I was his guitar instructor for  4-5 years.

Fridays were a special day, because Dave was one of the few people I'd agree to doing a housecall. Perhaps one of my more dedicated and disciplined pupils, he sought new ways challenge himself on his instruments when time allowed. Towards the end, we were starting to get him out into the open mic scene and build a small catalog of songs.

Hearing the news of his passing blindsided me. Unfortunately I cannot make it to the celebration of life event, though I'll be there in spirit.  Rest in peace Dave. 🙏🏻🕊Rock out in Heaven! 🤘 I'll bring a few cold ones when I head to the Pearly Gates to meet ya much later in the future. 

Though we were sharing school hallways from the beginning of time, Dave and I became friends late in life. In 2019 while home for my 40th class reunion I posted on the Wyandotte site when I saw inexplicable lights while looking eastward across the Detroit River. People posted ridiculous patronizing replies that didn't explain what I saw. Then Dave posted that he saw the same thing that morning on his way to work. Our friendship began.  

From then on we corresponded, shared reunions for each of our classes, and always found time for a meal or two when I'd come home from Florida. 

Each of our conversations found its way to the deep end of the pool. I adored his famous sense of humor, but even more I cherished the depth of his integrity and soulfulness. The gift of his friend continues as I recall and ponder the things he shared. A light like his is never extinguished.

Dear Zaran Family,

     Your father was truly one special & incredible man. 🙏💪❤️

Met “Zman” on mile “16” of The Florida Ironman back 20 years ago with Pete “Slacker” Smith & Jim “Tin-man” Johnson playing special needs….

 “Michigan?” -“Hey, I’m from Michigan too!” Who would have thought that encounter would lead to so many Charity Golf outings, IM’s, visits in NYC & MI, Special friendship, Raising money for kids in Children’s Hospitals & Smiling the time! 🦁❤️

Yes, Dave you had that rare “heart of a lion” - so grateful for all that you, Paul Fraser, and many local supporters did to help so many kids for “The Companions & Courage Foundation.” Your amazing wife Lori and your beautiful family supporting you every step of the way! 

  The kindness, courage, and spirit you lived your life was 2nd to none.  

We miss you and Lori dearly, but know that you are together in a skybox rooting everyone on, especially your incredible family in the “Ironman of Life.”

Please know your example of how you lived your life  & treated others will never be forgotten.

God bless you, Lori and your Family 🙏❤️

Love, Friendship, & Gratitude Always,

Pat

You have been through much, know that your parents are very proud of each of you. Hold each other close and celebrate the good times together. 

We are all very sad for your loss. Your dad was an inspiration.

Hannah, Joe, Mugs, Mark

Being a close friend to Dave has been one of the great honors of my life.  He is leaving a legacy that few people can boast about.  While leaving a huge hole in all the hearts of close friends and family, Dave, you will always be remembered as a kind, adventurous soul who truly loved people.  

                                        Forever loved Willy❤️

I apologize, in advance, for the long ramble…On a daily basis, since Christmas Eve and the several weeks leading up to it, I’ve run through, in my mind, how to say goodbye to my incredible friend and brother Dave Zaran. It’s been a heartbreaking task made nearly impossible by both the enormity of the loss and the shocking speed at which it has happened. Each thought is quickly overrun by another stronger, deeper, more emotional memory and making sense of them and this entire experience has been a cruel example of the phrase “words cannot express.”

The level of loss I am feeling isn’t simply because I’ve known Dave since 1970 when my family moved into a house down the street from him. It isn’t the countless memories, stories, and laughs I have shared growing up with Dave. It isn’t the annual co-birthday extravaganzas (always fun, often embarrassing) since our birthdays are just three days apart. It isn’t even celebrating weddings and the births of our kids with him. It isn’t the joy of sharing vacations and camping trips with Dave, Lori, Rachel, Alex, and Natalie; or reliving those trips and memories over regular dinners and parties together. It isn’t crying and mourning with Dave over the loss of our beloved Lori.

In truth, my most cherished memories with Dave are the quiet moments: sitting around a campground fire having a beer or two (and, unlike our earlier birthdays, one or two really had become our limit) while wearing ridiculous leather hats from the local party store. Or sitting on a hotel balcony in Rome, eating carry-out pizza while our kids played in the room. The magic of Dave, to me, has been his ability to derive the same amount of joy and happiness from a simple dinner and conversation with family or friends (old and new) as he did from crossing the finish line of one of his 15 Ironmans. This is the daunting legacy I will most remember and maybe even aspire to. .

Last week, I was reading a book called Poppy to my third grade students. I came to a passage where the main character, a mouse, was on a journey, trekking through a huge, imposing forest. She stops along the way and describes how the overwhelming vastness of the forest made her feel incredibly small and insignificant; but, at the same time, being even a small part of the vastness made her feel enormous and empowered. This seemed to be a perfect metaphor to describe being friends with Dave. While always inspiring, watching Dave live his life — his vast and varied networks of friends, adventurous spirit, or complete dedication to his passion pursuits — could definitely make us mere mortals feel small. Yet, because he had the unique ability to make whoever he was with feel like the center of the universe, like Poppy, being a part of Dave’s life always made me feel a little bigger and better than I am.

The loss of Dave has been a shocking, crushing blow to so many who share the same feelings and connections to him as I. I also know I will miss that connection every day. While I am not a fan of moral victories, I can take some solace and inspiration from the fact that Dave packed so much life and love into his 64 years. Mark Twain said, “Most men die at 27; we just bury them at 72.” Twain clearly never met my friend Dave Zaran.