Tom M.

I first met Dan when we were both working as farmers at Old Sturbridge Village. He had such a way of cheering people up, trying to help them through tough times, as well as working hard in the fields, with the animals, and helping me with chores. He'd come from a troubled time in California, and had mixed feelings about returning. In addition to working on projects, we had many walks together, talking about "things", and how to work through the intricate problems we humans often encounter - from a crooked tooth, to a lost love.  I remember you Dan.  Always will. 

Tom M.

I met Dan in grade school when we were nine or ten, and even if he hadn't been a regular part of my life for the next decade, he'd still be forever memorable for that year alone. At recess he was just this... insane ball of energy zooming around. He'd somehow manifest on every part of the playground simultaneously, like some kind of quantum particle with bangs and a goofy grin. 

Sometimes, over the years, as that energy just continued to refine itself and find new means of expression, or as Dan would just toss off non-sequiturs at me as we passed in the hall, the thought would go through my head, "So, is this guy crazy?" And honestly, if he were, hell, everyone should be that kind of crazy- the world would be a better place. And then there were the full conversations, sometimes legitimately odd: "I think it's possible that the world only exists in my imagination, and you can't prove me wrong!" and then I would try (and fail) to prove him wrong. (Let's add on to the memory of Dan by not forgetting that he was also scary smart. Without ever taking a philosophy class, he'd figured out the concept of Solipsism at 15 years old!)

And now that energy is gone from the universe, and the universe is diminished for the loss. We'd lost touch, aside from the occasional 'Happy birthday!', 'Thanks, hope you're doing well' on social media. But here's the thing: I had never stopped thinking about him. I doubt a week of my life has gone by without Dan popping into my head and saying something random, or offering his take on some problem I was facing, and 'he'- my Phantom Dan- always made me smile. I had no idea he was sick until after he was gone, and wound up reading through all of Mandi's journal in one go. It was heartwrenching, but I needed to do it. Mandi, I mourn your loss, but I'm also filled with gratitude that the friend I made in fifth grade had someone caring for him so well over this past year of hell. Thank you. Rob, Sarah, Bill, Annie, Alison, Jack, Charlie, and all Dan's family, both blood and otherwise, I am so sorry for this hole in your lives.

There was a book I was reading last week, which I finished the day that I heard the news. There was a line in the last chapter that struck me. Admittedly, I was in a heightened and upset emotional state, so it's possible for something to seem more poignant and providential than it really is, but I just associated it with Dan's existence. "What is love but delight in another human being?" Dan offered delight to everyone he met with the speed and efficiency of a Vegas blackjack dealer  sliding cards across the table. I hope that Dan never doubted the love he received back from the world.

I'm so sorry to find that Dan passed. I knew him from his Disney days...and a better friend (or person) you couldn't find. When he left Cali to go back to Massachusetts (not for long, tho) he stayed with me for a few months. He was fun, he was always there when you needed him....and I will miss him.

God speed, Dan.