Bay City John.
It was late at night, and we were in San Francisco. I had rejoined the party that had start on a flight from Atlanta early that morning. It was the wee hours now. Myself, Jack, Janice, her x-daughter in law Michelle, Chuck, Rich (who was Duh-runk as hell) and John Trudell, sitting at a table at Mel's Diner down the hill from where we were staying or at least did that night. Both places are gone now, I understand, Rich is long gone, Janice is gone, and now John is gone.
I could not tell you anything about the sound of his voice, I do not remember him speaking. I remember conversing with him a bit that crazy weekend, but he was laid back and quiet and content to let us have our fun. It was online I got to know him in the years that followed, on facebook, one the thousands and thousands of posts he made, and it would seem like Laurence and Gary and Fritz would always be there to react, to add to or ask more.
John Trudell, like every other person born, had a hard time growing up. He had an equally hard time as a young adult as he saw multitudes of his friends and lovers die. He found his way through it all, he sang, he danced, he was the Renaissance man. And Brokeback Mountain made him one of us.
I remember the first time I heard of him he had organized a viewing of BBM at a theater in Bay City, Michigan, where he lived at the time. I remember his work with "Meet Me On The Mountain", his videos of their performances still move me. I remember his contribution to the book the DC forum produced and I wrote him once I read his entry. How he had lost a tooth to an abusive relationship. We did not communicate much directly. Mostly it was hitting the like button.
John had the gift to uncover the lost stories. He was flipping through Ancestry.com one day looking at old passport photos when a handsome face appeared that intrigued him. The WWI ear photo was of a man named Arthur Mayer, and soon John was hot on the trail to learn all he could about him, and what a life he uncovered. The connections, the stories, the "coincidences". John found Mayer's niece and was able to confirm yes he was gay, yes, he did live with a partner in 1930s New York and eventually he learned of Mayer's friend John Laraway. Laraway was none other than the uncle of Laurence his then room mate.
It was amidst all this posting of his latest discoveries that I asked him "Where are you finding all these newspaper articles?". He told me about genealogybank.com, newspapers.com and the free once, chroniclingamerica.com. It was a game changer, a life changer for me. Entire generations of my family came roaring back into the light. His perseverance to leave no stone unturned inspired me to do the same. I now see my history and my purpose in life differently.
when he and Laurence went to Brittany several months back, I could sense it was a struggle for him. Struggle none the less they visited his ancestral house, where some Trudell 15 generations ago had lived. Where he filmed Laurence speaking from his heart to the the father he had never known, who had left from Brest to fly through the air to save the world, and never return. The decline seems like a landslide now. He put his phone number out there for people to call him and I saved it to my phone. It will probably always remain there, along with Richard Wilson, 678-492-1428. I never called him. I didn't because I did not know what to say to him. I could send him a message, but I could not speak to him, such was the nature of my friendship with this man.
The last things he posted, a picture of the hotel lobby as he waited for the cab that would carry him to the place he would die, that he was scared. All I could tell him is I wish I could do more (in a life where more becomes more impossible all the time). I was not surprised to read this morning his suffering was over, I had felt like it would not be long. I have seen people have the time of surgery he had and it really does something traumatic to the body.
John Trudell was a friend of mine. I met him one time in San Francisco at a Rodeo in 2007. I will never let his memory go.
