From Marcel’s Mom
Marcel David Fremont, 29, of Oak Park, IL and St. Louis, MO. Son of Frede(rick) and Veronica Fremont (Kuehn). Brother to Nathaniel Fremont. Grandson of Regina Kuehn and the late Heinz Kuehn, Henry Fremont and June Fremont. Nephew of Angelika, Birgitta, Brian, Clement, Elisabeth, Christopher, Lynn, Gloria, Bill, Sue, John, Bruce, Katie, Nancy, Jim, Penny, Albert, David and Kyunghee. Cousin to Jenny, Erica, Aaron, Orchid, Sophia, Johanna, Sarah, Steve, Kate, Caroline, Charlie, Lisa, David, Kate, Alex, Bridget, Gordon, Gavin, and Arim. Uncle to Christian and Buckminster. Killed on June 25, 2008 when his motorcycle collided with a truck in northern Montana. Marcel attended Ascension Grammar School and graduated from OPRFHS in Oak Park, IL in 1997. He graduated from St. John’s College in Santa Fe, New Mexico in 2001. He was to begin his doctoral studies in neuroscience at Washington University, St. Louis, and was traveling around the country to visit family and friends. His love and kindness are carried in the hearts of all who knew him. Please post something so I can see and feel Marcel through all of you. Veronica Fremont
Tags: Accident, Marcel Fremont, Mom, Montana, Motorcycle
June 29th, 2008 at 12:34 pm
marcel was one of the most amazing people i have ever met, on every possible level. i have so many many memories, but here are one of the first and one of the last, both of marcel gentle and caring and wonderful…
1994: Him holding my 14-year-old hand as we walked across the abondoned railroad bridge in the park reserve in chicago, cause i was so afraid of heights and it was so high. everyone else was making fun of me for being scared, but he came back over the bridge and took my hand and we did it slow, step by step, with his deep deep voice (even at 15) distracting me with myths and parables.
the end of may, 2008: we arrived back at where i was staying in st. louis after walking around forest park. this little boy jermaine who lived in the neighborhood ran over and was so excited about marcel’s motorcycle, asking ‘can i get on? can i get on?’. marcel picked him up, little boy in big marcel arms, and sat him on it. pestered with questions, he was patient but amused, smiling and chuckling at jermaine’s exuberance.
June 29th, 2008 at 1:15 pm
Lindsie called me yesterday………I am so very sorry…Marcel was one of the most compassionate, witty, intelligent, creative, kind souls that I have had the honor to know…….He had a smile that lit up the world………He will forever live in my heart………I send all of you wishes and prayers of love and comfort.
Fondly remembering a truly wonderful man,
Julie Bear
juliebear10@verizon.net
I scanned several pictures that I would like to email you, but won’t post as Lindsie would be unhappy if I sent them out for the world to view…..two from their graduation and a more recent photo of Linds………if you would like them and when you find time, please send me an address and I will share them……..
June 29th, 2008 at 3:29 pm
Dear Vron, Rick, and Nathan,
When Steve called me at work to tell me the tragic news about his cousin, Marcel, he was very upset. I comforted him by telling him that there are no words to describe losing a child. There is a word for losing a parent – orphan or a spouse – widow/widower, but the loss of a child has no word because it is “indescribable”. My thoughts and prayers are with you during this “indescribable” time. I will always remember the curly hair baby boy with the cherub smile, Marcel.
God Bless you!
Sarah, Steve, and Kate’s Mom
P.S. My dad and little sister, Colleen, will take special care of your baby boy in heaven.
June 29th, 2008 at 3:43 pm
While Marcel and I weren’t very close, I still felt a closeness to him. I first met him through Polly, we were in the basement doing nothing. Dave K was there too, our clothes were too big. Marcel’s clothes were all black, and his hair wild. Marcel never judged. He was quiet. I once played a show with Fonogginate at the Bopshop. Carl was the only one who could play the songs, Marcel and I were clueless. Ed wore a windbreaker hoody. When I get back to Chicago I’ll find the VHS tape. Years later I was working on a movie that was never realized, but asked Marcel to read excerpts from Ernest Becker’s “The Denial of Death” for a voice over. I loved Marcel’s voice and admired his intelligence and inquiry. I’ll find the recording of this also when I get home.
Marcel has always been there as a friend - maybe I never completely realized that about him which explains why I feel so close to him, and not at the same time. He let 7 of us stay at his house in 2005. He was always willing to help people create, he was always inventing. He also just loved to play. We played catch with a mattress at the Ice Factory one afternoon - not speaking a word, just laughing every time we tried to pick it up and throw it. Marcel was also a piece to a larger whole. His Oak Park circle wont be the same without him - as all his circles he has made will be less. I feel angry that I can’t
be home for the wake, but more so I feel lost not being with the other parts. Our mutual friendships are strong and have a history .so to be away from the community has left me feeling really strange. I sent Marcel a text message yesterday to say goodbye and keep thinking he’ll reply. There is so much more to say. My thoughts and love are with everyone - family and friends in Oak Park and abroad. - cp
June 29th, 2008 at 6:36 pm
I’d known who Marcel was since the awkward and awful days at Julian Junior High, but we didn’t become friends until sophomore year of high school. We had Geometry class together. I knew I wanted to be his friend the day he disrupted the class by bursting into laughter for no reason. He’d write in my yearbook that year that he was amazed when people talked to him. I was stunned, I was amazed that such an incredible, wise, unique soul would bother to talk to me.
He was friend to me when others weren’t or couldn’t be. He was always above the fray. He was one of the few I trusted during the period of time I was mostly incapable of trust. I trusted him one hundred percent. We got to know each other best during short car rides junior and senior year of high school. I drove everyone to and fro and I dropped Marcel off last because he lived closest to me and also because I needed his sage advice. We got so used to talking intensely in brief doses like that, that I could ask him three word questions and he could answer them and help me make huge decisions.
He talked me and Katie out of running away from home junior year when no one else could. He used a metaphor about ducks. It was strange but it worked.
He let me keep a favorite belonging of his when he felt I needed it more than he did. The gesture was one of the kindest I’ve experienced in my life.
Our contact got more spare after high school, but I enjoyed visiting him in St. Louis when I could. I spent part of my childhood there and he was one of the only people I’ve taken on a tour of those places and entrusted with those memories. He also tried to help me find a park that no longer existed. He was always game for an adventure.
There were many people that he was closer to than me, but he never made me feel any less significant and he changed me, helped me, marked in an indelible way.
I will think of him when I laugh hard. I will think of him when I need to make tough decisions. I will think of him when I need to be reminded how to live life to the fullest. His unique take on life will bleed into the way I live and every word I write. I’ve never known anyone who managed to touch so many people so deeply. He truly was a gift to us all, a beautiful, wise, adventurous soul.
My thoughts and love are with his family and his dearest ones.
