I didn\u2019t know Alex as well as his Petrolia friends and family or his legions around the globe, so I was a bit surprised when, over dinner one night in July of 2010, he asked me to accompany him to town the next morning as he had a \u201croutine\u201d examination and they had mentioned the medication might render him unable to drive. The medicos had suggested he find someone to accompany him. Didn\u2019t sound all that routine to me, but I relished the opportunity to have time with Alex to myself, especially riding the beautiful Lost Coast highway in one of his several late 50s or early 60s Chrysler land yachts. \u201cThe last great American automobiles made in the last great American era,\u201d he\u2019d say. \u201cSteel, baby.\u201d<\/p>\n
Instead, next morning,we squeezed ourselves into his red Colt \u2014 a smaller, less-superior model which, in a fairer world \u2014 would never even be parked next to one of his other cars or trucks as it was \u201cquicker.\u201d<\/p>\n
I dropped him off at the hospital and was prowling through one of Eureka\u2019s book stores when my cell phone rang.<\/p>\n
\u201d Mr Perryman, Could you come to the hospital to discuss Mr Cockburn?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs he ok?\u201d was my first response. \u201c<\/p>\n
He\u2019s bit drowsy from the medication. Do you know how to get to the hospital?\u201d<\/p>\n
I arrive at the near-empty building to be met at the door by a nurse who rapidly escorts me to Alex\u2019s bedside. He gave me a weak smile in greeting. I felt as if I\u2019d walked in on an intimate scene where my presence was welcome, but not joyfully.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you related to Mr Cockburn?\u201d the nurse across the bed asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, we\u2019re brothers, but not biologically\u201d eliciting a smile from Alex. \u201cShould I call a family member?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, we\u2019re waiting on an ambulance to take him to the emergency room at our other hospital. You need to hear this because we\u2019re not certain he\u2019ll remember. He needs to contact his primary care physician immediately and schedule an appointment with an oncologist.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at Alex, his eyes were closed. I then asked if the procedure had discovered significant problems. The nurse standing alongside me touches my arm. She nods once. I turned toward her and murmured \u201cadvanced stage?\u201d Another nod.<\/p>\n
\u201cMetastisized?\u201d Again, a nod.<\/p>\n
I could swear she had a tear in her eye.<\/p>\n
Alex, drifting in and out from the drugs, opens his eyes and locks an unblinking gaze on me. After an eternally long time, he sighs and closes them.<\/p>\n
The nurse on his side of the bed touched him gently on the shoulder and turns to walk by me, semi whispering toward me:\u201dGood luck with your friend.\u201d<\/p>\n
I moved closer to Alex\u2019s side, and, not knowing what else to do, began to rub his arm.<\/p>\n
Time had stopped\u2014again.<\/p>\n
Alex reentering this world, says \u201cD., they were talking radiation and chemotherapy to me in there. What do you make of it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve never been to medical school Alex, but that can\u2019t be a lot of fun.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, what do they know\u201d, he says and begins patting\u00a0my<\/i>\u00a0arm.<\/p>\n
I know both of us wanted to cry.<\/p>\n
I followed the ambulance the the other hospital where Alex was rolled into the emergency room After a bit, a male nurse comes over and began thanking Alex for his writing, not believing that the \u201cgreat man actually lived in Petrolia, of all places.\u201d<\/p>\n
He started cracking jokes that in both Alex\u2019s socks, one black, one blue, his big toe was sticking out.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Cockburn, you didn\u2019t have to dress up for us, being neighbors and all. We\u2019re pretty low-key here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alex quipped. \u201cWell, thank you but a gentleman should never go for a colonoscopy without proper socks\u201d and winking at me, adds \u201d Besides, I have another pair just like these at home.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shortly after he tells me I ought to go outside and get some of that golden California sunshine that we had driven so far to enjoy. \u201cIt\u2019s pretty dark and dismal in here , Deryle. Go enjoy the fresh air.\u201d<\/p>\n
The ride home was quiet unto we dropped down to the coast where he immediately sat up in the seat and started excitedly rummaging through the glove box, the console and under the seat.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you looking for, pal. Can I help?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was hoping for a Little Richard cassette to show up. I could sure use him about now.\u201d<\/p>\n
We made it into the house without Little Richard and I walked him to the door.\u201d \u201cDeryle, I remember everything that was said in there.\u201d He bade me to go on up to the Tower where \u201cthe lovely Ms Chard will certainly be glad to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The usual happy walk up the hill to the jewel box he\u2019d designed and had built there was longer and lonelier and harder that evening. My entire walk was a slow moving meditation on what must be going through his mind at that moment, how powerful those thoughts must be and if he was praying to any deity or natural force for aid or mercy.<\/p>\n
I know I was.<\/p>\n
I was also walking slower with the weight of the burden Alex had bestowed just before we exited the car not to mention anything of the day to anyone.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlex, your family and friends can be incredible assets in whatever struggle toward health this is to be. That\u2019s a heavy burden to carry alone. Take the help.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another unblinking look: \u201cIn time Deryle, in time.\u201d<\/p>\n
That was the hardest promise I ever kept.<\/p>\n
