When Donnie passed from this world in 1998, I was moved to write the following for his funeral and the celebration of his life. I could not attend. But our old friend, Greg Cochran, read it in tribute to our fallen Donnie. My parents were there, as were many, many other old friends. Mom and Dad told me the place was overflowing with people Donnie had touched. I hope this brings a memory, a smile, maybe tugs at the heart strings a bit for those of you who knew this A-1 original.
FOR DONNIE: TIMES REMEMBERED
Through the tears and laughter of this bittersweet day, I can see your face and...
Your smile--that face-lighted-up, full joy, little boy smile.
Your other smile--that cat-who-ate-ALL-the-canaries, on-the-con, hustler smile.
Your deeper smile--that content, peaceful, wise and true smile.
All belonging to you, our puzzling, maddening, wonderful, enigmatic Donnie.
My dad called with the news we had known was coming for years. Two simple, awful, all too final words: Donnie’s gone.
And even though it was expected, it couldn’t be believed.
It can’t be believed.
I will never believe it.
Snuffed out? Not Donnie. Can’t be done.
Simply too much life in you for life to end.
You live on in our flickering memories, in our aching hearts, and in our grateful lives.
But more, I know in eternity you’ll be waiting for us with all your smiles, more full of life than ever, as we reach the opposite shore.
For now, I’ll content myself with the all-too-brief time we had together here.
And I will remember you, my friend.
I will remember that late-night chance meeting in Harrah’s Tahoe, when you bought a beer and a meal for a penniless guy you barely knew from your old hometown.
Before then, you had been just a face in the old high school halls: One of the hair hat-greaser crowd that we skin head-jocks had been at meaningless war with.
And now you were buying me food and drink and telling me where to get work. Typical, disarming, if-I-have-a-dollar-then-WE-have-a-dollar Donnie.
I will remember you taking me into your almost-always broke, but somehow high-roller, world and introducing me to your Stateline family; your “people” who were a weird combination of wounded-by-life characters straight out of Runyun, Hemingway, and Steinbeck.
And we all kept Time by listening to The Wolfman on the Mighty Six-Ninety.
I will remember you bursting into my world and the world of my Napa Hippie and Hawaiian friends as we rode zig-zag through Northern California, Nevada and the summer of ’67 on through to ’72. Five intense, vivid years forever burning in our lives.
I will remember your trumpet, bagpipe, race-car sounds and the strange and wonderful medley of “16 Tons,” “Fever,” and “Sunny” we sang by the river, at the beach, on the hills and mountains, and at every gathering of our tribes. We were having the Time of our lives as The Chambers Brothers kept Time on the radio.
I will remember trips in Golden Gate Park, riding your Jeep over every fire road in The Valley, arguments between us Hydrox people and those misguided Oreo people, and long talks about life, God, and whether Dr. Strange or the Silver Surfer was more powerful.
I will remember countless Donnie stories:
The time you gave your truck away to a stranger, pink slip and all, because it had a minor break down on a road trip--no time to waste on repairs, there were places to go, people to see, and things to do and they obviously didn’t include that truck;
The time we tape recorded you scolding a sheriff deputy about our constitutional right to drink a beer in front of Bryle’s Corner, a speech which lasted well over half an hour--somehow just enough long enough to finish our six-pack and be on our way;
I’ll spare you the indignity of telling the classic stuck-in-the-mud Jeep story for now, but I guarantee it will live on.
And it seemed that we could go on forever and that Time was, without-a-doubt, on our side.
I will remember that you were no respecter of a person’s status, wealth, or fame but only a respecter of the person. Whether telling a Napa District Attorney why he needed to lighten up, putting an uppity art connoisseur in his place, or schooling a rich man on how to spend his money righteously---you were a joy to behold. You were forever letting the air out of the pompous people of this world, and making them the better for it.
I will remember your kindnesses to the forgotten people of the world: the many times you welcomed lost souls into your house and life; or the times we walked the City, listening to the stories of those who were down-and-out, and spending your whole pay check on them. And all the Time, Time...our Time was slipping away.
I will remember wonderful Auntie Alice and her home on Hedgeside. I will remember helping you bury your dad and learning about your early life. I will remember you proudly watching your beautiful lab Bonnie dive into the creek by your house, and the countless miles and roads we hitchhiked with our wonder dog, Nicki.
