Jack Wilson, Frederick Street (HOME PAGE)

    •  Jill Stabenau
    •  Carmen Silva
    •  Jan Houbolt
    •  Mark Freeman
    •  Elizabeth Martin
    •  Suzanne Ecker
    •  Evan Kaltschmidt
    •  Andre Rorsch
    •  Jo-Anne Rosen
    •  Dennis Strong
    •  Lastri Trimiharjo
    •  Rachel Wohl
    •  Amanda Zinn
    •  December 17, 2011
    •  Miscellaneous

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In Jack's Words...

Empowering Women to
Fight Poverty (PPMK)


Remembering Jack Wilson

Suzanne Ecker

“Sweetie Pie” This was how Jack addressed me recently after not being in touch for over 30 years. But it was totally appropriate, as I responded in kind with similar sugary phrases, and we were connected again. “Where did the years go?” he asked. I don't know. The last time I saw him was probably early 80s.

I met Jack in San Francisco about 1970 through dear friends and roommates, Zack and Carmen. We always liked each other and got along. He was very sweet and fun to be with. Later, we had an on-again/off-again affair that was playful, not serious. I can't put dates or sequence to the scattered memories I have of him. It is all kind of a blur — that which was so important to me at one time.

During one of my visits to SF after I moved away (in 1974), I was sitting in Carmen's kitchen with Jack. Nothing significant was going on. We looked at each other and we started to laugh a little bit. The laughter grew and grew until were were laughing raucously — ostensibly over nothing. I could have fallen to the floor rolling over in uncontrollable laughter had I let myself. I wish I had. It was like we had tapped into the universal joke — the lila, the play. What a delight. How many people can you do that with?

We both liked to drink and sometimes we went to bars on Haight St. where he knew the locals. He would order bourbon and Slim Jims (greasy packaged sausages) for us. We naughtily downed several rounds of both. He told me he liked being seen with me. I had a red bandana around my neck. I looked pretty cool.

Often when Jack talked to me, he looked past the me that was sitting in front of him, to a scene that was unfolding behind my face. What's going on back there? Then he would direct the next scene (of our conversation). It was distracting. I didn't know if he was addressing me or the scene. I think he was trying to interpret the world. He was never comfortable being comfortable. I get that.

Complex, delightful, delighted, compassionate, creative, and loving. Good-bye Sweet One. I got sentimental with him recently. He didn't like it.


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