Dave Watson
He was a geek, a nerd, an eccentric, a nut - my kind of people. We first met back at a Georgia Straight party in 1986. I think. The year and that particular party are pretty cloudy now. We were dueling ectomorphs back then, Dave in blazing Hawaiian shirt and burning down the Marlboros, both of us capitalizing on the free beer and nipping out back for greener refreshments. Even then I could tell that he was wired differently, that his circuitry was unique. He had a nervous, jagged, jabbery energy that made me feel positively laconic in comparison. This was just shortly before our lives became linked professionally. Soon after, new editor Charles Campbell threw us into a relationship that would last 22 years. That relationship came to an untimely end last week with Dave's death from cancer.
As a cartoon character, Dave was born after about a year of weekly Tech columns that were so baffling to my Luddite brain that I suggested just drawing Dave doing wacky shit with technology. It says something about his status at the paper that this happened - I doubt they would have allowed the conceit with anyone else. It's strange to think now that I've probably drawn Dave more than I've drawn any of my own more fictional characters. (I should also point out to those who only know Dave as the cartoon character that he really didn't look like that. Well, maybe a little, but it's not a caricature. Sure, he was kind of goofy-looking, but his nose certainly wasn't that big and I'm not sure if he ever wore horn-rim glasses - but somehow it worked and he was okay with it.)
When I first decided to take a stab at semi-serious writing, it was Dave that I went to with my first piece for advice. Not only did I respect his style and ability, but I also felt that we shared a similar sense of humour, although admittedly I tend to lay it on a bit thick compared to him. If he was Groucho, then I'm probably Moe. When, after a few structural suggestions, Dave gave my article an enthusiastic thumbs-up, I felt like the hot chick had said "yes." Then we got drunk.
It was a 22-year friendship as well and I picture it as a big wedge of Swiss cheese - the kind with extra holes. For one thing, I was living in Seattle for a good chunk of the Tech column years. His life was largely a mystery to me, like catching random scenes from a movie where you can't grasp the story. He disappeared for a while, apparently taking courses at Cap College. Then he was back and the random scenes got randomer - something about a stint as an apartment manager, a rumour that he tried stand-up comedy, re-building a Jaguar, quitting cigarettes and moving up to cigars, becoming a shut-in somewhere on the East side and having the groceries flown in while becoming an E-bay mogul. What the fuck? Yeah, I asked that a lot. But through all of the gaps and all too hasty, hazy catch-up get-togethers, he was always there every Monday in front of me on a piece of paper.
By the time he moved to Sechelt a couple of years ago and his movements and motivations got sketchier, I suspected a mid-life crisis of some sort. I guess I was partly right, but Dave was in fact in ill health - something he was sadly aware of before anybody else including our gleaming medical establishment. The rest of the story is not mine to tell, but to the very end Dave was writing and it was my privilege to be there drawing the Dave character as he chronicled his battle with the disease that would cut his life brutally short at the age of 45. As he put it when discussing just how much humour to inject into it, "Well, why fuck with the dynamic now?"
And so this week I drew Dave for the last time. And it wasn't easy. It hurt. It's here, accompanying Charles Campbell's fitting obituary in the Georgia Straight, as well as links to his excellent last series of articles. I'm going to miss both Daves.
