David Scott Taylor, February 10, 1942 to March 19, 2013
There were four Taylor "boys" as our Mom referred to us,
born February 9, 10, 11, and 20 beginning in 1942 and ending in 1957. David was
the first to arrive (71) followed by Gordy (67), Douglas (who would be 62) and
Gregory (56). Dad used to say, after 1957, "I guess I need to send your
Mother away during the month of May."
Doug died at age 54 in 2005 and he was a gay activist long before
that was acceptable in our society. At
Western Illinois University, he was a student leader, writer par excellence,
and film critic for the student newspaper.
His career took him to California where he was a noted publicist for
many Hollywood personalities. He died
of a heart attack while living in Big Bear, CA.
That brings me to the sad news of today as brother David just
died, primarily of complications from the same cancer I battled (base of
tongue). I sat on the beach today on Marco Island, Florida, knowing that he was
on his deathbed back in Illinois. I looked out on the ocean and tried to make
sense of all that was happening but my efforts were futile and frustrating.
You see, David and I have been estranged from one another for 25
years. When Dad died, we had some sort of disagreement, and we stubbornly stopped
talking to each other. As I look back, it was nothing particularly serious but
then I imagine it seldom is when we let our emotions cloud our good judgment. I
feel particularly sad today because it was not always this way between us.
He is four years older than me and while he teased me in a
thousand different ways, as we got older and into our twenties we forged an
extremely close bond. He meant everything to me and with the exception of my
dad, David was my best friend during that time. He did so much for me:
1. taught me how to drive
and told me to always drive defensively
2. taught me that to get
ahead you had to be willing to work hard and smart
3. told me to get all the
education I could
4. told me that no one
owed me anything, that if I wanted to succeed, that was my responsibilty
5.
even protected me from neighborhood bullies
as only a brother can do.
We were quite a combination. We both loved sports and it drove him
crazy that he could never beat me in tennis. He took lessons, had beautiful
ground strokes, and a fancy new racket. I would show up in a pair of old
sneakers, never had a lesson, looked gangly and skinny but my net game was
pretty good and he just couldn't beat his little brother. He took me on fishing
trips to northern Wisconsin where he was a magician with a rod in his hands,
and fish seemed to literally jump in his end of the boat. By contrast, I was
not so lucky. First he had to bait my hook and then I would sit there for hours
never getting a strike while he laughed with every fish he landed.
Hunting was one of our pastimes.
He bought me a shotgun, gave me some safety lessons, and out we
went. David could bring down quail with
ease and a rabbit seldom escaped his quick reflexes. I, on the other hand, was lucky to hit a barn or a tree even if
it were directly in front of me. Both
laughed at my utter futility.
We had fun whenever we were out together. I have what I'm told is
a bit of a unique personality but next to David I looked like the poor country
cousin and out-of-step slow learner. We went to Bears, Bulls, Cubs, Sox, and
Blackhawk games and simply had a terrific time at each outing. When I went to
Western Illinois University, he was finishing up his degree there, and he
preregistered his younger brother and set up a bang-up schedule before I ever
set foot on campus.
Our bond clearly did not have to end, but it did because of a
couple knucklehead A+ personalities let it happen. He's gone now, and I never
got to tell him in person that I loved him or say goodbye. I write this in
hopes that maybe someone out there will read it and attempt to reconnect with a
sibling, parent, or special someone who you have allowed to slip out of your
life.
Godspeed David Taylor. We shall make amends in the great beyond. I
need to believe that
