In Memoriam: Craig Cline, The Accidental Guru

I hadn't spoken to Craig in a couple months, which was strange for us. Back when we worked together we had lunch together nearly every day. Usually he checked in via email, or called with some interesting tidbit about someone we used to work with. Since he'd moved on to consulting independently, and I'd left my full-time job to work on projects, and then BlogHer, our communication was sporadic.

When he called he sounded tired--not unusual for Craig Cline. He often slurred his speech or let his sentences trail off out of a laziness of sorts. I'd gotten to know Craig after a stroke he'd had about six years ago and suspected that his speech and movement were a result of his near-death experience. He emerged from it with an efficiency; a refusal to overexert. The resulting conversation was flat, almost stoic, though his words were often loaded with meaning.

"You OK?" I said.

"I have a cold," he said. I was surprised that he didn't want to elaborate. That's what Craig and I provided for each other--elaboration--a desire to dig into subjects more deeply than we could with others.

I've written about how Craig and I met, though I named him Calvin in my most public writing to spare him any damage my work may cause to him professionally. Looking back, I see none of the cover-up was necessary; Craig was apolitical and not concerned about fallout like I was. He never said anything about people that he wouldn't say to their face, but he only offered his thoughts if you asked. I suppose that's why we got along so well: I always asked.

Unlike my other colleagues Craig knew me personally before he knew me professionally. He knew my issues. He knew that I was making sense of a boyfriend's suicide, of my distant relationship with my father, with my struggle to write authentically. This was the stuff that we talked about every day at lunch. It wasn't until after we both left that company that I was to truly grasp who he was professionally, and everyone that he affected. Recenly Dave Winer shared a story on his blog about how Craig, as head of programming for Seybold, once the conference for publishing technology, supported his controversial panel. His story didn't surprise me; that's who Craig was. He did what he thought was right, without thinking about the ramifications of what he was doing. Would he be perceived as too accommodating to mavericks? Would be become a doormat? Would he lose his credibility or his job? Craig never asked himself these questions. If it interested him, he gave it life.

Some days he helped by talking with me for hours until I reached a personal catharsis. Other days he provided practical assistance--coming over to help me set up a wireless network, buying me a replacement DVD player on Ebay, setting me up with a replacement cell phone when mine died. I never wondered why someone would be so interested in the details of my life and so willing to help. On occasion I joked that if he wasn't so goddamned co-dependent I never would have written my first book (he read maybe ten versions of it). Frankly, I was too wrapped up in how he could help me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later he called and sounded worse, like his words were bottlenecking at his mouth; he wanted to say more than he could.

"Looks like I have ALS," he said, with the same colorlessness he kept for less life-altering news. "I'll probably have a year, maybe two." I mimicked his tone, which was convenient to me now.

"So when can I see you? I'll come down to you."

"Gayle and I are coming up to San Francisco for some more tests."

"Great, I'll meet you there."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time Craig inquired into my love life was off-putting. Why do you want to know? I said. He put down the short story draft I'd sent him a week earlier.

"Because you're not telling the whole story," he said. "How can you get better if you keep things to yourself?"

His assignment was to write about my most embarrassing moment, and mine was about a date. He often talked about embarrassment being a gateway to learning something about yourself. He loved hearing about the inflection points in people's lives that made them turn purple in the telling, that people even kept from themselves.

"Frankly, Craig. It's not your business."

If Craig had another calling it would be as a relationship therapist, though not a touchy feely one. He was like an emotional archaeologist who could help you identify whether the clumps of dirt you were excavating from your past had any good bones in them. He helped me identify my bones.

Once I got to know him better I could trust that he was analyzing my personal facts like a methodical scientist, holding these artifacts carefully and softly brushing off the dust.

"So tell me about this new guy," he asked me, a few years into our friendship. I was embarking on a new boyfriend and had inexplicable misgivings.

"He's not new," I said. "We've known each other for two years. We were in other relationships when we met."

"So what's the problem?"

"He just seems so ... interested, that's all. What if I go out with him and decide I don't want to be with him? I wouldn't want to hurt his feelings. I'm just not sure I'm that interested."

"So then he knows you fairly well."

"He knows a lot about me, even that." ("That" was how I referred to my deceased ex-boyfriend.)

