Fred Dewey, RIP

Carl Jung gave a lecture in the 1930s in London about a patient of his, a middle aged woman, if I remember correctly, whose psychological condition was such that Jung claimed that she’d “never been born”. Samuel Beckett was in the audience, and would soon make non-being the central character in his many fictions.

Is it possible to be born without a life? Yes, I think it, is I think it happens everyday and then the next day and the day after that, so that the world is mostly filled by people born without lives.

Fred Dewey was so alive it’s impossible for me now to believe he’s dead, but he is. Dead Wednesday June, 2, 2021.

The LA Times called me this morning; a young woman reporter had been assigned to write Fred’s obit and wanted to know about his life. Where could I begin?

I babbled a beginning—born in New York City, distinguished family, educated Exeter, graduated Brown, came west, ran Beyond Baroque, sometimes not taking a salary, got a 25-year lease for the BB building, created Beyond Baroque Books and an Archive, started Neighborhood Councils in LA, created The Poet’s Wall in Venice. Then moved to Berlin in 2011 and started pop-up Hannah Arendt workshops. Wrote a beautifully important book about the possibilities of political empowerment based on his experiences organizing community coalitions in LA, The School of Public Life (2014).

I told her also that Fred was in the midst of writing a book for my press, a book he provisionally titled, The Committee of Anonymous Patriots. “Fred was that rare thing”, I said, “a true intellectual, not faux, and with a great big heart…” She said she’d call back if she had any more questions.

I hung up the phone, wanting so much to call Fred and tell him about the conversation I had with the reporter who was so interested in his life. That maybe she’d be calling him for more information. That’s how alive Fred was, and is, and always will be, beginning to end.

Sunrise Reservoir, Meeteetse, Wyoming, June 2, 2012. Love you, Fred.