I wrote about my memories more in depth here if you are interested:
http://stephaniekuehnert.blogspot.com/2008/06/to-marcel.html
And I’ve gathered my far too few pictures here:
http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v109/comatose/Marcel/
-Stephanie Kuehnert
June 30th, 2008 at 12:14 am
I only learned of Marcel’s passing earlier this evening (6/29/08). I tried to write a comment several hours ago, but I was still in a state of shock. Marcel and I had been roommates twice at St. John’s. Upon learning of his death, I emailed and called every friend that I had that knew Marcel. What is amazing about Marcel is that he inspired everyone—everybody loved him.
I don’t have a single greatest memory of him, but rather a collage of memories that capture his spirit: He had an incredibly calm presence, especially when he was playing guitar and singing. I used to love returning to my dorm room my freshman year in college (and later during my junior year) to hear him singing songs by Dylan, Dave Van Ronk, or just something ridiculous that he had made up. He also had an incredibly powerful physical presence. His manner often made you forget how big and powerful he was. We went to Mexico together to work with Habitat for Humanity; when he swung the pick axe it seemed that the whole planet was going to shatter—this was from the same person who could make anyone feel important and at home.
I loved Marcel, and I know that anyone who ever met him certainly loved him. Unfortunately the last time I saw him was too long ago. It was in St. Louis, I was moving to Indiana for grad school and stopped to see him for a couple of days. We rode bikes around the city. He had a Huffy “Le Touriste”, a fold-up bike that weighed more than several bikes twice its size. It had all of the convenience of a laptop with all of the weight of a desktop plus a monitor. But, it was so much fun to ride around St. Louis on that bike, chasing Marcel from coffee shop to brew pub.
I miss Marcel. I miss his songs, his voice, his presence.
June 30th, 2008 at 1:37 am
Mrs. Fremont,
I wanted to share a little bit with you what Marcel means to me. I hope in a small way, my words will help. Before I ever met Marcel on the WashU campus, I noticed him. He was the quiet guy who sat across from me every day during lunch time, always reading a book. Then he was the guy whizzing by me on his bicycle on the WashU campus and in Ucity. Then more strangely he was the guy with the wild crazy hair and beard marching to his own beat. He intrigued me and I couldn’t help but wonder who he was and what was his story. I finally met him in Nov 2005. I signed up to take part in a paint-balling adventure and to my surprise I found out he was going to be there. I was excited because I would finally get to meet him. When I arrived at the paint-balling facility, he was already there, sitting against the wall with his knees drawn to his chest and an almost sorrowful expression on his face. I am extremely shy and debated whether I should initiate a conversation with him for minutes before I finally did. I asked him whether he was French and we ended up talking intermittently during the entire event. I went home that day with a feeling of having met the most amazing person and I couldn’t wait to talk to him again. That year and for the next year and half we started meeting up for lunch regularly. Our conversations ranged from politics to religion, to the meaning of life. I could talk to him about anything and he matched me thought for thought, argument for argument—his mind was that facile. He impressed me with his thirst for knowledge and boundless curiosity about the world around him. Though I was the shy Christian girl and I probably said things that he totally disagreed with, he was always civil and never judgmental. I loved arguing with him– he made me see aspects of my faith and God in a different way than I had thought. He challenged me intellectually and never in a condescending manner. I loved the way his mind worked. I loved how he listened to me as if I were the only person in the world. I loved that he would stop on the street and talk to a homeless man or woman with the same respect and interest that he showed me. I loved how when someone stopped him to ask for money he never said no or made up some excuse. I loved how he noticed people nobody ever pays attention to, and showed them kindness and graciousness. Though he didn’t necessarily share my faith, to me, he embodied the Christ -like characteristic of reaching out and loving people regardless of their station in life—he saw them, talked to them, lived among them, and acknowledged their humanity all without judgment. I am incredibly saddened and shaken by his loss. I feel as if the world has been deprived of someone destined to do great things. He packed more life in his twenty nine years than most of us ever will in a lifetime. You raised a wonderful son. I am the better for having known him these past two years and half. He showed me what it means to truly live life unafraid, to care about people in an authentic way, to become a ‘connoisseur of the awkward moments’ (his words). I shall never forget him. May the Lord in His grace be with you and your family as you grapple with your loss.
June 30th, 2008 at 6:39 am
Dear Marcel,
I love you. These are words I never spoke to you. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because our society is such that we don’t often tell our friends how much we truly love them. But I suppose it isn’t fair to blame “society.” It was me. I could have said it and I didn’t.
So I need you to know that I love you. I loved you in an instant, that first instant when you walked through our front door. You remember the night when you came over with Kris and Rama and we all played Trivial Pursuit?
You were just that kind of person: easy to love and easily loving. You soothed and relaxed. I think this is because you were comfortable as a human being–the kind of comfort that is attained by intense personal reflection, close observation of the human condition, and philosophical analysis of the world around us. I considered you an enlightened and mysterious being. Kris once mentioned that he had met your parents on a trip to Chicago. “Are they Buddhist monks?” I asked, just barely joking. I imagined that these were the only individuals from which you could have spawned.
It was readily apparent that you had put some considerable thought into living. I had the feeling that each moment was important to you. You breathed it in and stored it for future contemplation. It was a better time when you were around. Often, at the end of a pleasant night, I would clean up the beer bottles and put away the pipe. Suddenly I would realize that you hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences for the entire evening. But you said what you needed to say. It was always integral and always memorable.
You inspired me in ways that I can only describe as vaguely religious. I have such tremendous admiration for your strength of character, your peaceful nature, and your unwavering morality. Last week I broke a DVD that belonged to the library. I didn’t mean to do it; it just cracked. On my way to the library I considered stealthily dropping it off at the Return Desk. But then I thought of you.
I have gotten into a strange habit. Sometimes, when I am in a prickly situation, I ask myself: What would Marcel do? Yes, I know this is unbearably corny, but it helps me. And so I approached the librarian and owned up to cracking the DVD. I felt good getting into my car. I’m sure I’ll be receiving the bill any day now. (Thanks a lot, brother!)
This is not to say that it works every time. It only works when I have enough presence of mind to remember my little mantra. A few days later I got into an altercation with a woman at the gas station. She was screaming at me and calling me names. I screamed back and called her names. I felt bad getting into my car. It all happened so fast.
Last night it happened again. Some teenagers started a fight on Delmar. Barron and I tried to break it up. I yelled and cursed and told them to go home. Again, I felt bad. I thought of how Barron told me you had stopped a similar fight only weeks prior. You jumped up without a thought and stepped right into the fray. But I am sure that you handled it better than I. I am sure that you were calm and tried to reason with them, rather than yelling and cursing. You were always a gentleman. Always.
You never failed me as a friend. You must have had faults, but I can’t begin to imagine what they were. You appreciated life. You were kind to all living things. You were genuine and gentle. You cherished.
I see you so very clearly. How you consulted with your family before making major decisions. When you rented a car just to pick up a girl for a date. The way you made us cat toys and tried to cradle each of our cats like babies. You giving a handful of money to every homeless person who asked. Your reluctance to shit talk. You once gave Barron a Thank You card for no apparent reason. The way you fretted over your research monkeys and were visibly upset when one of them had suffered a burn. All the strange and seemingly unrelated goodies that you carried in your man bag. Your readiness to break into a song. The wind blowing wildly through your hair as we rode the ferry to Alton. When you stood outside our window blaring James Brown, so excited to leave for your trip.