Then I will remember that when I had to pick a best friend from that time in my life, it was you. And that you stood tall for me as Best Man at my wedding, even though you were shaking so hard from nervousness I was sure you would drop the ring or faint.
Old friend, sometimes I wish we really could keep Time in a bottle, but then it wouldn’t be so precious.
So thank you for the dear gift of your Time in my life and all our lives. I am sorry that our paths took us in separate directions this last twenty-five years. I guess that is the way of our late-twentieth century world with friends and family scattered to the four winds. But I am grateful we were able to touch base every year or two and to know that your last years were well spent and so powerfully meaningful.
I am grateful that your kindhearted, indomitable spirit touched all our lives and enriched them beyond measure. And I am especially thankful that you, our consummate con-artist friend, had stopped conning yourself and had let your true, beautiful nature win the day.
Today we celebrate your storied life and Times Donnie Swires. Long will you shine. You were and are a true A-1 Original.
My dad called with the news we had known was coming for years. Two simple, awful, all too final words: Donnie’s gone.
I refuse to believe it. I walk to the Bible and let it fall open where it will and I read the passage:
The righteous perish,
and no one ponders it in his heart;
devout men are taken away,
and no one understands that the righteous are taken away
to be spared from evil.
Those who walk uprightly enter into peace;
they find rest as they lie in death.
Enjoy your well-deserved rest, my friend. We will miss you until that Time when we see you again. And when we do, we will want to hear your trumpet, your bagpipe, your songs, and stories about all the wonders you have been and seen. Now we weep but then we will laugh. Now we mourn but then we will dance. And we will know with certainty, there is a Time for every purpose under heaven.
Until that Time, fare-thee-well Donnie. Fare-thee-extremely-well. We wish you God’s speed on your journey as we celebrate your life.
Well done, our good and faithful friend. Very well done, indeed.
I certainly wish I had known of Donnies passing at the time. I wish I had been there to hear the reading of your eulogy first hand. I would have wept then as I am now after having seen your words for the first time. Donnie and I ran into each other sometime around the mid 90's.. I hadn't seen him for many years, but as you so aptly described his smile, that is what made me stop as I almost past by not recognizing him except for that big assed beautiful wide grin.. He jumped into my car and I suggested going to Bryles Corner for a beer. So that's what we did, sat on the curb with quart bottles of beer in paper bags. We sipped slowly and remembered the old days.. Me, Donnie, Ronny and Danny. Marchus, Swires, Johnson & Fiddler usually in trouble together. I first met them all in 1952 when I moved from downtown out to LaGrande Ave. FOND MEMORIES..!!
Mike, thanks for posting your eulogy, it's the best, most descriptive piece I've ever seen written on any person that I have known personally.
God, David, thank you for this. I can just imagine the two of you brown bagging at Bryles. I know just the spot on the curb. And now it is getting a bit misty here.
David: I remember many times when Donnie spoke of you. He placed great value on your relationship and those fond memories. Your real world "Stand By Me" days.
Hey David and Michael. I didn't know that Donnie was gone. My memories of Donnie are still dear to my heart. My brother and I were very good friends with Donnie. We lived just a short walk along Milleken creek from our house on McKinley. We all three raised steers for a couple of years when we were kids. My brother, Clyde, and I were in 4-H and I think, if I remember right, Donnie was in FFA, future farmers of america. The first year we raised our calves from babies to yearlings and showed them at the Town and Country Fair. Then sadly, we all cryed for a long time after we sold them to the slaughter house. It was something that affected all of us. They were good times together and ones that I will never forget. I don't remember if I knew you Michael, but it sounds like you were a great friend for Donnie. I wish I could have kept in contact with him. David, I remember a lot of times at Bryles Corner. My Mom worked their for years until Mrs Bryles died. I remember a lot of good times with you also. Times that I will never forget.
Thanks for this, Vic. No, I don't think we knew each other---I was from out Carneros way and by the time we hit high school we were probably running in different circles. But I was glad to hear these stories about you and Donnie. He was an A-1 original.
