Today, I received an sad piece of news. Jangles rang me earlier;
"Well man, do you remember Jim Daly?"
"I do, what about him?"
"He passed on last week."
Jim was a man who I met once, maybe twice, in my life. He wrote one of the most beautiful plays I've ever had the privilege of watching, The Land of Stuff, a production which had a profound influence on my own stylistic leanings as a director and a writer. Listen was basically my attempt at The Land of Stuff, a minimalist tale of people lost in a world where the only crumbs of comfort they found were each other. I'll never come close to writing anything as moving or provocative as The Land of Stuff, but damn it, I'll try.
While I had no real personal connection with him, I did enjoy his company in the brief, fleeting moments when I spoke with him. I'm somewhat regretful that I never got to speak with him when I found the confidence to start writing, because I would have loved to have discussed some ideas with him.
There are plenty of people who will mourn the passing of Jim Daly, all in their own unique ways. I will be among them. While I won't shed any tears, part of me will sink into myself, into a space populated by thoughts of what might have been. But another part of me will swell with pride, safe in the knowledge that I was blessed to have met a creative genius, even if but for a brief period. That little time spent in his company has had more profound an impact than he will ever know.
RIP Jim. T'was lovely to have met you.