Dean

*Written on Saturday, November 26*

Dean

When I was in middle school, my high school had a bad reputation as an institute of HIGHer learning. Taking on the nickname of Wastewood, the authorities decided they had had enough. They came in and cleaned the school up, either by changing some student's habits or by removing the bad apples. By the time I got to Westwood things had changed. Maybe it's that my perspective of big, scary high school had met reality; the reality that these kinds of things didn't happen in my whitebread hood. I'll avoid trapsing through the usual cliche "nice neighborhood" bullshit lines. We all know there's no such thing. There's a bigot and a racist and a drug user and a gambler and an alcoholic in every little Utopia in this society, so I'll spare the naive notions of purity about my sheltered, suburban neighborhood.
Dean was 2 years older than me. A notorious rebel, who was the point man for what was cool. And he was into art and theatre like me which made him even more of an attractive idol. I remember he was in my Art II class when I was a sophomore. I knew he had been in some movies and was thrilled in an ironic way that he was an extra in the newest Children of the Corn flic, which shot in my hometown. I had also heard of his antics in theatre class and one day in Art he showed me his business card - "Dean Thornton, Extra Extraordinaire." I though that was hilarious.
Over time I came to understand his friendship with a new friend of mine who I met in theatre my junior year, Mike Joplin. Mike was in the grade between me and Dean. I came to idolize Mike just as much as Mike idolized Dean, but because Dean was already out of school I didn't see him much. Dean even had a cameo appearance as an apostle thug in Revengence and Ressurection, the first movie I made with Mike. I treasure the times making that movie and think back on them as a creative playground where I got my footing in how much fun filmmaking could be.
My friends and I heard periodic legends from Mike about Dean and what he was up to. Working at a travel agency ripping off old ladies on bunk vacation packages, selling speakers out of his trunk in Portland, OR. A couple of my friends had a bet going on when he was going to be dead, a joke that brought us much joy at the time that will probably make them feel awful once they hear of his passing.
A couple years later, Mike started a wrestling league with some friends. It was a combination rock show and pro wrestling card with a bunch of rag-tag post high school aged guys who just wanted to entertain. Dean took on the moniker of Chickenhawk and was part of Roadhouse, a deadly redneck tag team with Mike (Duke the Rooster Cartwright) as his partner. They went far in the league and always gave the crowd their money's worth. Dean actually broke a couple ribs on a dropkick from Maniac Mick during a title match. He finished the show with no complaints. Chickenhawk was a real champ.
After this I would see him very rarely at the occasional improv show and no one really ever knew what Dean was up to. I used to tell Mike he was the "Dean" of his high school class and I was the new Mike, wishfully thinking I was the guy everyone looked to for laughs and inspiration.
I got a phone call today from a friend telling me Dean had died from a heroin overdose on Thanksgiving. The phone call was very matter of fact and I hung up feeling sad but largely unaffected. Over the past couple years, Dean had been absent from my and Mike's lives so the concept of him kind of faded. It wasn't until I thought more on the past and the way Dean inspired Mike that I began to really get broken up. Then I thought about how Mike lost his brother earlier this year and that two role models in one year is too many to lose. I went to his house to hug him and say I was sorry but he wasn't there. His parents told me he was at work waiting tables and that he had a play tonight. It was best to not tell him until after.
So here I am at the Hideout listening to loud music, thinking of the wrestling show we did on this vey stage, and wishing I could see Mike. I could have easily gone by his work but I guess his parents are right, having understood grief on a level I don't. I can't tell the Cupholders until after our show tonight either. I can't talk to anyone who knew Dean and can corroborate what a huge loss this is. I am extremely alone in my secret grief.
My high school was supposed to be clean from shit that grabs you and doesn't let go until you're dead. Here Dean was 10 years out of Wastewood and letting something grab him. I can't begin to understand how he got to that point, I only know he changed my life and one of my best friends' lives.
There is still shock and I can't help but think about my early budding creative years when a freshly cleansed Westwood High School was my sandbox. Nestled in the squeeky clean, strip-mall northwest Austin suburbs my neighborhood became a cliche today and I realized that all those cliches are true. He didn't have to die and I'm pretty sure I'll never know why.
He is missed.


b

Note 11-28-05 - I accidentally named one of the main characters in Saturday's show Deano. It gave me pause during the scene but ended up being a fitting silent tribute.