Michael (Mike) Sunnafrank
When Donnie passed from this world in 1998, I was moved to write the following for his funeral and the celebration of his life. I could not attend. But our old friend, Greg Cochran, read it in tribute to our fallen Donnie. My parents were there, as were many, many other old friends. Mom and Dad told me the place was overflowing with people Donnie had touched. I hope this brings a memory, a smile, maybe tugs at the heart strings a bit for those of you who knew this A-1 original.
FOR DONNIE: TIMES REMEMBERED
Through the tears and laughter of this bittersweet day, I can see your face and...
Your smile--that face-lighted-up, full joy, little boy smile.
Your other smile--that cat-who-ate-ALL-the-canaries, on-the-con, hustler smile.
Your deeper smile--that content, peaceful, wise and true smile.
All belonging to you, our puzzling, maddening, wonderful, enigmatic Donnie.
My dad called with the news we had known was coming for years. Two simple, awful, all too final words: Donnie’s gone.
And even though it was expected, it couldn’t be believed.
It can’t be believed.
I will never believe it.
Snuffed out? Not Donnie. Can’t be done.
Simply too much life in you for life to end.
You live on in our flickering memories, in our aching hearts, and in our grateful lives.
But more, I know in eternity you’ll be waiting for us with all your smiles, more full of life than ever, as we reach the opposite shore.
For now, I’ll content myself with the all-too-brief time we had together here.
And I will remember you, my friend.
I will remember that late-night chance meeting in Harrah’s Tahoe, when you bought a beer and a meal for a penniless guy you barely knew from your old hometown.
Before then, you had been just a face in the old high school halls: One of the hair hat-greaser crowd that we skin head-jocks had been at meaningless war with.
And now you were buying me food and drink and telling me where to get work. Typical, disarming, if-I-have-a-dollar-then-WE-have-a-dollar Donnie.
I will remember you taking me into your almost-always broke, but somehow high-roller, world and introducing me to your Stateline family; your “people” who were a weird combination of wounded-by-life characters straight out of Runyun, Hemingway, and Steinbeck.
And we all kept Time by listening to The Wolfman on the Mighty Six-Ninety.
I will remember you bursting into my world and the world of my Napa Hippie and Hawaiian friends as we rode zig-zag through Northern California, Nevada and the summer of ’67 on through to ’72. Five intense, vivid years forever burning in our lives.
I will remember your trumpet, bagpipe, race-car sounds and the strange and wonderful medley of “16 Tons,” “Fever,” and “Sunny” we sang by the river, at the beach, on the hills and mountains, and at every gathering of our tribes. We were having the Time of our lives as The Chambers Brothers kept Time on the radio.
I will remember trips in Golden Gate Park, riding your Jeep over every fire road in The Valley, arguments between us Hydrox people and those misguided Oreo people, and long talks about life, God, and whether Dr. Strange or the Silver Surfer was more powerful.
I will remember countless Donnie stories:
The time you gave your truck away to a stranger, pink slip and all, because it had a minor break down on a road trip--no time to waste on repairs, there were places to go, people to see, and things to do and they obviously didn’t include that truck;
The time we tape recorded you scolding a sheriff deputy about our constitutional right to drink a beer in front of Bryle’s Corner, a speech which lasted well over half an hour--somehow just enough long enough to finish our six-pack and be on our way;
I’ll spare you the indignity of telling the classic stuck-in-the-mud Jeep story for now, but I guarantee it will live on.
And it seemed that we could go on forever and that Time was, without-a-doubt, on our side.
I will remember that you were no respecter of a person’s status, wealth, or fame but only a respecter of the person. Whether telling a Napa District Attorney why he needed to lighten up, putting an uppity art connoisseur in his place, or schooling a rich man on how to spend his money righteously---you were a joy to behold. You were forever letting the air out of the pompous people of this world, and making them the better for it.
I will remember your kindnesses to the forgotten people of the world: the many times you welcomed lost souls into your house and life; or the times we walked the City, listening to the stories of those who were down-and-out, and spending your whole pay check on them. And all the Time, Time...our Time was slipping away.
I will remember wonderful Auntie Alice and her home on Hedgeside. I will remember helping you bury your dad and learning about your early life. I will remember you proudly watching your beautiful lab Bonnie dive into the creek by your house, and the countless miles and roads we hitchhiked with our wonder dog, Nicki.