And now the hardest part of this letter. I must tell you that I have failed you in a monstrous and spectacular way. My uncle was in a terrible motorcycle accident. He is lucky to be alive, even luckier not to be paralyzed. This happened shortly after you had left on your motorcyle trip. When my mom called to tell me, my first thought was: Marcel! I felt an immediate and pressing need to warn you. I wanted to talk to you and remind you to be careful.
The kicker is that I didn’t. I didn’t call. I didn’t write. I didn’t send you a text message. I kept reminding myself to do it. I could make up excuses. I was busy. I was distracted. I was preoccupied. These are all lies. I failed. I feel sick to think that if only I had given you that warning, maybe I wouldn’t be writing this letter that has no place to go. How can I apologize for something of this magnitude? I am haunted.
Thursday, June 26th, 3:02 p.m. My world shattered. I don’t believe it. I simply do not believe it. This is unacceptable. As Helen said, you were one of the good guys. My heart knows what my brain won’t accept. As you were leaving, I said to you, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” You paused and then replied, “I’m just looking to be looking.”
For now, I think I’ll just pretend that you decided not to come back. That you’re still looking.
Love Always and Forever,
May
June 30th, 2008 at 10:13 am
This is the image that keeps returning to my mind. Jessica and I are getting married in August and when I got Marcel’s RSVP card in the mail I was happy beyond words. Look at how he writes his name, so careful and considered. It’s beautiful and thoughtful, just like him. Even his X has style. In the past few years it has gotten so Marcel and I only see each other at weddings or the occasional holiday. But when you are with Marcel, time and distance never really matter. I never felt as though we had drifted apart. Whatever the circumstance he was always right there with you in that moment. That is the highest compliment I could pay to anyone.
If you flipped through a dictionary looking for words to describe someone you love I think any positive adjective you happened upon would apply to Marcel (come to think of it, this is a game he would have enjoyed). Playful, inquisitive, passionate, deep, brilliant, strong, just, wise, kind, faithful, honorable, joyous, open, humble, sweet. These come to mind with no pause in between.
Marcel, I miss you now and will always miss you.
You are with me now and will always be with me.
I will always be grateful that I knew you.
June 30th, 2008 at 10:20 am
I don’t think my picture went through. You can see it here:
http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=113747&blogID=410558406
June 30th, 2008 at 12:42 pm
While I knew Marcel in high school, we became close after we had graduated from college and both moved back to Oak Park. We started hanging out by playing chess and him teaching me Go. Those are my favorite memories of him: sitting across a board, both deep in thought, with very few words between us. There are very people whom can make me so quiet and content as Marcel did. I always felt privilaged to be in his silent presence.
As the Ice Factory began, Marcel offered us anything he could. Our bar and couch came from him and your family. (Thank you.) And he was always willing to give his time to help. I’ve always deeply admired his wisdom, genorosity and character. Maybe without even attempting to, he challenged me to become more thoughtful and moral. I know I’m a better person for having the honor to have known Marcel. I love him.
Aaron Rodgers
June 30th, 2008 at 2:03 pm
I know Marcel a little bit from St. John’s. I know that he was a pleasure to be around, that he brought with him a sense of peace. My deepest sympathies to all that are grieving. He was a beautiful example for us all.
-Carlo V. Santiago
June 30th, 2008 at 4:14 pm
I don’t remember meeting Marcel because I was probably 4 years old when it happened. He, Nate and I hung out all the time. Almost all of my memories of my own life before I turned 10 involve the two of them. It’s hard to distinguish between them in my mind, it was just me, Nate and Marcel, all the time. That’s just how it was.
We spent a lot of time playing on the swing set in my backyard. Our best game was called penicillin (because Nate was allergic). The idea of the game was to see how dangerous a stunt you could do. There were ratings. Swinging upside down on the swing without hitting the ground might be four penicillin, hanging on the monkey bars with one arm might be five.
We rode bikes a lot. Our most frequent trip was probably to their 7-11 (it’s theirs because they were born next door…actually born in the HOUSE, which fascinated me). We would buy pop rocks, razzles, bottle caps, big league chew and things like that. We also rode to One Stop (the comic book store, which was as far away as we were allowed to ride) and look at Spiderman stuff.
Other outside activities included the day we made a solar powered hot dog cooker. The hot dog must have taken at least an hour to cook, but that wasn’t the point. They also had a lot of exciting boy action figures that we played with. I asked for Moss Man for my birthday one year (a character from He Man) because of them. There was a really cool Jabba the Hut with a cage that slid back and forth. We unearthed some figures from their backyard once. I managed to keep Han Solo, who still swings from the ceiling fan in my room back home.
In addition to Star Wars, we watched all three Jaws movies (because of Nate), Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Ghostbusters II (because of which I couldn’t sleep by myself for a year, which I never told them) and Pee Wee’s Playhouse. Pee Wee inspired the “Community Chest la la la” song that my sister still sings when she plays Monopoly.
By far though, my two best memories of Marcel: (1) Nate came to Scotland with us one summer. There were roadkill frogs everywhere and so (naturally) we scooped one up, put it in an envelope, and mailed it to Marcel. I think Nate was really homesick and I thought that mailing his brother a flat animal would cheer him up. (2) Marcel was babysitting Alix, Teddy and me one afternoon and somehow I brought up the subject of where babies came from. He was so unbelievably uncomfortable, but did answer my question. I had always respected him but that afternoon he reached new heights of esteem in my mind.
I suppose this is the sort of thing where you say what the person meant to you. It doesn’t work like that for me though. It’s not that he meant something to me, although he certainly did, it’s that he’s an unchangeable part of how I came to see the world. Nate and Marcel were so nice and patient to let me follow them around all the time. From them I learned how to be friends with people and to play games and not to fight. They have always been the foundation of what I’ve expected from people, especially boys. When my dad called to say what had happened, I was stunned. It seemed like somehow the first third of my life had just changed completely. I’ve enjoyed thinking over the past few days about how much fun we had and where I got some of my more humorous ideas from.
From the time I was six I always figured Marcel and I would get married, that just seemed so obvious. Salutations Marcel, and Godspeed. Give our regards to Trevor, Broadmoor, Rover and the rest of the 600 Clarence gang, they will take great care of you. Thank you for being such a great friend and so very important. We are honored to have known you and will all miss you terribly.
June 30th, 2008 at 4:21 pm
I am still shocked after hearing this sad news from Danielle today.
I was actually thinking of Marcel last week when I saw the Paul Simon’s CD he burned for me. I was packing, for I am moving out of St. Louis soon. I came to know Mercel at the beginning of my graduate study in St. Louis. We were both working in a protein crystallographic lab at Washington University. He was always very kind and gentle. You feel that you can talk to him about everything. I was amazed that he liked to play “GO”, a Chinese chess game with simple rules but sophisticated strategies, and admired his ambition to be a neurobiologist to study in an interdisciplinary area combined with computing and how the brain works biologically. He is very geeky.
I can’t believe that he is gone.
