Sugar Grizz

Reading these tributes to Dennis is very moving. We were friends for more than 40 years, and I can see through your words that he was truly known and loved.

My heart and mind are so filled with Dennis, it's difficult to whittle down my thoughts, so I will leave you with this: the last time I saw him was on April 19th, when he came to see Selected Shorts at Symphony Space in NYC. With his audio expertise, he saved us during the pandemic lockdown--then continued to work on the radio show in his spare time because he loved it and because he was a great guy. After the live show, he asked me to introduce him to the actor Richard Kind, who had read a very funny and touching short story. They bonded over Dennis's love of Sugar Grizz on At Home with Amy Sedaris. Richard exclaimed that no one ever commented on Sugar Grizz, and it was one of his favorite characters. I could see that Dennis was pleased and very tickled. When he got back to DC, he sent me this video:

Dennis, if there is a gate at your next passage, I hope Saint Peter is a big old bear with an intense sugar addiction.

I love you, my friend

I’m so grateful to have known such a witty and warm person. I’ll miss his smile and always greeting me with a generous hug. My deepest condolences to Dennis’s family and friends. Dennis, we will miss you so much

It’s the sudden death of Dennis' untimely passing that is hard and heavy to fathom.

In hindsight, on what now has become his final visit to South Florida, Janice and I rendezvoused with Dennis at Big Louie’s Pizza shop, a local landmark where the atmosphere is as conducive for eating as much as it is about talking.  It's the Italian way of family dining which made it a perfect place for Dennis. Neither upscale nor pretentious, and not found in a Michelin Guide, Dennis chilled with the mood of the room to paint a picture of how he planned to re-imagine and re-engineer his life in retirement. On a Monday night when the place was mostly empty, the mood relaxed and devoid of any urgency for table turnover, Dennis spoke of that next chapter, maybe in a year or two, of moving to Minneapolis, volunteering with the NPR station there, being involved in the arts community and enjoying the sheer joy of exploring the city on foot during the warmer months of the year.  It seemed reasonable and logical and it fit his personality. His forward vision and attention to detail in his life was just as keen in its descriptions as the creative process with which he engineered audio sessions. He spoke with clarity, confidence and precision.  He knew where he was going, why and how he planned to transition to become that person in that time of his life. In the midst of such uncertain times, Dennis seemed to have found his pathway forward to a really good third act for himself.  

We let him talk as he could command an intimate audience at a comfortable eatery. His fascinating stories of interesting creative work; of significant people he met along the way and the wisdom of life he gleaned from those reflections, were in itself worthy of a one-person stage show, "An intimate evening with Dennis Jacobsen." 

At the table, he'd often stop for a moment and apologize to us for talking too much. But once on that roll of personal storytelling, we begged him to continue.  He had that gift of painting with words, where stories flowed like water, seamlessly, and never boastful. They segued from one to the next like a smooth transition of audio work. 

I didn't know Dennis for a long period of time, but he was someone I felt close to in the very short- time I knew him. I met him through Janice, yet he made me feel included in his personal circle of friends in my own right.  I experienced his sweet, gentle soul, admired his keen intelligence and acute perceptions of life and felt privileged to be entrusted with his insecurities and vulnerabilities. 

I feel a profound sense of grief of having lost a good friend; one with depth and sensitivity, who was comfortable in conversation in the deeper leagues of emotional intelligence. It's a rare gift. No surprise, Dennis was that rare person.

We were relatively close in age and could therefore talk in music metaphors. So, if there's a song that epitomizes Dennis' complex and rich life, I'd say it's "I Want You/She's So Heavy" from the Beatles Abby Road Album. It starts slowly with simple lyrics "I Want You" followed by three emphatic bass notes, hit hard by Paul McCartney, like exclamation points, after which the song then cruises and grooves, jibes and weaves, with jams and screams as it builds in rhythmic, forceful intensity. Like Dennis, it doesn't slowly fade out; his life like the Beatles last song on side one of the album, comes to a sudden and dead stop at a crescendo in mid-beat. 

 He left all of us, way too soon.

Dennis had ears as heavenly as his smile.  He heard it all and helped us all be better. He so certainly will be missed.

Dennis. My friend. I think of you and I hear your warm gentle voice that put everyone at ease. I see your loving smile that offered comfort. "I miss you" is an understatement. So the thought of you not being at IMG for our next session is unimaginable. I'll miss laughing about absolutely nothing and conversations about politics, philosophy and life. I pray love and the kindest memories for your family and friends as we all remember you.

