvation. He decided to work in miniature and began creating puppets and designing stage sets for theatrical plays. For a while, we worked on stage sets together. He created the look and I was his hands when he couldn’t use his. He always brought fun to the work and work to the fun. He was famous for throwing parties at the Ebb Tide, his apartment in Bootlegger Cove. Inside in the winter, outside on a patch of lawn in the glorious Alaskan summer. But what really transformed Buzz and allowed his singular vision to manifest itself was his largely self-taught mastery of marionettes. Though he did take a course in Prague, we all watched with delight as his interior visions came to life, and moved—the articulation carefully worked out by Buzz after trial and error, the pride he showed in the creation, he gave each one of his puppets a distinct life, they were his family, his expansive soul in miniature, a Kafkaesque assortment of imaginings totally lacking menace, that moved with such exquisite intricacy—he even made a puppet of himself playing the piano. He put on shows with his puppets, involved his friends as voices and puppeteers, staged puppet opera, taught children how to make puppets, held workshops, and became a one-man force of marionette-making wizardry and entertainment above the 49th parallel. But Buzz’s life was his own best creation. Everybody who knew him loved him. You couldn’t help it. If you were a friend, he was always there. He got an inheritance when his mother died, then promptly gave a large portion away to support his friend's art projects. AHHH, I can’t stop crying. He was someone who always believed in me. I can’t fathom that I’ll never see him again. He always asked in his emails when I was coming back up north, his way of saying he missed me. This is how he signed all his emails: All art aspires to be music. All music aspires to sing. Art is about a life style, not a product. We're always in the middle of infinity. Now, there is one less member of the Flag Club. Hand on my heart, I bow down to the King of the Ebb Tide, The sweet, gentle prince of puppets, I will look for you when the earth yawns again, And settles into a new day, When the wind makes the leaves swirl in crazy spirals, The tides pool, moonstruck, And a child shrieks in delight playing with a piece of wood. Goodbye, my brother, we are all still in the middle of infinity . . .
15 Comments
Ken Hart
8/28/2013 02:43:12 am
Mike, now I'M crying. Thank you for this beautiful tribute to our friend. I will pass it along. We all need each other; Buzz's death just reminds me of this truth more than ever. Be well, and keep fighting the good fight. Love, Ken
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Sarah (Hayes) Whalen
8/28/2013 03:23:17 am
You were in our thoughts as we gathered, laughed and cried last night Mike.
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Mary
8/28/2013 03:43:15 am
What a beautiful Reqieum! Through you his spirit is felt intensly. I too cried and was saddened even though I have never met him but thru you I felt his spirit, your pain and I also could not hear the children laughing at lunch. The holy man does fit him and what you wrote is so incredible - I'm sure he is doubly smiling if that is possible. Thank you for being his dear friend and for sharing his story and website with his incredible and one of a kind craft. Take care of yourself and here is a big hug for you:) Love ya brother - sis
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elvis
8/28/2013 03:48:11 am
Mary Mary Mary, not contrary. Thank you for your beautiful sentiment.
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elvis
8/28/2013 03:44:51 am
sweet Sarah, thank you, thank you, thank you . . . .
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Brian Hutton
8/28/2013 04:20:30 am
Mike,
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elvis
8/28/2013 05:09:34 am
Brian, you know just like I do, and I thank you for that . . . I worry a little for you, and for me and etc., etc. How do we make sense of this? How do we reconcile it? So many bastards live forever, what the f**k! If I could lay my hands on you, I would touch your forehead and connect, to all that has gone before, such richness, such a passive riot, such a swirl of wonderment!!!!
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Mary
8/28/2013 06:46:15 am
You are all so connected in so many ways that it is just heartwarming to read that in so many different corners of the world apart and yet still all together!! Simply amazing!! Just a joy to know it exsists so deeply rooted. I feel the confustion and pain so strongly that it is actually something miraculous!!!!
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Sheila
8/28/2013 10:00:27 am
Mike, unlike you and Ken and Bruce, I'm quiet and numb. I know the emotions are there, as I go thru - now day 2. I can't find the focus, hard to think straight, organized planning has left the studio... I keep telling myself, "Buzz is dead", in a flat, rather brutal voice. Trying to make it real.
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elvis
8/28/2013 11:52:38 am
Beautiful Sheila, it brings comfort right now . . . I am different in that I flare up, then fall apart . . . I have to be close to being cried out, I didn't know I had so much fluid in me. Your words mean--
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Tammy Sitar
8/28/2013 12:53:41 pm
Thank you Mike, that was beautiful .
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elvis
8/28/2013 03:00:20 pm
Tammy! Thanks for checking in . . . I have been constantly thinking of you, cannot imagine what you are going through, you knew him best, I wish you peace and strength and send you my love
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Mary
8/29/2013 07:20:13 am
Shelia touching Buzz's face and being a proxy is the best thing you could have done for Mike. Thank you for comforting him being his proxy is just what he needed. Close circle of good friends mean everything--all helping each other to get thru this difficult time of grieving until all the great memories of Buzz (and I know there are many) start the healing process. His marionetts are incredible the websitte brings it all alive. I wish you all peace, strenght and above all comfort.
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Erika MarĂa
9/4/2013 12:21:19 pm
Dear amigo, I´m sending you Love & Light... In thought our loved ones are really ever near. Paramahansa
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jude
9/28/2013 04:56:12 am
Such a loving tribute, Mike... And what is infinity, after all? One might now say, silence with a buzz. Sending love and comfort directly to you. j
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