It reminds me of Graceland, the song he taught me to appreciate:
“Losing love is like a window in your heart …
For reasons I cannot explain
There’s some part of me wants to see
Graceland
And I may be obliged to defend
Every love, every ending
Or maybe there’s no obligations now
Maybe I’ve a reason to believe
We all will be received
In graceland”.
To a young & brilliant mind which will be always in my heart.
-Kuan
June 30th, 2008 at 6:28 pm
I too want to join everyone’s shock and sadness over
this loss.
Marcel lived down the hall from me our Senior year. The first three
years of College we had only a few classes together and shared a
handful of conversations about music.
But I remember being excited when we found out that we were in a core
group together. My excitement sprung from those odd topicked and
oblique discussions we had shared which, while divergent in subject
matter, were often similar in style: Marcel would listen to you, take
your words in, think for a second, and then speak with this incredible
voice. His conversational style was wonderful–part response to the
argument’s thread, part illumination of his profound and dizzy
mind. (Incidentally, it does not surprise me that Marcel was
interested in Neuroscience as his idiosyncratic inner monologue would
have brought anyone to question the source and workings of such mystery)
One Winter night I was sleepwalking and awoke in a strange room. The
walls were not my own and what was further disorienting was the voice
of Kee Zublin asking me what I was doing in Marcel’s room. Marcel was
nowhere to be found. The next morning, I walked to class and, after
swallowing my pride, shared this embarrassing anecdote to Marcel.
After I told him, Marcel–in his long olive trench coat, bearded, a
black longsleeve shirt with the holes torn from his thumbs–looked at
me so serious almost scary even and then gave a gigantic deep smile
followed by this incredulous and uncontrollable laughter.
I think about this moment quite often and can see this smile as clear
as my memory of Marcel is fond.
Rest in Peace
Marcel Fremont.
Jerome Moroux
June 30th, 2008 at 6:49 pm
It is really hard to accept that this has happened to someone so young and talented. Our class at St. John’s was like a huge family. Marcel added so much color…his smile was always friendly, sometimes impish. He was truly unique and a really kind, insightful person. My condolences to all.
Laura Vitale
June 30th, 2008 at 7:55 pm
I was Marcel’s last stop on his trip before he ended up at the wedding. I moved to Charlotte in August 2007. Marcel was the first friend to plan a visit since my arrival here.
My grandfather’s response (he had become that close to my family) was that he had felt as though he knew Marcel his entire life.
We had a ‘bike gang’ - we called him ‘Sherp.” He really was my sherpa - and I feel as though I have lost my way already.
My last hug from him was when he was wearing his large leather jacket. I felt all of that jacket’s weight around me, like it was about to crush me. I’m convinced that wasn’t Marcel’s jacket - it was Marcel’s love.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/banangela/sets/72157605906453528/
June 30th, 2008 at 8:54 pm
Vess worked in Daved’s lab with Marcel at Washington University. He remembers him always being quiet, kind, and helpful. He was a true gentleman when he was a guest in our home…always willing to lend a hand. Our heart goes out to you and the entire Fremont family.
June 30th, 2008 at 9:30 pm
Veronica and Rick,
Though I never met Marcel, I vividly remember how lovingly and proudly you always spoke of him. I hope you can take some comfort, however fleeting, in the fact that he was so deeply loved by so many. Please know that you are in my thoughts, and that I send you my love.
Angela Mitchell
June 30th, 2008 at 10:43 pm
The first thing that came into my mind after hearing about Marcel was a memory of Marcel and Lindsie B. laying on their backs on the grassy knoll on a sunny day at St. John’s. I don’t remember the exact context, but there were people milling around as always, smoking, laughing, reading, moving from place to place, and I saw Marcel and Lindsie lying there in their own private, calm world, making up a song. Marcel was gently smiling, and they were both patting their bellies to drum out a little tune and laughing a little at each other’s particularly good contributions to the tune. It was sweet, intimate, luxurious - and I felt like I was intruding just by glancing their way.
Although I didn’t know Marcel well, I think my brain filed away that memory of him specifically because it does capture the understanding of him that I had: serene, musical, sweet, gentle, handsome. I am incredibly sad to hear about his death.
June 30th, 2008 at 11:54 pm
The first time I saw Marcel he was halfway up the side of a three story building, climbing the drainpipe, barefoot. I stopped to stare and a boy passing by said, “Oh, that’s Marcel Fremont, he can do all sorts of stuff.” All sorts of stuff, indeed. Turned out he could see the world full of wonder and magic. At the top of the building, Marcel swung himself onto a balcony, dusted himself off, took the book out of his mouth, and strolled into a class. When I told him about this, years later, about my awe, he said, “Ya know, he shortest distance between two points is the one that gets you there.” And he giggled.
I’ll always picture him with the sun behind him climbing, or the stars burning above him on one of his night walks, or surrounded by friends with a guitar in hand, smiling, bemused. He had a gift of being able to enjoy complete solitude and be completely connected to the people around him, all at the same time.
The last message I got from him said that he was having a great trip and would be arriving later than he’d expected. He hoped that was okay. It was like he was softening the blow that we wouldn’t see one another again. Oh, Cel, of course. Take all the time in the sky. See everything. Be part of everything. Know that you’re loved.
July 1st, 2008 at 12:44 am
I didn’t know Marcel well, but I was truly fond of Marcel when we were in high school. I was new to Oak Park and lucky enough to discover an interesting and dynamic group of kids. I’m sad that the world can’t have Marcel anymore. I’m aching for my friends who loved Marcel so much, and having seen a recent situation where a treasured son/brother/uncle was just suddenly not there, I’m so very, very sorry.
A lot of what I “know” about Marcel came second hand through stories from our friends…I was new to Oak Park and lucky enough to discover an creative and dynamic group of friends and acquaintances. My most vivid personal memory of Marcel was his decision to climb one of the light poles at Scoville Park one day, which surprised me because I’d never met someone with so much black clothing who was also so strong. I remember the girl who worked at the bakery where we fanagled free samples after school had a crush on Marcel…or was it the other way around? I always wondered at how communicative and funny he could be while being quiet. His voice on the Fonoginnate (pardon my spelling) track of Good Night Irene with Carl is forever imprinted on my brain and a reminder of happy times… I last caught up with Marcel at Leslie’s wedding reception in 2005 and remember thinking how happy I was for all of my friends’ successes and endeavors.
When I was pregnant, I was trying to think of names based on the nicest, coolest people I’d known, hoping perhaps for a good start for my baby. As it turns out, we ended up with a girl, but Marcel was one of the first boy names I thought of in that way–”My son Marcel would be kind, intelligent, thoughtful, beautiful and a source of goodness and joy for people.”