My sincerest condolences to Dennis’ mom and family.  Dennis was just a gem of a man, one of the best!  I knew Dennis from his earliest days at NDSU.   He will be deeply missed.

I met Dennis YEARS ago back in my production days. I always knew I was in for a fun “work” day when I was booked with Dennis. We would be locked up in his audio suite talking and laughing so much I swear I came THIS close to wetting myself on more than one occasion. Honestly, it’s shocking any work got done at all! He was such a great guy with incredible wit and comedic timing, just so funny and his sarcasm was off the charts. He was also a great sounding board and really good at putting things into proper perspective. I can honestly say every minute spent with him was a delight.

The news of his passing hit me like a punch in the gut. Though I hadn’t seen him in years, I sit here and still can’t wrap my head around the idea of a world without him in it. It’s clear from the outpouring that Dennis touched so many people and I consider myself one of the lucky ones to have had the honor of knowing him. My deepest condolences to his family during this truly difficult time. I hope they can take solace in the fact that he was a true friend and loved so very much by so many.

My Sweet, Sweet Friend, I shall miss our long conversations and sneaking snacks in the middle of recording.  I will keep your mom and family on my prayer list as I know how much you loved them.  Keep an eye on me Beloved. I know you are looking down from a high place.  RIP!

Dennis and I were instantly best friends when he joined Interface back in 1997. He and I were working at our then second location (DC Post) and we bonded over the copious number of Mac and Apple magazines that he had fanned out on his client desk. I knew right then we were kindred spirits. Jessica and I fell into a regular rhythm of Friday night dinners with Dennis at Luigi's a block away where we would drink cheap wine and laugh about life.

We had our first child in 2001 and the Luigi's trips might have faded away, but the friendship did not. Dennis was there with us for kid birthdays, trips to Oktoberfest where he would dance to the German music with our little Liam, and the many times he came to visit us with thoughtful gifts for Kate and Georgia.

When life for me and Jessica took a sudden and exciting turn with an opportunity in California, Dennis was the first friend I told. I was equal parts excited and dreading telling him, since it meant we wouldn't be able to see each other every day after 22 years together. He was also sad but incredibly supportive. We kept up a daily text conversation, and he flew out to visit us right before and after the pandemic. Just today I had an experience at work that I wanted to share, and realized that the person I wanted to share it with is no longer at the other end of that very long thread on my phone.

We love you Dennis. Thank you for the best friendship we could ever hope for. Our heart goes out to your family, friends, and the long list of Dennis fans that were forever changed by you being in our lives.

I will always think of Dennis as my Billy….One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest had one of the closest casts I’ve ever been involved with. Such wonderful memories!

I knew Dennis while I was at NDSU.  We were in set design class together and spent many nights in the drawing room to finish up our designs.  Dennis always made me laugh.  I remember he came to my place for a party one night.  One of my roommates was gone for the weekend, so when I took Dennis on a tour of my apartment,  I thought it was strange that her bedroom door was closed.   I flung the door open and turned on the light.  My other roommate and her boyfriend were in bed, scrambling to cover up.  Dennis and I looked at my roommate and then looked at each other, stunned and embarrassed, and then he said, "This always happens to me" as I closed the door. 

I can't tell you how many times I've told that story because I loved his deadpan reaction.  My roommate and her husband remember that event, and we laugh about it whenever we get together.  This was one of many great Dennis stories. 

I'm sorry I didn't stay in touch, but I treasure the memories I have.  My deepest condolences go out to Dennis's family and friends.

Julie Bergman Eikamp

Dennis was one of my best friends in the whole world. He was so kind, understanding, and young at heart, which is manifest in the fact that he passed at 63 years old and I am 28. :) He had a lust for life that I envy, and could give better advice than anyone I know. Though I wish for infinitely more time with Dennis, I know he spent his life living his fullest and shining his brightest, which I hope will be an inspiration to everyone who knew and loved him. I, for one, certainly vow to live my life with a little more zest on Dennis’ behalf. He is gone far too soon, but he lived in a way that I know he’d be proud of. One of the biggest blessings during the hard experience of his passing has been seeing how widely and deeply he was loved, and how his friends have rallied around him to support one another. He would be so so proud, and we are all so blessed to have known and loved Dennis. 

