Eulogy for Mike F. Alonzo
I've had more than one person tell me or say, "I know I wasn't Mike Alonzo's best friend, but he was mine." Each time I heard that, I deeply felt that, to Mike, we were all his best friends. We were βGREAT" friends.
Mike had the uncanny ability to make you feel like you had his undivided attention and unquestioned support. You felt that way watching a Saints game, a 1980 Flash Gordon cartoon, sitting in Hooters, at a convention, in a comic book store, or even on a podcast. Mike demanded nothing from any of us. He gave us everything he was capable of giving, which, in hindsight, was immeasurable.
When my father died, I was lost, and my nature steered me to the dark. Mike Alonzo met me at a comic book store and carried me out of that hell, introducing me to countless hours of pop culture history and lore. He opened my mind to an entire history beyond the limited geekdom I'd grown up with.
When I joined the Army, Mike sent me letters regularly and encouraged both myself and the folks I'd introduced him to in my platoon. When my first wife left me for a fat PE coach, Mike had me sleeping on his sofa, watching Doctor Who, Buffy, and TOS to ease the pain. All while mocking the universe and occasionally making crank calls. We were vulgar and laughed incessantly. We mocked things and people. They were mostly oblivious as we laughed to entertain ourselves but never to harm another person.
I never saw Mike Alonzo hurt anyone. He loathed himself and was incredibly self-deprecating to the point of his friends ignoring it. I feel sad now considering that perhaps I didn't reinforce him enough as he always did for me. I hate that he fell alone. I hate that I couldn't save him, which I would if I could, and so would Superman if Pa Kent was about to be hit by a tornado! Fuck you, Man of Steel. Lives like Mike's are always too short. He burned himself out on living life his way, but we all had a great ride with him while he did.
I'll always know we confronted John Byrne together. That we saw the prequels opening night together (thanks, Vicky), that we went nuts and he broke his glasses when Steve Gleason blocked the Falcons' punt. That he would put a pillow over his face when Danny Jr., Mikey, George, and I would make crank phone calls. Or sang Wesley Willis and David Allen Coe songs. Or we just made up our own.
In this horseshit grief, I'm thankful that I have 1,000-plus shows that I can listen to when I miss him, which I have every day since his passing. More importantly, Mike found his passion and calling by being part of the online geek community that made him just as fantastic in his field as Kirby and Moore were in theirs. And like Jack, Mike didn't make millions of dollars, just millions of friends, and that was enough for him. If Jack Kirby was the king of comics, Mike Alonzo was the beacon of brotherhood, with a costume to go along with it.
So as I reflect on my dear friend, I find myself blessed that, for whatever reason, I recommended Mike and I review the Death of Superboy (which was such a dear and tragic storyline for both of us). At the 1:20 mark, I was able to tell him how much I loved him and appreciated him. That was a gift, and I'll always have that. Just like we'll always have Pre-CRISIS, Real Trek, Pre-Disney filth Star Wars, and Woketer Who.
So, read 1970's Nova. Get to know the Giffen era Legion, the Sand Superman Saga, read the Kirby Collector, watch Probe, and tell JJ Abrams he's a jagoff. Moan the closing credits of The Empire Strikes Back, fight for an hour about how bad Byrne's Fantastic Four was, but then be disgusted at how good his Trek was. The most fascinating thing about losing Mike is we loved talking about totally unreal shit with him, and he himself, in his greatness and kindness, was the realest thing any of us will ever know. And he's still real, just not in the way we're used to. Because old geeks never die; they just materialize in their source material, and that's where we'll find him.
Be seeing you, my friend. I love you, Mike. Thank you for being my friend.