I’ve been traveling and cannot attend services, but I hope that they help everyone try to deal with this loss as best they can. Love to everyone and my deepest condolences,
Hattie
July 1st, 2008 at 12:45 am
I would life to start by saying my heart goes out Veronica and Rick not only as Marcel’s friend but as a mother. My love to Nate and everyone else in your wonderful family. I am here in oak park if you need anything - ever. Veronica, I was too chicken and heartbroken to speak at the wake, were I more daring this is what I would have said:
Marcel was my first “real” boyfriend - we dated very early on in high school. He was still wearing those coke bottle glasses and made sure that his long hair was always brushed forward completely covering his face. Our relationship was innocent enough, and mostly consisted of talking and crying together, as adolescence can be tough at best. Marcel’s shoulder was a great one to cry on, as so often he would cry along with you. I remember pestering him to pull his hair back out of his face. I remember telling him he was beautiful.
Eventually we broke up - a mutual heartbreak. He had made me an amazing necklace that I dramatically threw out a window. But we mended quickly as children are resilient, and I think our friendship actually became richer as a result of it all.
Through high school I was always pestering him about one thing or another. Put on your shoes. Where’s your coat? You’re making a mess. Don’t climb that you’ll fall! When I dropped him off at his house I would always make sure he went inside, because one time we didn’t and he slept on the front lawn instead. The thing is he never listened, and it used to drive me crazy. Yet, now I see things differently. He never listened because I was wrong to try to stop him from being who he was. I was the scared one. Marcel was never afraid to try something new - in fact i think he loved the novelty of doing anything physically challenging, daring, or out of the ordinary. Every time I feel the urge say those same things to my son, put on your shoes, where’s your coat, don’t climb that you’ll fall! I will bite my tongue. I will think of Marcel.
One of my fondest memories with marcel was going on a roadtrip with him just the two of us to minnesota. There are too many memories from this trip to mention. lots of music, lots of laughs, just the complete comfort of a true friend.
When marcel was away at college he was a great friend and called often. I remember many late night phone calls with him, talking, laughing, crying.
After college when I came back to chicago it was great to have marcel around. I remember many late nights at my apartment - tony and marcel drawing comics, playing guitar, having parties.
Over the last few years our lives diverged, I became a wife and mother - he found his career and life in st. louis. Despite of that marcel never felt far. He was always a frequent character in my dreams and I would write him whenever he showed up in my sleep and tell him about how we were mid-evil archers or how he rescued me from some awful plight.
I am glad i got to visit him in st. louis. I am glad that he got to attend my wedding and meet my son. I am just glad that i ever got to have such a wonderful friend. I will miss my dear old friend so much. 13 years together was not enough.
- leslie hamer
July 1st, 2008 at 4:48 am
I didn’t know Marcel very well at all, we weren’t friends and I doubt he would even remember me. However one of my all time favorite Julian Junior High memories involved him and the French teacher Mrs. Salvatore (I can’t even remember if that was her name). She caught him passing a note (to Carl Wedoff?) and was about to get really upset when she read the note aloud. Marcel had written (in French) “I am Mrs. Salvatore’s little bunny.” I knew he didn’t mean it because she was one of the most hated teachers in school but she melted at that note immediately. Marcel seemed embarrassed but I was in awe that he had written that- it was one of the funniest moments I remember having in that godforsaken place. Even in junior high Marcel was one very cool guy, I wish I had taken the time to talk to him more.
July 1st, 2008 at 7:17 am
Veronica, Rick, Angelika, Gloria, and Regina—
I remember meeting Marcel at some point in 1994 (?) when a troop of Stephanie’s friends came through the house one evening. As the father of a teenage daughter I always viewed the young men among her friends with suspicion until given a good reason to believe otherwise. Marcel was different, of course—being the son/nephew/grandson of friends AND just being Marcel. Even meeting him in passing then I had a sense that this was a young man who was different: deeper, with a sense of irony, thoughtful. Reading the reminiscences of his friends here gives me a sense of what a wonderful, talented, loving young man he was and the gifts he shared with so many. As you face the days ahead and go about the unimaginable work of binding your hearts that are so broken, I hope you will find comfort and peace in knowing what a tremendous, positive impact Marcel’s life had on so many.
Paul Kuehnert
July 1st, 2008 at 11:07 am
I just found out about Marcel yesterday morning – I immediately called my mom (who probably desperately wanted me to marry him, she loved him so) and she burst into tears. Although I was crying too, it didn’t seem real until last night. I woke up so many times, trying to remember if it was just a bad dream. And each time, I had to remind myself that it was real.
Marcel was an inextricable part of my life for the two years we went to St. John’s together. He was one of the first people I met, and one of the first people who made any attempt to be friendly. I worked at the Student Activities Office with Kee and Marcel, and they invited me to Horseman’s during the first few weeks of school. I had always hated spicy food growing up, but I was so desperate to impress these two cute older boys that I choked down the entire green chile hamburger they ordered for me, crying and snotting the whole time. I developed an addiction that day that those two can claim responsibility for.
I lived with my mother my sophomore year of college, out in El Dorado. There weren’t a lot of people willing to make the trek out there, but Marcel was one of a group that came to my house almost every week for foreign food (themed by country) and beer. Every time he came, every single time, he would walk in the house and look for my mom’s dog, Kira. She adored him, and would bound up to him, tail wagging. Marcel would plop down in the middle of the living room and give her all the love she could stand. He would pet her for hours, seeming joyfully happy the whole time, getting the same amount of satisfaction from petting the dog that Kira would get from being petted. I was always amazed by what this action betrayed in Marcel – it showed such incredible, natural kindness. Kindness for the sake of kindness, not for reciprocity or praise.
Marcel was the kind of person that made you proud to be his friend, made you want to do better and be better. He was the kind of person you aspire to be, even though you know that you could never even come close, because his authenticity was unparalleled. And he had a great laugh.
Gretchen Tracy
July 1st, 2008 at 12:05 pm
Marcel’s existence, even too short as it was, makes me proud to be one of his species. Marcel’s friendship gave me warmth and joy. Even though I had not seen him in several years, knowing that he was in this world was comforting.
I have so many fond memories of Marcel, but perhaps what is more amazing is that the only unpleasantness I can associate with him is the deep sadness I experienced upon learning of his death.
Veronica & Rick - thank you for bringing such a wonderful being into the world.
July 1st, 2008 at 3:03 pm
Dear Veronica,
I just received this sad news this morning and my heart goes out to you and your family. While I did not know Marcel, when you and I worked together and later when we would run into each other by chance, I could tell how loving and close your family was by how you spoke of Rick and your sons. I have read others’ comments about Marcel and I can see that he was a truly special person and that he will be missed greatly. I can only imagine your pain and can only hope that the wonderful memories and the knowledge of how much his life touched others will help you through this very hard time.
Doris Weinbaum
July 1st, 2008 at 8:03 pm
It has taken me a couple days to process this very sad news. Tonight, on the day of his chicago funeral services, methinks a bicycle and a growler will be involved in my own remembering of Marcel out here in New Mexico.
I was looking SO forward to seeing him in a few weeks. It is still marked on my calendar at work. I really wanted to play some chess and catch up. He was a very entertaining chess player, and always a gentleman, yet he would sometimes intentionally move only his pawns in a sine wave…
I hadn’t known he would be arriving on a motorcycle, but i’m sure we would have sat in my open garage drinking beer and gleefully making a metric, shit-ton of noise together with our two-wheeled machines. Damnit, the neighbors will never meet him! Who knows what he would have done with our kittens–maybe teach them to fly? Or read japanese? I was hoping he would stay for a little while…
I am friggin angry that these things will not happen this July.