I got to know Dennis at NDSU when he agreed to be in Brian Friel’s WINNERS - a two actor one act play that I directed and was performed once in the studio theater - I cannot remember if it was for a class or ?. He and Mary Warner had such incredible chemistry. I loved working with them. Since my time at NDSU, Dennis and I met a few times when I was in Minneapolis or Washington D.C. and we wrote to each other infrequently but I have always considered him a good friend. Open hearted, funny as heck, talented - a gentle and spirited person. I am loving looking at photos of him - that mischievous smile! I am saddened by our loss of his presence.

I am immensely grateful and thankful that our paths crossed 25 years ago . There was of course the amazing work but there was also the endless talks, the pranks, the never-ending laughs and most importantly the friendship. We worked on many a project, skied a lot of mountains from Austria to Colorado; had lots AND lots of drinks, had the type of laughs where your face hurts …. it was my great fortune to have had him as my friend. The type of friend that picks right back up where you left off no matter how much time has passed. I’m so thankful that we had a night out just a few short weeks ago. But I’m really mad and tremendously sad that it was our last.   

Dennis, Joanna and I (coworkers at the time) went out for tea service that day. We all dressed up and had the most beautiful afternoon. :)

We rented our first house together in north Fargo in the fall of '79, along with another theater alum, Bob Muhs. The place was a dump, right on University Ave. Bob had this huge aquarium with exotic fish in the living room. On St. Pat's Day 1980, Bob was out of town and we decided to get festive. We put some green food coloring in the fish tank.  Then we had a few drinks, laughing at the glowing green water circulating, with the dumbfounded fish swimming along. That is until they weren't. Only minutes into our entertainment, it became clear that the food coloring killed every fish in the tank. We panicked and did what any sane college sophomores would do, we scooped up the dead green fish, emptied the tank, refilled it, and drove to Moorhead to the only pet store in town with exotic fish. We pooled all of our money and walked up to the counter, gingerly unwrapping each exotic fish from its paper towel bed and saying, "We need two of those, and four of those, and one of whatever that is." In our minds we'd saved victory from the jaws of defeat, marveling at how all the new fish were doing.  And even a bit proud of ourselves for pulling it off. Then Bob came home. It only took a few seconds for Bob to realize the fish weren't his. It was frankly fairly easy to tell as back at the pet store, we couldn't afford the "exotic" fish and ended up coming home with some guppies and goldfish. Bob was a good guy and forgave us our bumbling.We were roommates a couple of times in Fargo. Those days are filled with the richest of memories and the loudest laughter. I will miss you, Dennis. My annual trips to DC will never be the same. 

If Dennis liked you, he was fiercely loyal to you.

But if you ever did him wrong, you'd better leave town!

A smart, sarcastic, loyal friend, with enough charm and wit to feed a 3rd world country.

I met him at work.  In the short time that I knew him, we became fast friends.

We talked about music incessantly.  

Though the duration was short, the wound is deep.

I will miss you, Dennis.  I'll miss our long conversations about Prince, Bowie, and the Beatles, our lunch outings with John D., and your hilarious, side-splitting humor.  I will forever hold our friendship close to my heart.

Much love to Dennis, and to his cherished family.

Dennis was my co-worker and roommate for a few years. We travel a lot together on jobs and vacations. Chicago, New York, Switzerland, France....Des Moines. Shared lots of laughs and excellent memories. The last time I saw Dennis was a few years ago and he was in Mpls. and I drove over from Wisconsin. One hour lunch turned into five, but you know Dennis, he liked to talk and so do I. Sad news. RIP my man.

I was shocked and very much saddened when I heard about Dennis' passing.  Dennis was the type of person that you liked immediately, when you met him.  Easy to talk with, a good sense of humor and very knowledgeable about so many things. He had a way of making you feel good about yourself when you were with him.  He will be missed by so many.  May God keep his family strong during this sad time.  

“If you have five seconds to spare, then I’ll tell you the story of my life. Sixteen, clumsy and shy…”

D, you filled my life with song and laughter and you  always encouraged me to be myself, just less self centered (ha ha).  I will miss you and your wit so much. I guess I’m still in shock, but I’m listening.  Please let me know things are gonna be ok. 

Until then, I am holding you in my heart.

Thank you for sharing your life and wisdom with me. I am humbled and touched by your presence, always.

All my love and respect,

Johnny B

Sending all my love to Dennis’ family, friends and colleagues. He was one of the most talented, fun and hilarious people I have ever met. He challenged so many of us to be better. Every night out was a blast, his stories were epic and I know he really cared about those close to him. The world will be a less bright place without Dennis. Miss you so much my friend. 

Condolences to Dennis’ family. I hope you find peace and support by loving memories and by being together. Hugs to you all.