Eulogy For Dan Feldman – My Friend – My Brother

Eulogy For Dan Feldman

My Friend – My Brother

[This past Friday I had the honor and unfortunate privilege to eulogize my dearest childhood friend, Dan Feldman. The following is the unabridged and annotated text of that eulogy. I made the conscious decision to omit some of the passages from my eulogy, for the sake of time and out of respect for the sanctity of the proceedings. After speaking with many of the people in attendance – especially Dan’s wife Erin, as well as his parents and sister – I felt it was appropriate to publish the thoughts that were left unspoken. I have inserted these sections, along with some additional thoughts that came to me after the funeral, in brackets throughout the text that follows.]

[The last time I stood on this Bimah I must have been no more than 15 or 16 years old. I was reading Torah – singing praise to a god whom I was taught was merciful, compassionate and just. Today I stand here to say goodbye to a dear friend – and ask that same god “why now?”

Soon after I first heard of Dan’s passing, I dug up my copy of Rabbi Harold Kushner’s book When Bad Things Happen To Good People. A text I first read many years ago during Hebrew High School, in this very same building. In it I hoped to find some understanding about the irrational and unfair nature of Dan’s untimely death – some solace to help me cope with the deep sense of loss and pain that was gripping my soul. I found neither. Much to my surprise, reading Rabbi Kushner’s words only helped to focus my anger and grief toward a god that had robbed the world of a beautiful person – and a family of a father, a husband, a son and a brother.

After I read the first draft of my eulogy to my 9-year-old son, he paused for a moment and said, “Dad, don’t you think that’s a little dark. I’d stick to the funny stuff.”

As is it written in Psalms, “From the mouths of babes oft come gems.”]

*        *        *

[Looking heavenward] Lord, why did you choose to steal Dan Feldman away from us now – well before any of us were ready to let him go?

Brain cancer? Really? Is that the best you could come up with? You couldn’t think of something nobler? Especially after all of the crazy stunts Dan and I survived together as kids? We gave you countless opportunities to pull the rug out from underneath us – so we could go out in a blaze of glory.

Don’t you remember when Dan and I would go skateboarding down Settlers Way and Mud Road with Chris Zummo? How many times did we bail out at high speed, narrowly missing a tree, the curb or a parked car? What about those massive bike ramps we used to build at the bottom of Robert Townsend Drive – or the huge ski jumps with Kenny Goldstein at Gelinas? We never wore helmets or protection of any kind. Those are the kind of flamboyant exits that would have at least gotten us a mention in the local paper.

Or the time Dan broke his arm jumping from the handles at the top of my pool slide. The top of the slide wasn’t high enough – so we had to stand on the flimsy tubular handles to get that extra foot of altitude – a trick Jeff Bowman showed us.

Dan and I were getting bored of simply jumping off the slide, so we figured we’d take the stunt up a notch by trying to jump into the opening of one of those old school floatation devices. You know, the ones with the hole just big enough that you’d have to struggle to squeeze your way into it. We figured the sheer force of the jump would shoot us straight through the hole with no problem. We were wrong.

I’ll never forget what Dan said just before he jumped, “Aaron, it’s too bad your cabana isn’t closer to the pool. Then we could jump off the roof!”

Classic Dan. It was that kind of thinking that I’m sure served him well at Crayola. So, having broken his arm, Dan ran home and somehow explained to his parents what had happened – or maybe he didn’t.

What about the winter afternoon when Dan and I pretended we were artic explorers? We walked onto the Setauket duck pond to explore the small island that lay in the middle. There’s no way that ice was frozen solid. [Apparently, that wasn’t the right time either.]

Lord, perhaps you remember when Dan and I scraped together enough money to mail away for Chinese throwing stars out of the back of a Kung Fu magazine? [How that package didn’t get intercepted by one of our parents I will never know]

We were ninja spies! Throwing the stars at trees, squirrels, each other…it’s amazing we didn’t kill ourselves, or one of Dan’s unsuspecting neighbors.

I bet if you used a metal detector to search the bushes in the Feldman’s front yard, just below Dan’s bedroom window, you’d recover a few of the stars that missed their intended target…

Wait – that’s right. Dan insisted that we only buy the ceramic throwing stars – just in case something went terribly wrong – the cops wouldn’t be able to find any evidence using a metal detector! He was always thinking three steps ahead. A quality I’m sure his friends at Launch House certainly can appreciate.