But i am happy to be seeing all of these friends and strangers pour their hearts and memories out, and i know Marcel is smiling because of it. And i have been enjoying thinking about Marcel because he truly was so inspirational.
Reading these entries as they come in, I am happy to recall Jerome enjoying Marcel’s room for a bit, Grant and Marcel swinging mattocks in mexico, and happy to share that Marcel would sometimes stand upside-down in our suite shower if he had a cold–and randomly yell, “you must take a bath!” while doing so. And I agree that asking “what would Marcel do” can only lead to success and happiness of the kind we all know he thrived on. Like, why ask others first–just go right ahead and turn on the fog machine!!!
My favorite image of Marcel has him walking slowly with his head down through a light snowfall in a long wool coat. Or, maybe it’s him lifting a person up into the air, as he often did. Or, when on the short-bus trip back from mexico, he placed many little bobble-head turtles on the floor for our bouncy trip home. Or, maybe simply his drawings. He could disarm anyone, with karate or his personality. We were all helpless in his presence but comfortable. I vividly remember part of the title to his senior essay on Hamlet: “Falling Apart at the Seems”. That explains a lot about Marcel–that he was always several happy steps beyond most of us in exploration.
I must echo that Marcel was a treat to introduce to others. He presented as a puzzle, but a different one every day. I believe he was too big and kind to be a ninja, but he could have been a strange batman, well, a barefoot, weapons-master, scientist, guitar-slinging hero anyway…
My last encounter with marcel was also on a visit to St. Louis: random adventures punctuated by PBR and chessgames, and a feeling of “why don’t i live closer to this individual?” I am saddened to learn that he was to begin school again. His would have been a very happy class with pleased professors.
I greatly admired Marcel and remain so proud to have known him. There was so much mystery and love surrounding his life that I know this site will continue to grow. It’s just all so bittersweet. As Marcel would say, this too shall pass away, and thus i know that Marcel’s memory will ultimately make me smile and wonder about such a curious and pleased creature. I mean, does anyone else remember those ridiculous, striped black and white stockings he wore?
July 1st, 2008 at 11:11 pm
I met Marcel through my daughter, Gretchen, during her freshman year at St. John’s. For some reason, he and Kee decided to take Gretchen under their protective junior wings (while fiendishly initiating her into the mysteries of green chile) and I was delighted with their friendship, as I got to know Marcel, too.
What first drew me to him was how he treated my dog. Every time he came over, the first thing he did was sit down on the floor and commune with Kira – he told me she reminded him of his dog at home. He would focus all of his attention on her – I think she thought she had met a kindred soul, and she seemed to ease his feelings of missing his family.
He loved to hike in the hills around Santa Fe, and one day showed Gretchen a sweet gem of a trail near Canoncito. It became one of our favorite walks. Marcel would often leave subtle signs of his passing through – an artful stacking of stones, rocks arranged in an intriguing spiral. His constructions along the trail seemed to communicate his appreciation of the world around him and his own place in it. Every time I go hiking and see a pile of stones beside the trail I think of Marcel.
Marcel had such special energy. I always felt that time slowed down around him – that his being was so “present” that it made others more aware of their own place in the world. Like walking in a forest with green light filtering through the trees, and you suddenly come upon a waterfall and you look up in the sky and you’re glad you’re alive. I guess what I’m trying to say is that being around Marcel somehow made people want to manifest their best. What a gift!
Veronica and Rick, I don’t know if you remember being at my house for an after-graduation get together, but I so enjoyed meeting you because I thought Marcel was such a fine person. I hope that knowing how deeply and uniquely he touched so many lives will bring some comfort to you.
July 2nd, 2008 at 11:01 am
I’ve been trying to explain my dear friend Marcel to my wife who never met him. Marcel defies all categories and generalities, so I’ve been telling her stories. They’ve ended up being sort of helpful for me too as I struggle to wrap my head around the idea that my larger-than-life friend is no longer living. Here are four:
Marcel and I were at a river, sitting around the campfire. Marcel began to plant pieces of driftwood in the sand in front of him. He kept at it all evening. Every time I looked over, he had more sticks in the sand. By bedtime, Marcel had virtually imprisoned himself behind a wall of wood. I remember thinking to myself “now this man is an artist.” He repeated a little motion over and over, beyond the point where it yielded something cool, or surprising, until he got something beautiful.
I was at a party in the upper commons when I spotted something through the glass doors: A bare foot. As I watched, it was followed by a shredded pant leg, then the rest of Marcel slowly lowering himself from the balcony by one arm, exactly like spiderman (who he sometimes emulated). It was remarkably graceful and athletic. There was no one out front to see it. He had done it entirely for his own entertainment.
Marcel and I waged a three year ninja war against each other that raged all over Santa Fe. I’d be checking my mail when suddenly I’d take a kick to the chest that would knock me into a wall of mailboxes, letters from home flying into the air. He’d run off through the coffee shop and I’d chase after, leaving my mail on the floor. Once he was running up a wall and slipped down, perhaps three feet, onto the side of his foot. He sat down and said “I think my foot’s broken.” I told him if his foot was broken he would be in considerably more pain than he seemed to be. The next day he found out his foot was indeed broken, and he was in a cast for quite a while. His pain threshold was absurdly high.
At a restaurant, during a lull in the conversation, Marcel suddenly stuck a fork through his hand into his eye. White fluid poured out onto the table. He had snuck a container of cream into his hand and waited for the right moment to perform his “magic trick.”
July 2nd, 2008 at 2:17 pm
Dear Veronica, Rick, and Nathaniel,
I am so heartsick to learn of Marcel’s death. Although I better recognize the childhood pictures (and that beautiful face running around on the street of the 600 block of S. Clarence), I am so moved to read these incredible stories of his life. What a loved and exceptional man he was!
Veronica, you were there for me in such pivotal moments of my life, I feel such love for you and your family, although it has been such a very long time. My heart is with you, I am so terribly sorry for your loss, and really the whole world’s loss of this special man.
love, Jenna White-Beasley (formerly 628 S. Clarence)
July 2nd, 2008 at 3:40 pm
When I first met Marcel he had a full head of hair, a huge beard, and was wearing a large Mexican poncho. I thought he looked like a chubby Jesus (not that he was chubby, but the poncho and beard added a few inches!). I later told him this and he pretended to be mad, but secretly loved it and would bring it up on a regular basis. We had our first date on Valentine’s Day of 2006 and I was smitten from the beginning, especially when after the date he had me drive him to the lab to feed the virus project that he was working on at the time. I have so many wonderful memories of the time I spent dating and later being friends with Marcel. I have listened to countless hours of banjo practice, jaw harp, and guitar serenades. Of all of Marcel’s songs that he played on the guitar, the song Woody, by Hayden was always one of my favorites, because he sang it so beautifully; I think of him every time I hear it. On Marcel’s 27th birthday I took him on a picnic to a sculpture park and he ran around like a 5-year-old climbing on all of the sculptures. When we went to go see the movie Tsotsi, Marcel was so moved that he cried for 20 minutes afterward.
