my father's daughter : part iii
Maybe it was not only —
About being unable to talk to a daughter that compelled my father to send those obituaries. Maybe it was not only desire to tell me about himself through the stories of strangers. Maybe having cared for a person, my father wanted that person’s passing known. Seen. Remembered. “Someone special is gone now. You should know this.”
Someone special is gone now. You should know this.
Scott Ferraiolo.
May 12, 2007.
my father’s daughter : part i
my father’s daughter : part ii
my father’s daughter : part iii
where the art work comes by :
that is self embrace by len steckler
32 Responses to my father’s daughter : part iii
Farewell, Scott Ferraiolo.
I really like your choices of pictures. They contribute nicely to the experience of reading your messages.
Thanks for the great blog
I took a rose and scattered the petals in my garden and thought of you thinking of Scott. Wishing I could help you feel better.
Thank you Kym.
You were really lucky to have someone like Scott in your life Max.
I read about his sense of humor and creativity and then when I saw he was only a couple years younger then Luis – it broke my heart.
My regards to his brothers and sisters too…
amm
We were not big parts of each other’s lives. I do not know his family. But we have known each other since 1997 and it is a small hole in my world knowing he has ceased to exist that causes me a great deal of sorrow. There is a lunch Tuesday. The first since news came. I suspect it is going to be a sad lunch.
My condolences. I’m crying about something else right now but I will be certain to shed a tear for Scott.
Hey, no crying, you are going on vacation.
I’m sorry for your loss, Max. He must have been special, to cause so much grief.
Thank you Solnushka.
It is more than just Scott. Looking at this obituary for the first time it occurred to me my father may have felt true sadness at the passing of the people he sent me obituaries about.
I spent so much early time with my parents just maintaining a wall to hold off the unending bombardment that swept everything and everyone around them into vast personal constructs that were perpetual extensions of themselves. To me, that was how I saw those obituaries too. One more piece of the world turned into a personal extension with little in the way of emotion attached to it other than in how it reflected my father and his image of himself.
It makes me sad also I could not see there could be more to it than that. And experiencing this, experience maybe some of my father’s humanity in me. And wonder if this realization makes me less human, or him more.
[or, put more simply, I had a big “oh fuck me what if he actually cared about those people” moment]
There are some people who do make it hard for us to do them justice/ give them the benefit of the doubt. It’s not entirely our fault if we don’t.
I think the fact that you have thought of it now probably makes you more human, and him the same as he ever was.
It’s nice to think nice things about people we are forced to be close to.
I come from strange places so do not assume all people have human emotions. I think other people do assume that. Well, the human other people. [wry smile]
Yes, well, I had a total empathy failiure this week and was A Right Bitch to one of my colleagues who is giving the management thing a go for the first time, so I don’t think I’ll be joining your other people for a bit.
To be honest, I think it’s quite a common problem.
I dated Scott for six months. he sister wrote to me. i just received the letter — less than one hour ago. i am in europe now. today i found this website. just last week, finally, i purged myself of the kept correspondence. the poem i wrote to him. he was special. brilliant(!)sensitive. humorous. dark. the darkness took hold of him, befriended him. this companion was more than i could be. an unfair competition. please send the obituary. someone special is gone and there is no ticket to that place for me.
Muse, email Greg he can be reached via nicholl at oscars.org he can forward you the obituary.
I am so sorry.
Thank you Max! I believe we met during the Nicholl Fellows dinner reception – the year Charlie Kaufman gave the prelim offering. He spoke about you. He really liked you and your creativity. I will contact Greg. Thank you.
Ah. That was a very fancy night, all of us dressed up that night. He looked sharp. And happy.
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Hi Max,
I knew Scott in passing a long time ago. How did he die? Thanks.
Roger
I am sorry Roger I am not comfortable discussing his death in a public forum.
Just google it.
I’m sorry, I’m so nosy. I google everything!
Hello Max,
I understand (maybe too well). I have a copy of his obituary. Feel free to e-mail me. Thanks.
I just learned of Scott’s death and discovered your blog. I felt compelled to write.
I knew Scott in high school. I think he had a crush on me, too. He would write me letters, I still have them. He would put funny or sardonic return addresses on them.
Senior year when I had anorexia, Scott sent me a poem.
“Eat
“Or you will cease to be the warm hug of my loving mind.”
It worked.
Scott was brilliant. He was also kind and good. I was happy to learn that he had successes in his life.
He was good man. Thank you for posting Debbi.
Hello Max,
I was Scott’s art director partner in the ad agency business. We worked together for a few years and became close partners. We won a clio for the “Runny Nose ” campaign back in the 80’s. Even with this success, he became disillusioned by the business and left for hollywood. We worked together again as a freelance team for a while in the 90’s. But the pull of California was too great and we lost touch as happens when careers divurge. I have just heard of his death. I am devastated. I was always sure i would see his name on a film credit . He was incredibly talented- very funny, in a dark, dark way. And the most gifted writer I have ever worked with. What a loss.
Thank you for posting Steve. It was very sad news.
I am so sorry to hear of Scott’s death. He was a kind and volatile genius, a friend who helped me in a time of emotional need. We were both writers, creative, funny, different.
Thank you for your thoughts. Losing Scott was pretty harsh for a lot of Nicholl alumni he was one of our own and it punched a hole through us.
I dated Scott briefly in college (1969) – I was 17 and he was about that age. I thought that he was really funny. He came to visit me in New Orleans after my divorce in the 1980’s. As many of you have noted, by that point, his humor had become dark and depressing, at least what I saw of it. We lost touch after that visit – I never forgot him, though, and was sad to hear that he died so young.