And then there was the fateful summer when Dan and I joined the model rocketry club together. Get this – our parent’s actually paid money and signed authorization slips that allowed Dan and I to join a club where they handed out small explosives. You can’t make this stuff up.

I recall conniving my mom and June – separately of course – to take us to the hobby shop so we could stock up on model rocket engines.

“No Mom – we need the D engines – the C engines simply aren’t big enough to give us the necessary altitude. Now granted, we did manage to launch several rockets [my favorite of which – named “DARK STAR” is still displayed proudly in my parents’ basement]…

But Dan and I had bigger plans for our stash of engines. We rode our bikes to Gelinas Junior High School and scraped all of the powdered fuel into a giant pile. With a single match – POOF! The pile instantly exploded in a bright burst of flame, mustard yellow smoke and an acrid smell that will forever be seared into my olfactory memory.

The explosion burned my thumb pretty badly – but as I raised it up to show Dan the damage I caught a glimpse of his face…and I realized very quickly that I got off light.

I can hear him now as he stared at me in astonishment…”What?”

You see, during “the experiment” Dan lost both of his eyebrows and all of his eyelashes. [He looked like Bob Geldof from Pink Floyd’s The Wall]. I can only imagine how he explained that to Ken and June when he got back to his house.  I remember walking into my back yard to tell my dad the story I had spun on the bike ride home…

[“Dad…Dan and I were playing at Gelinas, we got tired and fell asleep under a blanket – but my thumb was sticking out and it got sunburned…”]

I didn’t get past “Dan and I were playing at Gelinas…” when my father slowly lowered his newspaper and gave me the once over. I see could from the look on his face that he was saying to himself, “you’ve got all your limbs, you’re breathing and you’re clearly not bleeding.” My father silently raised the paper back up and kept reading.

That’s how it was in those days. Our parents had gotten used to what Ken referred to the other day as “those shenanigans you two used to get into.” I don’t remember being punished for any of our misadventures. Dan was my buffer and I his.

And then there is my favorite story of all. After school one day, Dan and I watched an episode of the A-Team. Shortly thereafter, my mom found us skulking in her garage – crouched next to her car. Dan and I had snaked a piece of string into the gas tank of my mom’s car and we were trying to light it. Thank God she caught us before we blew up the house

[I was reminiscing with my mom the other day about Dan, as I was putting this eulogy together. Amidst the bouts of laughter and tears, she told me that she and June still get a good laugh retelling that story.]

*        *        *

With Dan having survived all of those harrowing moments and numerous other crazy stories – keep in mind that this is a guy who took shrapnel from the Atlanta Olympic Village bombing – I can’t explain why he died. I can however describe to you in wondrous, colorful detail how he lived.  

Dan was a beautifully playful and creative soul – a fountain of ideas. Just ask the people at Crayola and Launch House – or our friends who watched him steal the show at Skit Night at Raquette Lake in Ninth Grade.  Dan wanted his first car to be a postal truck. He was going to paint U.S. MALE on the side of it. I passed one this morning on the way to the funeral and started to laugh.

Dan was a beacon of light that attracted everyone. No matter who you were or what group you ran with – Dan brought everyone together. He was the pied piper – the hub of the wheel around which we all spun.

It sounds like the cliché plot from some cheesy 80’s movie but it’s true. The jocks, the nerds, the metal heads and the beautiful people – everyone wanted to be Dan’s friend. And Dan was happy to oblige.

Dan was Facebook before there was Facebook…

He introduced me to Aaron Albano and a host of other kids from Murphy Junior High, at a time when that part of town might as well have been a foreign country. I only knew the kids who lived within the radius where I could ride my bike in an afternoon.

There are dozens of old friends I’ve reconnected with – many of them in this room today – simply because of Dan’s epic battle.  We were all bearing witness to the miracle that was Dan’s tireless, beautiful, poetic fight against cancer.

Even more amazing, I’ve already made some new friends, planning for Dan’s funeral. Ben Taylor and the other Crayolians, Dar Caldwell from Launch House and Kimberly Shepard to name a few. Only Dan could set it up so that his funeral would turn into the social event of the season. I was joking with Michelle Romano the other day that all we need is a DJ spinning 80s hits and we could have ourselves a high school reunion dance. I’m still waiting for Dan to come sliding through the door – wearing his white tux and tails, thin tie, Converse Chuck Taylors and that mischievous Cheshire grin.