More than all of these individual memories, what I think about when I think of Marcel is what it felt like just to spend time with him. He always had something interesting and meaningful to say, he always was interested in your thoughts and ideas. One thing I will never be able to understand is how Marcel was able to be so dedicated to his work, his family, and all his many friends while still making you feel like your conversation was the most important thing in the world when you were talking with him. Even just being in his presence was a wonderful experience. He exuded something so indescribable- perhaps a combination of beauty, wisdom, calmness, curiosity, acceptance- perhaps the fact that he was so genuine…. Whatever it was, it was marvelous and unique.
I love Marcel for the same reasons that so many people love him- he was intelligent, hilarious, passionate, creative, non-judgmental, spontaneous, loving, fascinating, and had the ability to connect with you on a deep and meaningful level among so many other things. I also love him because becoming friends with him became a major turning point in my life. His approach to life, his sincerity, and his unrelenting drive to understand and do what is right, honestly, changed me forever. Knowing him inspired me to reevaluate my life and ultimately become a better person. As I write this I realize that any words I could use to describe Marcel fall short. I think that all of us who know and love Marcel will understand what I mean when I say that who Marcel was and what he continues to mean in our lives is so much bigger than any of these words. It brings me so much joy knowing that my experience with Marcel was shared by so many people that knew him. It comforts me to feel that he continues to influence and inspire me. I miss Marcel dearly, but I can honestly say that I still feel his presence so strongly and I know he will always be an important part of my life.
Although what Marcel was and is to me is something beyond individual memories and mementos from the past, I have used some of the little things left behind to help me get through this difficult time- funny photo text messages, old emails, napkin art from a dinner out long ago. I wanted to share a little poem that Marcel once shared with me. It was just something quick and random that he jotted down, but I kept it like I keep most of the things that Marcel wrote; there is something beautiful in it that reminds me of him…
Visions of ghostly flowers swim away
With a chorus like the violent buzzing of bees.
Something in me is restless, and even chained as it is, hums along
With the tearing wind,
As it creates whirlpools of petals at the bottom of this ocean of air.
Visions of ghostly flowers swim away.
July 3rd, 2008 at 10:14 am
Veronica & Rick -
Grant called us last night to tell us about Marcel. I can only barely imagine what you are going through - every parents worst nightmare. Our hearts go out to you. There are no words that can possibly make up for the loss of Marcel’s physical presence, but know that his love will be with you always.
I remember Marcel as we were all settling our boys into St. John’s at the beginning of their freshman year and he and Grant were roommates. At that point, Marcel was very quiet, but I remember his beautiful smile and it seemed like he was smiling all the time! He was just so happy to be there and to be starting his college journey. I didn’t seemuch of him over the next four years, but Grant would speak of him, so we did hear about him from time to time. The thing that really sticks with me though, is that smile . . .
Marcel was/is your gift to the world, and from the comments posted here, I think a great many people loved and appreciated that gift.
We hold you and your family in our prayers.
Bev & mark Goodrich
July 3rd, 2008 at 12:07 pm
This has been so terribly sad, a gentle force of kindness that’s so important to so many people has been taken away. I feel his loss in two ways, not just because he was someone from my class in high school who had mutual friends, but because he kind of feels like a kind of cousin due to my relationship with his cousin Erica for three years and because I’ve known Nate since before that. To know his whole extended family, to know how they are so nice and funny and loving of everyone, it is so sad. It breaks my heart. To know Veronica and Rick and Nate and his family, you know why he was the kind gentle/strong person that he was. It was no accident.
I always knew we had some personality traits in common, but after this last couple of days, I’m learning and realizing that some hit pretty close to home. I feel my identity being crushed like an accordion’s bellows. I wish I had known him better. I think he always left me feeling that way.
I hadn’t seen Marcel in forever before I ran in to him at the Rainbo Club in Chicago this last winter. He was leaving the bar with some friend from St. Louis and I recognized him right away even though he was different somehow from my memory of him. Stronger? Taller? Sideburns? No, it was that he was more of a man. He really had come into his own. But he still exuded that paradoxical quality of quiet intent, whimsy, and a touch of a mercurial nature. It was good to catch up and say hello. He was kind enough to humor my casual questions on what he was doing now and where he was living. It was nice telling him silly things and making him smile again. I gave him my number on a coaster and said I’m sure I’ll see him around again.
He left leaving me happy to have seen him and happy to know him. I think he left this world leaving us feeling much the same way. We were all lucky and blessed to have known him. The universe itself has somehow lost a screw and become unhinged. I feel it in my heart.
–Eric Gallegos
July 3rd, 2008 at 4:31 pm
this is from an email sent to me by amy mall, who was friends with marcel long ago….
This intense and good memory of him at my 7 van buren apartment came rushing back circa 1999?. I dont even remember who else was there, because he had a way of engaging that was so incredibly focused and peaceful. (youths are usually restless in their interactions with each other. )
marcel was one of the people that always greeted me without judgement, assumption, or closed nature. He seemed grounded in the present moment, and was the first man that I ever decorated with henna, upon his suggestion, in that funny apartment while sitting on the institutional like carpeting….it also brings up a lot of good memories and emotions from Oak Park circles. There is a lot of love and care to celebrate, even in all this loss, and confusion, disbelief, grief,….then in finding my own way to honor marcel, and the lessens of listening and being with open presence:
I kind of felt this permission to be where I am, and what happened next was like all my stars were alligned….I cant explain how it all happened, but Marcels memory seemed to help me find my way.
July 5th, 2008 at 7:33 am
In april Marcel sent me this, hope you enjoy it.
“Here is the essay I wrote for my friend about moving away, if yer interested.
In 1951, their families and country damaged by war, Heinz, Regina and their young daughter Angelika moved from their home in the outskirts of Berlin to a foreign country, the native land of the occupiers of one-half of Germany’s capital. They learned the language, found work and then careers, eventually settling in a suburb of Chicago to raise five more children. In 1975, a man from Ohio married their third daughter, Veronica, and a few years later I was born. I can’t really know what the relocation must have been like for my grandparents, nor for my father, but having now moved away from Oak Park myself (albeit not so distantly, nor with or for wife and child), I can imagine.
The first date, the job interview, almost getting hit by a car, a fever that overtakes you in a supermarket; moments of strangeness that drive you to seek out the familiar, to touch base - but in your first weeks and months in a new city, your base is so new you can still remember the first time you touched it, and with no retreat, the newness seeps in irrevocably. Returned from a funeral, removing his tie, my father told me that one of the hardest aspects of death is not just losing a friend, but losing the part of yourself only they knew. All your shared memories, now held only in your fragile recollection and subject to your smudgings and edits, and the smile only they could provoke now put up on a high shelf, perhaps never to be brought down again. Moving away from home, alone, can be like that; never asked to tell that stupid story again, you are no longer the person who groans, secretly happy, and starts, “Alright, so I had just got my first driver’s license…” You realize that who you are does not stop at your skin. When you smile, it is at different people, and when you are lonely, you go different places, and like a canyon swept out by new winds, you change.
