Fitting Tribute

No one could write a lovely, looping sentence quite the way our friend Joel could. This, for instance, was how he described one of his favorite Portland places:

"Lone Fir is the resting place of an astonishing variety of those who’ve come to be the city’s natives: along with pioneers and their descendants, there are Russians, Cambodians, Japanese, and Chinese whose families immigrated—some of them generations ago—and stayed." And though we're known for our rain, hippies and volcanoes, he said that they are merely "minor annoyances when compared to the city’s surpassing loveliness. Actually, the hippies are part of the charm, like colorful garden dwarves scattered amidst the tall firs."

The Famous Publisher.

We'd known him since his days as a designer, writer, art and food critic and self-described Famous Publisher of a literary rag called Mississippi Mud that predated zines and graphic novels but was a precursor to them all. He and his ladylove Cheryl also lived a couple of blocks away from us in Sellwood, where he showed Dave how to barbecue a whole turkey on the grill (for which Dave honors him every winter holiday by standing in the rain or snow and raising a pint over our bronzed prize), offered advice on how to repair an aging Victorian and was always available for two parents who couldn't find a sitter and desperately needed a night off.

Pre-unveiling quilt made by artist friends in Puerto Rico.

When he passed away in Puerto Rico from a sudden diagnosis of what-the-fuck-do-you-mean-I've-got-lung-cancer in 2007, his ashes were buried in that same Lone Fir cemetery where a coterie of Portland's literary glitterati bade him adieu. Not to be outdone in the monument category, his friend John Laursen, himself a writer, designer, editor, typographer and printing maven of crazy capabilities, took it upon himself to coordinate, with Cheryl's advice, the design and production of a fitting monument.

Honoring Joel's proclivities including reading, writing, drinking coffee and eating, as well as his love for all things having to do with Mexico's Día de los Muertos, it's a simple yet, shall we say, "avant garde" design that will give others in the neighborhood a run for their money. With type by John, art by Sharon Bronzan and a proprietary color job by Elite Granite and Marble in Hillsboro (they wouldn't even let John watch as they applied it), it provides those of us who loved Joel a marker to wave at as we drive by on our daily errands. 

And, maybe once in awhile, even a place to share a piece of pie.

Read previous posts about Joel: What Goes Around, about his publication Rotund World; Famous Publisher Has His Cake wherein the FP visits and I share a fabulous recipe for Chocolate-Orange Carrot Cake; and the self-explanatory An Appreciation: Joel Weinstein, Famous Publisher.

An Appreciation: Joel Weinstein, Famous Publisher

A few years ago I realized that friendships, like love, can be mutable things. Some people come into your life and you're as close as bugs for what seems like only a few minutes, then they're gone forever. Others come and stay for years, becoming part of the fabric of your days. Then there are those who pop in and out over decades, appearing, disappearing and then reappearing when you least expect it.

A Mississippi Mud cover titled "Safe in Heaven."

Joel Weinstein was one of the latter, a good friend, a writer, designer and cultural gadfly, a self-described "Famous Publisher" (or, more familiarly, FP) who started the iconic and idiosyncratic Mississippi Mud magazine in the 70s, publishing Oregon originals like Walt Curtis, Katherine Dunn, Tama Janowitz, Stacey Levine and Ursula K. Le Guin. Then, as he and partner Cheryl Hartup moved to follow her career as a curator of Latin American art, first in Miami and then in San Juan, Puerto Rico, he took his second publication, Rotund World, online.

Joel on the prowl in Puerto Rico.

His writing was always an inspiration, the loopy, fantastical, intertwining lines inevitably landing to make a pertinent point, whether it was about other writers, artists or, especially, pomposity and arrogance should they raise their heads in his presence. Of Rotund World, he wrote that it would contain "homenajes, comings and goings, squabbles, promesas, sales to important collectors, drunken brawls, unconcealed flattery, pissy interchanges, lukewarm showers, boring stretches of nothing going on, accidental deaths, hip-joint replacements, studio hijinks, unintended insults, and a bit of fly-specking, sometimes all at once."

He dropped in for dinner when he and Cheryl were in town last Christmas, bringing with him a gift of coffee roasted by friends in PR, regaling us with stories about his new friends there, querying us for tidbits of gossip about old ones here, ears pricked for telltale details that he'd squirrel away for the retelling.

The memorial altar at his home in San Juan (notice the sneakers and the cat under the table).

It was a wonderful, warming evening. We didn't know that two months later he would be diagnosed with terminal lung cancer though he hadn't smoked for nigh on 35 years, the irony of which would not be lost on him, to be sure. He passed away on Halloween, and Cheryl opened their house in San Juan to friends and food, music and laughter the next day, the Day of the Dead in Latin culture and also the 18th anniversary of the day they met.

A detail from the altar, with an effigy of Joel in his signature t-shirt, sneakers and shoulder bag.

Per his wishes, his ashes will be buried in Lone Fir Cemetery, of which he wrote, "Lone Fir is the resting place of an astonishing variety of those who’ve come to be the city’s natives: along with pioneers and their descendants, there are Russians, Cambodians, Japanese, and Chinese whose families immigrated—some of them generations ago—and stayed." And though we're known for our rain, hippies and volcanoes, he said that they are merely "minor annoyances when compared to the city’s surpassing loveliness. Actually, the hippies are part of the charm, like colorful garden dwarves scattered amidst the tall firs."

Goodbye, dearest Joel.

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His friend, Barry Johnson, in a lovely remembrance in the Oregonian, wrote that the Oregon Cultural Heritage Commission, of which he was a founding participant, will celebrate Weinstein with a program called "Discovering Oregon Originals: Joel Weinstein's contributions to Oregon culture," at 7 pm, Wednesday, Jan. 21, First Unitarian Church, SW 12th Ave. and Salmon St.

As Others See Us

"Lone Fir is the resting place of an astonishing variety of those who’ve come to be the city’s natives: along with pioneers and their descendants, there are Russians, Cambodians, Japanese, and Chinese whose families immigrated—some of them generations ago—and stayed," posts former Portlander and now Famous Publisher of the blog Rotund World in Puerto Rico. And though we're known for our rain, hippies and volcanoes, he says that they are merely "minor annoyances when compared to the city’s surpassing loveliness. Actually, the hippies are part of the charm, like colorful garden dwarves scattered amidst the tall firs."