[Well-played old friend. Well-played.]

Dan was Match.com before there was Match.com…

Just ask Jonathan French. He met his beautiful wife Stacey because of Dan. And I would have never had the guts to kiss Jamie Pomerantz’s babysitter if Dan hadn’t orchestrated the entire hook-up (my apologies James but for today you’re Jamie).

As Sue Gillert put it in a post earlier this week, Dan was a Stud Muffin. He was always the best-dressed guy in school (in fact I think he was voted “Best Dressed in our High School yearbook), with the coolest shoes and the mod haircut. I was in awe of his charm, confidence and animal magnetism. I was a nerd’s nerd – big glasses, retainer, shopping in the husky department my whole childhood – the works – with absolutely no game whatsoever.

Dan on the other hand was always hanging out with the best looking girls in school. His beautiful wife Erin is no exception.

One afternoon Dan called to tell me we had a lunch date with Jackie Jennings at Zorba The Greek in Port Jeff Station.

“WE had a lunch date?”

Not to put too fine a point on it but Jackie Jennings was one of the prettiest girls in school and I had no idea why Dan would want me to play third wheel – but I didn’t argue. I hung up the phone and got ready.

A few minutes later, Dan swung by and picked me up in his silver Ford Taurus wagon – the very same car he flipped on 25A and survived!

After lunch Dan insisted that Jackie come back to my house to see my new guitar and listen to me play. At the time I knew all of five chords and none of them were right – but Dan didn’t care.

It didn’t register with me at the time but looking back now I get it – Dan was proud of our friendship – he loved me unconditionally. That was Dan in a nutshell. Until his final days – that was Dan – unconditional love and a desire to inspire and bring people together.

Dan was so ahead of his time and emotionally mature for his age.

Jamie Pomerantz and I went off to Driver’s Ed and we came back with Driver’s Licenses.  Dan went off to Driver’s Ed and came back with a driver’s license AND a pack of catholic girls from St. Anthony’s for our crew to hang out with…[looking heavenward]

THAT’S RIGHT – CATHOLIC GIRLS – HOT CATHOLIC GIRLS MIND YOU!

We didn’t ask how he did it – we were just happy to come along for the ride – and – as always Dan was more than happy to be the straw that stirred the drink.

[Dan and I shared the kind of childhood experiences that echo in my memory like the chorus of a Harry Chapin song. Late August afternoons where time slowed to a crawl and seemed to stand still – where there was always enough sunlight left in the sky for one more inning of baseball – one more lap around the block on our bikes – or one more jump off the pool slide. The kind of days that felt like they would never end – and on a day like today – I wish they never had.]

Those were good times – no – those were great times. And Dan Feldman was a great friend – my best friend – my brother.

*        *        *

When I found out about his illness, I reached out to Dan to apologize for having allowed our friendship to stray. I was riddled with guilt. Dan would have none of it. He told me that he was just happy to hear from me.

“We all make mistakes Aaron…me especially.”

With that one gesture, Dan lifted my burden and placed it on himself. Here’s a guy fighting brain cancer, multiple surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, the works – and he’s concerned with making sure I’m OK.

Who does this guy think he is, the Dalai Lama?

That was my friend Dan – the kindest, sweetest more caring person I’ve ever known. Even in the midst of his most trying hour – he was looking to make the world around him a better place.

Dan was a great friend, a loving husband, a devoted father and a shining star that lit up the world. Dan’s star has gone super nova – his energy, light and brilliance having become one with the cosmos. And much like the stars that we see at night – many of them having long been extinguished – Dan’s light will continue to shine down upon us for years to come.

Dan is HERE [head], HERE [mouth], HERE [heart] and HERE [hands] – forever. So long as we continue to think about Dan, share the wonderful memories we have about him, cherish his light and love in our hearts – and most importantly continue the work he has inspired us all to undertake – to make the world a better place – to commit random acts of kindness and keep the tsunami of love flowing – so long as we do these things – Dan Feldman will be with us always.

And as for YOU [looking heavenward] – you’ve got your hands full! I can see Dan driving his ice cream truck through the gates of Heaven right now. Hoping out, clad in that ridiculous Crayola warrior suit, his Chuck Taylors and that electric, defiant grin beaming on his face – ready to stir things up and make some trouble.

I love you Dan – rest in peace brother.