Thursday, January 13, 2011

A year ago, the world changed

A year ago I got a phone call that changed the direction of my entire year. Now a year has passed and somehow I managed to accept I lost my closest friend, something I won’t find again; this is what I miss most over everything we shared during the forty-two years we were friends, lovers and soul mates. Not having him here has been difficult, even though we were having troubling times a year ago, I still miss what most people miss, which is to know someone that well who knows you equally as well.

Ironically knowledge of Mark’s passing is still being communicated and still reaching the people I didn’t reach a year ago or knew how to reach; I received an e-mail from Laura Voland, his cousin just last week. She wrote a very personal piece and her post follows this remembrance of mine. As I have said before, Mark would have found all of this funny because of its modern aspects; modernism was something he rebelled against, never fully embracing these tools of technology.

So as the anniversary of Mark’s passing has now arrived, I hope some of you are reflecting on your personal memories of Mark, remembering him for the gifts he has left with all of us, which are our own private memories of better times.

Truly, Madly, Deeply, I will always love you Mark. -- Jenny

Cousin Laura Speaks

Aunt Jean disclosed to me that John's passing was a horrific shock that she didn't really think she would ultimately survive. Mark, though, I thought might have some time left. Woof. I'm very sad. I loved him and often thought of him. I found him to be a delightfully entertaining human being-- always magnanimous. Little cousin privilege, I guess. I'm really kind of broken-hearted to learn that he's gone.

He visited us here in the Pacific NW twice in the year right around his 50th birthday; so, let's say we were re-connected and corresponding from like maybe 2001-2004? He said was taking Phenobarbital for a seizure disorder that he had which precluded him from taking any other substances. He did say that the seizure disorder could have arisen from his excesses, but that he had been officially diagnosed with adult-onset epilepsy. When he stayed with us he did not indulge in more than the occasional cigarette, which he politely smoked on our back porch while making conversation with our dog. He was a wonderful guest. We had a total blast. He entertained the girls, whom he called der maidchen, with all of his wit. He registered as ultimately cool when he bought Emily 40 Licks by the Stones. I think he gave Tedra a copy of The Complete Shakespeare and he gave me a wonderful Bergman film called Persona, as well as several other great films. Another one that he recommended was Things You Can Tell Just by Looking at Her. It haunted me because one of the stories looked to me like it had been filmed in Van Nuys near Sunnyslope. He was a big hit. Lots of naughtiness, eating of pizza, storytelling and expert delivery of jokes along with warm-hearted encouragement about how good our life felt to him.

He was an excellent correspondent and a very perceptive, intelligent reader. I really liked him and found in his own face, not only Herb's, but also Grandma's. Beyond that I had an appetite for his verbal cadence, a familiar (like family--what do you know) rhythm of speech and ever-so-slight NY accent, salted with the occasional fluent German. He also had a delightful, caustic, political perspective and wit. He was fun! For all of his scene stealing tricks, he could also be disarmingly humble. He told us that he got the job as the Prussian on Cheers because he spoke German and that much of his most lucrative acting work had come from having that one trick up his sleeve. He said that when you go on a casting call it's incredibly humbling because you go in there and...gulp, blink, blink, there are fifteen other guys who look exactly like you and you realize there is nothing unusual or unique about you, at all. Except, Mark could speak German and very few actors do. So when those gigs came up, the pool was much smaller. He learned the language in grad school and chose it because it was, after all, the mother tongue. No other reason. He said it was a lark, not meant to pay a single bill and it had turned out to be the smartest thing he ever did. He also described his career as "the MOST MINISCULE career ever recorded in the Hollywood archives."

We, of course, could see the tenuous road he was traveling, the fragile grip he had on whatever kind of resurrection he was attempting there at the mid-century point. We were concerned. When he went to jail, turned in by John, if I'm not mistaken, for elder abuse (?) after some kind of fight they had. (The three of them, Mark, Jean and John had always been an explosive combo. I could remember that from childhood and I had cautioned him to get the heck out of Dodge earlier, but of course, those things are easier said than done, and the patterns were completely entrenched). After he went to jail he could only make a very few phone calls. He was not allowed to call his mom or home for something like three years. This is where we also lost track of him because, by terms of parole, he said he could not even make mention of his mom (yet, I guess she could elect to call him and sometimes did). My worry with all of this is that she would arise as a topic in our conversations and I was worried that by conversing with me he was going to get himself in more trouble. I wish now that I hadn't worried about that so much. I did know that he had gotten into a halfway house, where he was still only allowed brief Internet and phone usage, and then moved to Oxnard, I think... The last time we spoke I gave him our new address and phone number he was really upset that we had moved. "Why, why, when you had such a great house in such a great little town?" I assured him that this was a good move and just a straight shot up the freeway from our last place still with plenty of room for guests, even more room, but he was totally exasperated and distraught. I felt badly about that. Jean told me that he seemed okay, the last time I spoke with her, and that they were slowly reconnecting. I asked her to have him call me. The weird thing is...I think he did call last Christmas holiday. Weird? I got a call and when I picked up, all I heard was an automated, "Mark Richard Voland." I tried to call back, but the number didn't work. I worried that he had dialed our number from his cell phone and was in need of something maybe and then his phone died... I will never know. I wasn't even sureif I had heard the "voice" correctly or if I had imagined it. I do know, there was only one Mark RichardVoland.

He is warmly remembered. --Cousin Laura

(Note: Picture 1 {Black and white} Laura added this note, "Mark and Uncle Herb -- to me, this photo tells the story. I believe that is why he wanted me to have it. He sent it with an original copy of his dad's death certificate."

Picture 2 {color} Laura added this note, "Mark with my daughters: Emily and Tedra (c 2001)")