Then I will remember that when I had to pick a best friend from that time in my life, it was you. And that you stood tall for me as Best Man at my wedding, even though you were shaking so hard from nervousness I was sure you would drop the ring or faint.
Old friend, sometimes I wish we really could keep Time in a bottle, but then it wouldn’t be so precious.
So thank you for the dear gift of your Time in my life and all our lives. I am sorry that our paths took us in separate directions this last twenty-five years. I guess that is the way of our late-twentieth century world with friends and family scattered to the four winds. But I am grateful we were able to touch base every year or two and to know that your last years were well spent and so powerfully meaningful.
I am grateful that your kindhearted, indomitable spirit touched all our lives and enriched them beyond measure. And I am especially thankful that you, our consummate con-artist friend, had stopped conning yourself and had let your true, beautiful nature win the day.
Today we celebrate your storied life and Times Donnie Swires. Long will you shine. You were and are a true A-1 Original.
My dad called with the news we had known was coming for years. Two simple, awful, all too final words: Donnie’s gone.
I refuse to believe it. I walk to the Bible and let it fall open where it will and I read the passage:
The righteous perish,
and no one ponders it in his heart;
devout men are taken away,
and no one understands that the righteous are taken away
to be spared from evil.
Those who walk uprightly enter into peace;
they find rest as they lie in death.
Enjoy your well-deserved rest, my friend. We will miss you until that Time when we see you again. And when we do, we will want to hear your trumpet, your bagpipe, your songs, and stories about all the wonders you have been and seen. Now we weep but then we will laugh. Now we mourn but then we will dance. And we will know with certainty, there is a Time for every purpose under heaven.
Until that Time, fare-thee-well Donnie. Fare-thee-extremely-well. We wish you God’s speed on your journey as we celebrate your life.
Well done, our good and faithful friend. Very well done, indeed.
David Marchus
I certainly wish I had known of Donnies passing at the time. I wish I had been there to hear the reading of your eulogy first hand. I would have wept then as I am now after having seen your words for the first time. Donnie and I ran into each other sometime around the mid 90's.. I hadn't seen him for many years, but as you so aptly described his smile, that is what made me stop as I almost past by not recognizing him except for that big assed beautiful wide grin.. He jumped into my car and I suggested going to Bryles Corner for a beer. So that's what we did, sat on the curb with quart bottles of beer in paper bags. We sipped slowly and remembered the old days.. Me, Donnie, Ronny and Danny. Marchus, Swires, Johnson & Fiddler usually in trouble together. I first met them all in 1952 when I moved from downtown out to LaGrande Ave. FOND MEMORIES..!!
Mike, thanks for posting your eulogy, it's the best, most descriptive piece I've ever seen written on any person that I have known personally.
Thank you, David Marchus
Michael (Mike) Sunnafrank
God, David, thank you for this. I can just imagine the two of you brown bagging at Bryles. I know just the spot on the curb. And now it is getting a bit misty here.
Michael (Mike) Sunnafrank
David: I remember many times when Donnie spoke of you. He placed great value on your relationship and those fond memories. Your real world "Stand By Me" days.
Wallace Victor (Vic) Owen
Hey David and Michael. I didn't know that Donnie was gone. My memories of Donnie are still dear to my heart. My brother and I were very good friends with Donnie. We lived just a short walk along Milleken creek from our house on McKinley. We all three raised steers for a couple of years when we were kids. My brother, Clyde, and I were in 4-H and I think, if I remember right, Donnie was in FFA, future farmers of america. The first year we raised our calves from babies to yearlings and showed them at the Town and Country Fair. Then sadly, we all cryed for a long time after we sold them to the slaughter house. It was something that affected all of us. They were good times together and ones that I will never forget. I don't remember if I knew you Michael, but it sounds like you were a great friend for Donnie. I wish I could have kept in contact with him. David, I remember a lot of times at Bryles Corner. My Mom worked their for years until Mrs Bryles died. I remember a lot of good times with you also. Times that I will never forget.
Michael (Mike) Sunnafrank
Thanks for this, Vic. No, I don't think we knew each other---I was from out Carneros way and by the time we hit high school we were probably running in different circles. But I was glad to hear these stories about you and Donnie. He was an A-1 original.