Last Thoughts on Dan Abramson
By Aaron Berman
The fond recollections of Dan Abramson that have graced these pages demonstrate that, no matter how insignificant you think you are, your existence impacts many people in many different ways. Despite his self-deprecating manner, I hope he realized just how many friends he made in his lifetime.
For nearly five years, Dan and I worked together on the Walford Gazette and its sister publication, British Television magazine. The more I got to know him, the more he reminded me of a character in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series called Wonko the Sane.
Wonko's a perfectly ordinary chap who one day discovers someone has gone to the trouble of printing directions on a toothpicks box. This promptly sends him spiraling into a rebellion against an idiotic society. From there on in, he dubs the outside world the Asylum, and designates his home as the only territory fit to be called the rational world.
That was Dan, all right.
He would call me some nights to relay his latest run-ins with the at-times insane bureaucracies that rule the television world, just to make sure he wasn't the one slouching towards lunacy. Seldom was that the case.
For those who really want to know what he was like, you have only to read his articles, those that appeared here and in BT. They are accurate representations of how his mind worked.
I think he took real pride in them, not just because of the way they were written, but because they were a testament to the way he chose to live his life.
Sure, he spent some time as a 'real journalist,' pounding out copy for trade journals and occasionally daily newspapers. But there was no poetry in it, no satisfaction. When he spoke of those days, you could tell they really depressed him.
But when we'd brainstorm ideas for the Gazette or BT, he'd get really worked up, like one of the founding fathers firing off suggestions as the Constitution was being drafted. That's when he was truly alive.
He didn't make a living off this stuff of course, no one did. He took on telemarketing jobs, basically anything that would subsidize the work he wanted to do.
What else can I tell you about this man we will never hear from again? He lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment building in Queens, regarded stuck elevators and modern technology with equal contempt, considered Dean Martin the embodiment of manly sophistication, and Sam Waterston (I'll Fly Away) one of the finest actors on television.
Existing at opposite end of the age spectrum, we disagreed on most things save for the genius of Lenny Bruce, My So-Called Life, and EastEnders.
Yeah Dan, I'm sure you're laughing yourself silly over these gushing recollections, wondering 'Why the hell didn't you jerks tell me these things before I left?'
Sorry guy, that's not the way these things work. When we're small we learn if you really show enthusiasm for something or someone, it probably will be taken away from you.
We realize too late those things, those people, are taken away from us sooner or later anyway.
Peace Wonko. And once and for all, Sam Waterston is no Robbie Coltrane!
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