As you begin the act of living in a foreign land growing familiar, like the first date, between the sidewalk glances and forkfuls of food, casual conversations, small tragedies and autobiographic confessions, you may find yourself asking your new home, “Are you worth getting to know? Will we fall in love? Will you remember me?” and you may begin to feel the strange tug of a new smile you have never used before, and living stories you will be asked to recount by dear strangers. ”
I’m still getting a photo set together and will send it soon.
All my love,
Helen Klein
July 6th, 2008 at 10:25 pm
Dear friends of Marcel,
I’ve enjoyed reading all your great and touching words, it has been a pleasure to meet several of you at the funeral and open-mic, for that I am grateful. Marcel spun a pretty magnificent web of people together. Johnny-friends, this passing reminds me how much I miss you, and the times we all shared in that strong community of quirky & curious folk.
The last time I saw Marcel, I was on a similar cross-country trek back from New Orleans and stopped in St louis. We went south to a place called the Elephant Rocks. We camped for the night nearby; cooked steak, beans & potatoes on the campfire, playing Go by candlelight. He was better than me, but I managed to win on a minor oversight of his, a rare pleasure (the faces he made when frustrated, or feigning frustration, were particularly humorous I think). The next day at Elephant rocks, which are bizarre rose-colored bulbous shaped formations, we went swimming in a cool deep lagoon, not talking really, just enjoying nature. We also went on a local festive bike ride called the moonlight ramble. He was friends with the local bicycle-shop gearhead punks, and borrowed a chopper-bicycle, with an elongated neck. All the kids we passed along the way would exclaim, “cool”, or “Hey dad, look at that guy!”. I think Marcel alone converted 200 would-be young drivers into bicyclists that night though his power of inspiration through whimsy - such a marvelous trait.
I remember Marcel as a touchstone of many many good memories, most of them related to exploring and uncovering what is enjoyable in life. He knew how to play, an non-traditional art which rekindles our interest in living and awakens us to joy. But he was also very familiar with the inner-passage ways of thought, with its labyrinthine twists and turns, and I always appreciated how he had wisdom to spare when I would feel at a dead-end. He could be, by turns, light and heavy - humble and fierce - goofy and wise. I miss him very much.
I wish all the best for his family, lovers & friends, and hope that, though the center of our love may be gone, we can find ways to support one another - and grow stronger the gifts of joy which Marcel gave to us. For now though, it is hard to get there, and I wish peace for you in dealing with this loss.
Your friend,
Justin Kray
p.s. I did manage to walk to O’hare
July 12th, 2008 at 6:07 pm
Dear Veronica, Rick, and Nathan,
I am so sorry and sad about Marcel. When Aaron told me, I could not believe it. All I could think of was the cute and cuddly little boy with curly blond locks. How could he be riding a motorcycle? But time had marched on.
I heard news from time to time—Marcel is studying this, Nathan and Marcel are doing that. I checked out the Fonogginate myspace and laughed at “Sounds like: Simon and Garfunkel.” I thought: Simon and Garfunkel for the 2000s, with the gentleness wrapped up in brittleness and beat.
Marcel obviously embraced life and lived to the fullest. He touched so many. All three of you can be so proud and happy that you raised such a wonderful son and brother. I have been so sad about what Marcel lost, what you lost, what all his friends and family lost, and the loss to the world of an excellent young man with so much to give. I know that Marcel will be in your hearts and on your minds every day. No Kuehn or Fremont holiday will ever be the same.
It is at times like this that I am glad I believe in life after death. But it is also at times like this that life seems too unfair, too open to chance. I can understand my parents dying, after their long, full lives. But I do not understand a peaceful, healthy young person dying. It is part of life I suppose I may never understand and never accept.
I have heard that people come to grips with and even make use of their great sorrow, channeling it into doing good in honor of their loved one. I have heard that peace comes and sorrow mellows. I find it hard to believe. If you have greatly loved, then you have greatly lost. I have been told that strength will be given, commensurate with the test at hand. I hope this is true.
May that peace and that strength be with you, and may it mellow your sorrow.
– Sue Basko
July 13th, 2008 at 4:42 pm
I’ve been trying to write out some thoughts about Marcel. It’s difficult because my memories involve so many stages of my life. I’ve been digging through old journals and re-reading my records of time I spent with him. I wanted to share one entry I found that gave me a shiver.
April 16th 1996
Last night I met Marcel at Fox park while he was walking his dog. We talked like we used to and it was good. We told nightmares and explained stories. He said “I never ask for a hug when I most need one.” We talked about people and meditation. I said I wanted to know when I’m going to die, so I can prepare. He said “I don’t think I could do any better than what’s already in the plan for me. If I knew I was going to die I wouldn’t call anyone.” He asked me what I would say if he was going to die, “cause you never know, I could die tomorrow.” I said I’ll look for you in everything and I’ll write you things and burn them so you get them and talk to you out loud and wait for you in my dreams and I would say I love you and thank you and to be continued.
And we held on so long.
He was able to be there when I was a troubled seventeen year old, and when I was exploring myself and the world in college and later as I moved to Seattle and began to grow my life here. Always a voice on the phone, and a few times a year in person, to listen and challenge me and hold my secrets.
Most of us meet a fair amount of people as we pass through the world. And we find ways to show our selves to a lucky few, to expose what is truest and best in us to someone who will find it worthy. It was always obvious to everyone that Marcel was that person- who could see your secret self and consider himself blessed and honored to do so.
It’s hard to describe him to someone who never met him. He sounds beyond the bounds of human reality. But we know- that’s just Marcel. And we always knew we were blessed to have him walk with us for a while.
-Polly Jirkovsky
July 19th, 2008 at 5:46 pm
Dear Family and friends of Marcel,
A friend told me of the passing of Marcel last night and my heart sank because you can just tell when someone is good and I immediately thought of those he knew better.
I did not know Marcel well, but when we connected through friends at a party in 2001 or 2002 his few comforting words to me have stayed with me to this day and I know will stay with me forever. I think of the words and his kind smile and eyes when needed.
I am so sorry and I am thinking of his friends and family. He was a very special soul.
Kim from Chicago and now in STL.
July 31st, 2008 at 12:12 pm
I had started a documentary project several years ago with Justin Petertil and his band. The premise was to build Justin up to be a larger than life pop icon, which was ironic because his group was called Crap Engine. Crap Engine, metaphoric for our pop consumer culture, I interpreted through Ernest Becker’s book, “The Denial of Death”. To make a long story short, I asked Marcel to record excerpts from this book to use in the film. Not only was his voice perfect for the character, but Marcel as himself was natural choice. We had a nice conversation about the content of the excerpts and I was happy that he thought well enough of the project to invest himself in it. These are the recordings:
http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=3de6398e0682344019747bd91027d4dd46e6d0b860586011
August 5th, 2008 at 2:25 pm
Colin, thank you for that precious gift of Marcel’s voice. Angelika Kuehn (Marcel’s aunt)