Cliff Meth, the only person with whom I'm currently in touch who knew Bill Dale Marcinko longer than I did (even Chris Estey seems unreachable online these days, although I hope he'll email me), hadn't heard the news of Billy's death until I emailed him, and as his comment indicates we had a long chat about it last night. Another newspaper has since confirmed the account of the first article to which I linked and omigod, they ran Billy's picture with him looking exactly the way I remember him and the tears have started flowing again.
I'm still not in the proper state of mind to commit that many more memories to paper - although our long out-of-touch period in the last couple decades has given me enough emotional distance so that I didn't become a basket case upon learning the news, as I mentioned to Cliff I'm either blessed or cursed with enough failing memory that there's just not that much detail I'll be able to recall without help from my old files (including a page with chapter headings for a biography I swore way back then I was someday going to write about him), which are currently stored up in the loft and won't be retrieved for at least another week. But a few things do stand out.
I remember the raisins, sure. I was the one who taped them into the issues of AFTA, afta all. I remember Billy warning me I needed to remain interesting at all times if I wanted to keep his friendship, because he treated friends like sitcoms and gave them a 13-week run and if they were no longer amusing him he'd drop them, so that cruel-to-be-kind (okay, maybe just cruel) mindset taught me to always try to keep up with his maniacal mind. I remember him running enthusiastically into my dorm room a few times to retrieve me and make me listen to whatever his newest musical discovery was. Much of my musical tastes were formed by Billy. Very much of my comedy taste was formed by Billy. Buried somewhere in Rutgers I'm sure there are videotapes of Millard Fillmore and Dawn, the TV show we did in the style of Fernwood/America 2night with Bill in the Martin Mull role and me, well, not quite doing a Fred Willard, more like a recurring Jennifer Coolidge-in-Chris Guest film type of role, as well as writing bits for the show. I remember realizing a few years after college that much of what came out of Billy's mouth had been uncredited Firesign lines. I remember he also introduced me to the Church of the SubGenius, and probably fandom in general. He introduced me indirectly to Steve when he was kind enough to take out a CBG advertisement for my zine INSIDE JOKE (which wouldn't exist if it weren't for AFTA, of course) and Steve became one of my first subscribers and later my first husband. I remember going to see Clash of the Titans with Billy when it came out in theaters, and making fun of Bubo the owl for days after. I remember him trying to get me to read comics, but at the time my disposable income went elsewhere and I didn't feel like forking more of it over to keep track of superhero soap opera.
And I remember the death hoaxes. AFTA was short for "Ascension from the Ashes," and Bill did at least three death hoaxes during the time I knew him - I dimly recall once it was Bill who had died, and once it was Dale (Bill's twin brother). And never did he mention, as the newspapers did, that he had a real brother; in fact, he insisted repeatedly he was an only child. Cliff has written a draft of what will become part of a tribute page to Billy, and with my permission he took a couple literary liberties in the first couple paragraphs. I'm the one who really wants to believe this death is another one of Billy's hoaxes (the brother thing, the "body charred beyond recognition" bit, so many things seem so... well, comic book'y or soap opera'y), but as Cliff said who would burn down an entire house and procure a body in order to carry it out? Well, who besides Bill? But we're all so much older now than we were in the days of the AFTA death hoaxes. So I guess it's true after all, and Billy died as he lived - ironic to the last. It appears there will be no ascension from these ashes. Estranged from old friends, he instead surrounded himself with boxes of old memories that literally blocked help from reaching him in time to save his life.
That's all I want to write for now, before I prepare to reopen the emotional wounds again upon perusing my old AFTAs and CROW #26 (no, there never were #s 1-25, that was another money-making-scheme/hoax) and other papers currently stored in the loft. The longer reminiscence will probably appear in the tribute page Cliff will be organizing. I urge anyone with an interest in paying tribute to contact Cliff about that.
I'm still not in the proper state of mind to commit that many more memories to paper - although our long out-of-touch period in the last couple decades has given me enough emotional distance so that I didn't become a basket case upon learning the news, as I mentioned to Cliff I'm either blessed or cursed with enough failing memory that there's just not that much detail I'll be able to recall without help from my old files (including a page with chapter headings for a biography I swore way back then I was someday going to write about him), which are currently stored up in the loft and won't be retrieved for at least another week. But a few things do stand out.
I remember the raisins, sure. I was the one who taped them into the issues of AFTA, afta all. I remember Billy warning me I needed to remain interesting at all times if I wanted to keep his friendship, because he treated friends like sitcoms and gave them a 13-week run and if they were no longer amusing him he'd drop them, so that cruel-to-be-kind (okay, maybe just cruel) mindset taught me to always try to keep up with his maniacal mind. I remember him running enthusiastically into my dorm room a few times to retrieve me and make me listen to whatever his newest musical discovery was. Much of my musical tastes were formed by Billy. Very much of my comedy taste was formed by Billy. Buried somewhere in Rutgers I'm sure there are videotapes of Millard Fillmore and Dawn, the TV show we did in the style of Fernwood/America 2night with Bill in the Martin Mull role and me, well, not quite doing a Fred Willard, more like a recurring Jennifer Coolidge-in-Chris Guest film type of role, as well as writing bits for the show. I remember realizing a few years after college that much of what came out of Billy's mouth had been uncredited Firesign lines. I remember he also introduced me to the Church of the SubGenius, and probably fandom in general. He introduced me indirectly to Steve when he was kind enough to take out a CBG advertisement for my zine INSIDE JOKE (which wouldn't exist if it weren't for AFTA, of course) and Steve became one of my first subscribers and later my first husband. I remember going to see Clash of the Titans with Billy when it came out in theaters, and making fun of Bubo the owl for days after. I remember him trying to get me to read comics, but at the time my disposable income went elsewhere and I didn't feel like forking more of it over to keep track of superhero soap opera.
And I remember the death hoaxes. AFTA was short for "Ascension from the Ashes," and Bill did at least three death hoaxes during the time I knew him - I dimly recall once it was Bill who had died, and once it was Dale (Bill's twin brother). And never did he mention, as the newspapers did, that he had a real brother; in fact, he insisted repeatedly he was an only child. Cliff has written a draft of what will become part of a tribute page to Billy, and with my permission he took a couple literary liberties in the first couple paragraphs. I'm the one who really wants to believe this death is another one of Billy's hoaxes (the brother thing, the "body charred beyond recognition" bit, so many things seem so... well, comic book'y or soap opera'y), but as Cliff said who would burn down an entire house and procure a body in order to carry it out? Well, who besides Bill? But we're all so much older now than we were in the days of the AFTA death hoaxes. So I guess it's true after all, and Billy died as he lived - ironic to the last. It appears there will be no ascension from these ashes. Estranged from old friends, he instead surrounded himself with boxes of old memories that literally blocked help from reaching him in time to save his life.
That's all I want to write for now, before I prepare to reopen the emotional wounds again upon perusing my old AFTAs and CROW #26 (no, there never were #s 1-25, that was another money-making-scheme/hoax) and other papers currently stored in the loft. The longer reminiscence will probably appear in the tribute page Cliff will be organizing. I urge anyone with an interest in paying tribute to contact Cliff about that.
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