In The Manner Of Mixed Emotions

The Memorial For Gary Stewart

By Gordon Skene

I should be used to these by now; the longer you’re on the planet the more memorials you go to — it’s just the nature of life. When you get to a certain age it feels like god’s own lottery, you ask your friends how close it came to their number this time and breathe a sigh of silent relief that you all got somehow missed — for now, anyway.

But when it steps outside the lottery, when fate takes a backseat to unexplained and all-pervasive despair, grief and helplessness and ends a life in one small desperate moment, the world no longer makes sense and those silent breaths of relief don’t mean much of anything in the big picture.

That said — there are those times when the seeming senselessness and inexplicable choice of solution results in a coming together of people whose lives were touched, and in being touched, were transformed.

The memorial yesterday was for a friend and colleague — one who had two distinct careers and three different lives.

Gary Stewart was a friend and colleague I knew for at least three decades, whose deep love and passion for music was the glue that held his life together — as it is for so many of us. Music has always been a unifier and bond in our lives — the one thing that makes sense when other things don’t — it brings people together and it uplifts and offers comfort and solace. And because music is so wide and enveloping, there is no “one size fits all” in the equation.

Beyond that, Gary was a person whose passion was infectious — whose example was inspiring. Like so many people I grew up with, Gary (who was much younger than me) was part of that newer generation who believed that staying curious about life, staying interested, was the most important thing we could have. It was a universal truth no matter how long you had been on the planet or how many blocks you had been around. Curiosity and an open-mindedness were key and crucial to life. And Gary embraced that.

But there are things that are not foreseen — things that cannot be helped. The curious and insidious nature of depression — the perception of loneliness and a sense of having no useful purpose in life, blots out all that is inspiring and fills the screen with despair — and sometimes the despair is all-encompassing and crippling — and so it becomes a setting for the ultimate act — one that some consider selfish and angry, but that others see as a means to end the endless noise and to stop the darkness. It was not that he hadn’t tried to come to terms with these perceptions; he had, and openly spoke about them to friends. He had taken all the steps and done all the things — but sometimes, the herculean effort to face and vanquish the demons proves unstoppable.

And so we gathered at this memorial, some 1,000 of us. Faces I hadn’t seen in years. Faces I knew but never met. Faces I met but never actually spoke to — we were all gathered in one place — we all had the same thing on our minds; “how could a man, so loved by so many people, not recognize the love he gave was given back many times over”. It was baffling, and despite the joy of seeing faces and renewing friendships, the underlying emotion was one of sadness; it was the unconscious but resolute damper on things.

The eulogies came — not one person was able to finish their tribute without breaking up — the overt coughing and clearing of throats was background music until the guitars tuned up.

Gary, who had been a passionate supporter of the L.A. Music Scene was celebrated by the artists and bands he championed. Their tributes were heartfelt, and many a Stoic — the often jaundiced and unmoved, were moved to tears by the passion and gratitude displayed by the words and feelings on stage.

And then it was over. We all got up and made our way to the foyer and mingled.

But no one really wanted to leave — no one actually wanted to go home and resume life. Because all the things Gary was passionate about, the involvement and being of service and that tactile communication between human beings that is so often abandoned struck unconscious chords with us. We didn’t want to leave — we were inspired, sitting there in the auditorium, shrouded in our grief, we didn’t realize that what Gary was all about was being transmitted to everyone in the room that day — the spirit of reaching out, the spirit of being present — the spirit of leading by example — the spirit of being of service to leave the world a better place than when you found it. There was a kindness that had enveloped the room — and everyone there could feel it.

Gary Stewart was an extraordinary person and engaged human being. His selfless kindness, his acts of generosity, his boundless enthusiasm did not become things to mourn, but rather things to emulate. We came away better people, brought together by sadness.

I realized, sitting there seeing so many faces and feeling so much emotion, that we have so much power as people to do good in this world — that it doesn’t take great sweeping movements and dramatic proclamations, but small gestures, tiny enthusiasms; one person talking to another, that bond that creates when hearts are touched.

The much-overused word Empathy comes to mind but, the “inside job” nature of life is the real solution here. We trudged into a Memorial, with sadness in our hearts and left with a feeling of joy — joy of possibilities. Possibilities that every one of us can make a difference — that it requires very little — that we only stay curious and keep an open mind — and help others.

Gary Stewart was many things to many people and everyone of us were grateful to have known him, to work with him, to be his friend and to be inspired by him. He made it okay to be excited over what you loved — made it okay to let people know — made it okay to ask questions.

Made it okay to be a human being.