Alexander Cockburn driving into the light of the King Range, Petrolia. Photo: Deryle Perryman.<\/em><\/p>\n Mentor<\/strong><\/p>\n I used a lot of my time with Alex to talk about writing\u2014the art and craft, the sublime and the nitty-gritty. He was always willing to indulge me.<\/p>\n \u201cHow long you been writing for living, Alex? You\u2019ve cranked out a lot of words, and from what I\u2019ve read, they\u2019ve always been powerful. What\u2019s the key? Got any tips for us novices on what makes good writing?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve been doing it for almost fifty years. The key is that every sentence must have fire or dynamite in it, and it always\u201d- \u2014 he punches the air emphatically \u2014 \u201c\u2026 always must be interesting to one person. And that one person is you.\u201d<\/p>\n Books\/Music<\/strong><\/p>\n Alex had an incredible vinyl collection covering a most incredible and eclectic variety of music. Flipping through his vinyl collection was a music lover\u2019s dream. Amazing but forgotten sounds from across time and around the world.<\/p>\n Albums as diverse as Van Walls and Spider Sam, Jimmy Witherspoon and Ann Cole and the Suburbans, to Eddy Chamblee and Patsy Cline to Maria Callas and Little Willie Littlefield. Hal Paige and Dave Alexander to John Lee Hooker to Chuck Carbo and The Soul Finders and Billie Holiday to Ray Cane and the Hawaiian Slack Key Masters would fill his house with fine music to accompany the fine food he\u2019d always cook, all accompanied by incredible conversation. Attending salon at Alex\u2019s was a serious endeavor \u2014 not for fools or triflers or the weak of heart.<\/p>\n Books and books and more books.<\/p>\n Mr. Cockburn dearly loved books. His library was filled with books; his house held more. There were boxes and stacks of books out by the washing machine behind his house. Once Sheryl and I were headed for the beach and saw a dust-covered paperback wedged between the grill and the radiator of his beloved Belvedere station wagon. Road kill? Library kill?<\/p>\n On a supply trip to Eureka one day, I accompanied him to the local hardware store. He immediately struck up a conversation with someone so I went shopping, buying a pair of painter\u2019s pants. As Alex was still deep in the conversation \u2014 by this time leading the discussion with several folks \u2014 I walked out to the car. He followed shortly, empty-handed. \u201cChatting with an old friend, eh?\u201d \u201cOh no,\u201d he said, \u201cI didn\u2019t know her before that. I heard her talking to the clerk about the California budget and couldn\u2019t resist.\u201d \u201cOh, so you couldn\u2019t find what you went after?\u201d He slapped the wheel with both hands. \u201cOh, I got so engrossed in conversation, I forgot what I went for. Let\u2019s go for a bite to eat.\u201d<\/p>\n I left the pants in the car, and Sheryl and I returned to Albuquerque. Several emails to Alex requesting he mail them to me finally resulted in my accusing him of wearing them \u2014 even though I\u2019d never seen him in anything so pedestrian as a pair of Dickie painter\u2019s pants. Shortly thereafter the pants arrived via post, accompanied by a postcard of a photograph he had taken in Italy, signed \u201cUntouched by human crotch. Love to you both. Alex.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAlex, you\u2019re the closest to royalty I\u2019ve been around since I visited the Campbell Clan Castle in Inverary. \u00a0You really grow up in a castle?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, D, I did. Well, a big stone house. I had a stone bedroom in a building built in the 1500s, and the nearest fireplace was a quarter mile away in the kitchen. It can get cold in Ireland.\u201d<\/p>\n Visiting Alex\u2019s house and library and gardens was a true inspiration, akin to having access to a one-of-a-kind museum of magic and music, mystery and beauty. Like his life, all that he built there in Petrolia was so rich, so full, and \u2014 yes \u2014 so blessed. His art, his music, his friends, the food and conversation, and his friendship was a gift to me. Alex Cockburn\u2019s salon was a gift to so many.<\/p>\n After each of the numerous trips to Vietnam making Same Same but Different, Alex would invariably ask me to write something for Counterpunch. \u201cI\u2019ll print it,\u201d he\u2019d say. I never did. I\u2019d make a comment or observation about some arcane topic or another, and he\u2019d say, \u201cThat\u2019s interesting. You should write a piece about that. I\u2019ll print it.\u201d I never did.<\/p>\n I wish this essay had a different topic.<\/p>\n Knowing Alex was writing until the very end gave me small solace at not being able to make his funeral. His encouragement had given me strength and hope the many times I felt that no one gave a damn about another story about Vietnam. Once, after some wine and serious discussion, he turned to me and said: \u201cIt\u2019s important, D, and you should finish it.\u201d \u201cWhy?\u201d \u201cBecause it\u2019s not really over, is it?\u201d he said with a twinkle in his eye as he touched his glass to mine. \u201cThat\u2019s why.\u201d<\/p>\n A few days after my arrival in Vietnam in this July, I was interviewed by the Labor Party newspaper about the film, evoking cries of \u201ctraitor\u201d and \u201cun-American\u201d from some who read it online. I think Alex would have smiled at that.<\/p>\n No, I know he did.<\/p>\n Alex was \u2014 to borrow from Kunstler \u2014 a \u201cfabulous transcender of the mundane.\u201d He presented us with uncomfortable truths. He held strong ideas and expressed them elegantly and eloquently. And he was never afraid of the breach. His life of philosophical inquiry, flagrant rebellion of convention, and an increasing pursuit of the real was an inspiration to many.<\/p>\n As the the Boss sang about a departed friend, \u201cWhen they built you brother, they broke the mold.\u201d<\/p>\n To paraphrase him speaking from his friend\u00a0\u00a0Andy Kopkind\u2019s memorial service in 1994: \u201cAlex\u2019s not dead to me.\u201d<\/p>\n Alex was here, but not long enough.<\/p>\n Deryle Perryman<\/strong> is a documentary filmmaker living in Albuquerque, New Mexico. His latest film, \u201cSame Same But Different\u201d is about American Vietnam Veterans who have found forgiveness and redemption by living and doing humanitarian work among their former enemies. He can be reached at\u00a0samesamedoc@gmail.com<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n![\"alex:light\"](\"http:\/\/www.counterpunch.org\/wp-content\/dropzone\/2013\/06\/alexlight.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n