-- Gharlane of Eddore, April 23, 1997

I hadn't heard from Casanunda since Saturday morning. It wasn't really unusual for us to be busy and not communicate during a weekend, though I had said he needed to keep me informed so I wouldn't worry. Monday came and went and I didn't think much of it, but yesterday I e-mailed him about court, about Mars, about finding Nick, and finally, a "Hey? You alive?" message. When I didn't hear at all, I began to worry in earnest.

Today I drove off to his house. I saw the three cars all there, the hose running, and mail in the box, all ominous signs. I pounded on the door, then used my key and went in shouting his name. He was in bed, quite dead. I touched his cold shoulder and then went to call 911 and Rich.

911: "Why do you think he's dead?" Well, heart disease? Oh, you mean why do I think it, not why he died. I described what I'd seen. She wanted the phone number. No idea. (I'd rung from home, but didn't know it.) They would send someone out "right away." I went and opened the door. And waited, and waited. I turned off the hose and brought the mail in. I waited. I swear Davis isn't a 10-minute wait for a full siren firetruck. The paramedics raced in with medical bags and the electroshock paddles. Denial is a funny thing. I'd worried over him, but I didn't really believe it on the way over, I didn't really believe it when I saw the three cars, I didn't really believe it when he didn't answer my calls, and I didn't really believe it when I saw him. But even in the depths of my denial, I knew the electroshock paddles were not going to help.

I answered questions, who was he, who was I, what was I doing there, when did I hear last, etc. Then the police came, and looked, and then I answered the same questions. They called the coroner. She had to come down from Woodland, another "20 minutes", closer to a half-hour. The cop who waited with me is very young, and babbled about Iowa and about Davis and about his geneology. This is the first dead body he's dealt with after all his training and his on-the-job with a partner. This time he was on his own, so he'd occasionally think of a question and ask it, but mostly he just blathered on.

I kept calling Rich, who was out walking the dog. Then he went on the Internet! Argh. I finally got hold of him. He'd seen the note I left, but not all the blinkies on the answering machine a couple of inches away. He gave me my friend's father's phone number which I passed on to the cop. Rich would call the father; better he should hear from a friend than an official.

Finally the coroner arrived. She asked many of the same questions, and I filled out a form that said I identified the remains. I waited about an hour while they looked at medications, searched for a will, and got as much information as they could about his health and his relatives, his work and his hobbies. I bragged up the fact that he was published.

My Favorite Curmugeon would have hated the pictures, the interest in his gun safe, the details of his personal life being bandied about. He would have enjoyed the tributes they're writing at Usenet. I keep saving things to share with him. You don't break the habits of 15 years in 15 minutes! They finally let me go, though they will seal the house, at almost 1. I came home and collapsed, weeping, in Rich's arms. I forgot lunch, and the only reason I ate dinner was Rich insisting. I emailed people and made phone calls. I talked to his work, his father, an ex-wife, Roni, Vince, Bernadette, Pagan.

Yes, it was awful to find his body. But it might have been worse if someone else had, and I found out second-hand. This way I'm sure he died peacefully. It looked like he just lay down for a nap and didn't wake up.

I first met Gerhard in person June 7, 1986. He'd been writing me about Dreamchild and Lewis Carroll, and then we really started to talk. I'd offered him some redwood seedlings. (These are fine beautiful trees now.) The first thing he did, on my porch, was show his Eagle Scout card. This is one of the things he was proudest of.

The police asked me if he had any enemies. How to answer that? GoE was not one to suffer fools gladly, and sometimes the fools took umbrage. Douglas Adams wrote of Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged, who was insulting everyone in the universe in alphabetical order. This was one of my nicknames for my friend. (He died before he hit Y for Yarnot.) I called him Wowbagger the Magnificent. I always enjoyed hearing about his latest battle with people who couldn't turn on a computer, or couldn't spell, or couldn't speak English. People knew him as a curmugeon, a martinet, sharp-tongued. But he had a kinder side, too. He was really a softie.

He saved a couple of lives, and one of them broke his heart. He gave money, computer goods and expertise, blood, time, all from his heart. The week before he died, since he knew I was rather desperate, he offered to cat-sit, even though he was allergic. He was there for me through the children's accidents, my grandson's illness, Rich's illness, my Mom's final illness. In all the trials I would be on the phone crying at him. I so wish he could help see me through this one!

Second stage, anger. Unfair! He was supposed to reinstall my old hard disk, now that I'm sure I don't need what's on it. Do it now, I begged. In the fall, he said.

Casanunda was the happiest I've ever known him lately. He was looking forward to laser eye surgery, he was submitting and being published, he was fine.

Pagan sent this:

The Emperor of Citadel

Call the lover of chinese food,
The grouchy one, and bid him knock
Something out that won't offend (too much).
Let the Yarnots dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the newbies
Bring garlic in last month's _Analog_.
The aides to all the users tell
The only emperor is the emperor of Citadel.

Dig out from under the tree stump,
Stuffed with leaves and animal teeth, that sheet
Of which he sold a story once
And spread it so as to cover his face.
If his cloven feet protrude, they belong
To show how cold he is, and gone.
Let all users sound the ^G bell.
The only emperor is the emperor of Citadel.

---------------------------------------------

from _PAGAN_FLAMES_IN_EXILE_:Posey, Rants and
Unwritten Stories of a Wasted Life.
(C)MMI by David St.Claire. Published by Wallaby, Stryder & Zeppa:
Citadel, Earl's Castle, DDBBS, Andy's Tavern, Marsupial Grove.

And this is an earlier screed of his.

Gerhard Edelweiss, Gharlane of Eddore, the second-evillest entity in the universe, Wowbagger, Casanunda, my favorite dwarf, my best friend.