In Memoriam: Malcolm Chaddock

We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
—T.S. Eliot, The Four Quartets, “Little Gidding.”

Yesterday afternoon I received a call from a good friend, sobbing. Two of our activist friends went to Malcolm’s apartment yesterday to check on him, as he hadn’t answered their texts or phone calls on the weekend. He had given one of them a key, so they let themselves in, and they found him in his bed, dead. He was 63. We don’t know the cause of death. His daughter will deal with the medical examiner about that.

He was furious and agonized by the news, as are most of us who can bear to read it. He would stand on overpasses with his Palestine flag and his Veterans for Peace flag, doing everything he possibly could do, to remind people not to forget. Not to distract themselves. Not to run away from the horrible truth. 

He attended every protest. If he said he would show up, he always showed up. On time. He was flawlessly (and could be brutally) honest. He understood the situation in Ukraine and that in Palestine and the connection between the two. He grieved for Aaron Bushnell. He campaigned for Black Lives, he marched for abortion rights. He came out as a gay man only a few months ago. He volunteered to take a monolog for Silent Voices, although he had no acting experience. "Anything for Donna," he said. 

He made beautiful meditation bells from discarded diving equipment. He re-used, recycled, upcycled. He bicycled. He meditated. He played guitar and wrote a few songs, and recently he found a group to play with and their practice sessions sounded like fun. Community. He lent money to people who needed it, although he had little and sometimes had to borrow to get through the month. He loved his cat. He loved justice. He was a good human being, through and through. I never heard or saw one thing about him that wasn’t upright. He persisted and provided all of us with a model of persistence. I am weaker for his passing. I will miss him. Extras: first photo I made of him, in 2011. Malcolm joyful, 2016. The last portrait I made of him is here. The photo I’m using today was made in January, 2024 at the protest against the weapons-makers who fuel genocide. In that blip he’s at the extreme left. This blip was processed  today. I've been revisiting my whole folder of photos of Malcolm.

Malcolm, my wise friend, my comrade: your work here is done.