Dave's not here

This is Dave, in the tractor, and those are my children in the bucket. Dave and Judy had a farm in Yuba, Wisconsin. He was probably my best friend and worst enemy in some ways, collaborator and competitor in shifting seasons. He was a cinematographer back when there were such things, and I wrote many of the movies he shot, "our shitty movies," as I called them, much to his consternation. Yet, in the end, when the business spat him out, he had to admit it: they were pretty damned shitty. My children loved him greatly, as you can see. Danny, on the far right, broke his arm that day. It got caught between the bucket and a pile of gravel. "It's all right, Dave! It's not that bad!" Dave felt terrible. A few months later, during the July 4th weekend, Dave was putting the tractor into the barn. He rolled down an embankment and was crushed. I miss him, and the part of me he took with him. But I will say this. He's no longer older than me.