Two performers

Dave Camp

Just had an acquaintance, and fellow Portland musician die this week— Dave Camp, a very talented, charismatic, rock & roll guitarist, singer, and songwriter. I think he was a couple of years younger than me, in his early to mid 40s. I haven't kept up with what he's been up to, but I know he slammed it out for years in the lower middle class of creative musicians— he was working a lot, doing a few biggish things, and surviving. A successful, beloved, artist, though not rich, and not famous. Apparently a few months ago he discovered he had cancer, and then he died from it this week.

As sad as the loss of him is— I know a lot of people who are absolutely heartbroken right now— I more feel like celebrating the completion of a successful life— I want to say congratulations, Dave, you were an artist. 

Another performer, whose name I've forgotten, was a walk-on entertainer on a cruise ship I used to work on— part of a corny, four-person singing group. He worked the straightest of straight jobs— for a bank, or something— was nearing retirement, and was very proud of the very ample nest egg he had set up for himself. A conversation in my presence included the phrase “Two words: compound interest.” The story about him is that one day, a couple of years after I knew him, he was not feeling well. So he went to the doctor, discovered he had cancer, and died from it a few months later.

He may as well have spent his life writing poetry or making abstract paintings.