Craig took in what I said, and brushed off some of the dust. "It would seem to me that you've unknowingly manifested your relationship with your father in your past relationships. And while unavailable men are unhealthy, they are what you know and what you are trained to be attracted to. Because this new man represents a healthy relationship you aren't sure what to make of it; you've come to a point where you are PHYSICALLY unable to appreciate healthy men."

"So what are you saying? I'm screwed up?"

"Yes you are."

"Great."

"And, I'm saying that you need to physically counteract this tendency by teaching yourself to appreciate the right person."

"So, then, I should continue dating him?"

Craig nodded. "But be careful: Since women tend to emotionalize sex more than men, you don't want to fall for the guy and destroy the current balance tension in your relationship that keeps him interested."

"I'm confused. What are you saying, Craig?"

"I'm saying sleep with him, but don't fall for him right away."

His prescribed tactics were hardly the point. Craig turned me on to a basic truth about myself: if it wasn't difficult or painful, I wasn't attracted to it--men, jobs, anything. I now joke to my fiance that if it hadn't been for Craig, we might never have made it off the ground.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The timing of Craig's tests was horrible for me. My father was dying, and I had to continually duck out of the room to answer phone calls--the final one being an urgent plea from my brother to get back home as soon as possible. I didn't want to infect Craig with my urgency. At this point he still seemed like the same old Craig. Slower, yes, but that was Craig. His wife, Gayle, was the pace setter. She provided details on Craig's condition. They were concerned about the future, but their spirits were up.

The meeting I attended with them provided information on Craig's form of ALS, which was a rare, genetic version. In 20 years' time scientists would likely have isolated the gene responsible for ALS. We chose to take that as very good news.

In my mind I performed a morbid sort of triage, telling myself to handle one terminal case at a time. My father was going to die any day. And Craig, I had a feeling, would be like Stephen Hawking and live for years and years, though maybe in a wheelchair. That would be fine. As it was, Craig had way too many speeding tickets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   

There were days when I was annoyed with Craig. The last few months at work he'd amble into the office late, disregarding calls I'd scheduled. Meetings had become to him periods of unadulterated surf time on Ebay. He said he wanted to do other things, but he wasn't sure how; he had a family to take care of. He'd mentally checked out of the company and was waiting to get laid off so that he could get a severance package--something he was guaranteed with 15 years at the company. He still loved publishing technology and the players involved. He felt strongly about blogging, though it was still marginally used. He was one of the puffy white guys who blogged about his far left politics and advances in publishing, even before some of the more famous puffy white guys blogged, period. But his job stopped being about what was new and became more about political survival. His favorite part of the day was going to lunch and extending the hour by grabbing Starbucks on the way back.

Today we went to a spot that was out of the way--beyond the typical three-block radius of the building. We liked it because we didn't have to worry about being heard by other people we worked with, and because it was such a different environment from the one we'd just left--a biker bar that subbed as a lunch spot during the week. Only locals knew about it; you had to walk down a side street and turn into an alley to get there. The food was decent, nothing more controversial than a portobello sandwich and fries. We started going there back when I was unemployed and needed to keep lunch cheap.

"I have no cash," Craig said. "You'll cover this one." The fact that he assumed what I would cover him annoyed me. This was the second or third time in recent history that he had no cash on-hand.

"You're really presumptuous," I said, putting down an extra $8.

"I'll get you back," Craig reassured me. To this day it's my least auspicious moment with Craig. If you looked at the ledger of our friendship you would see the following:

JORY
--$8

CRAIG
--Countless halves of brownies over conversations at Starbucks
--Ebay reseller services--whenever anything of mine broke he sold it for me on Ebay, paying me for it, never charging me postatge; since meeting Craig, none of my old electronics had ever gone to waste
--Subsidized lunches when I wasn't working
--Two domain names--he bought them so that if I ever became famous I wouldn't have to buy them back--then he gave me the rights
--Hundreds of hours of writing coaching
--Hundreds of hours of IT support service
--Thousands of hours of therapy
--Unconditional friendship
--Oh, and a job

And I made him pay me back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now that their youngest was about to start college, Craig and Gayle had moved away from the peninsula to a rural area northeast of Sacramento, where wireless was not a God-given right. Where life would slow down with Craig's body. Where Gayle could live close to her horses and their friends didn't have to see Craig struggle. It took months of pretending he had a cold before Craig could confide in people about his disease. He had chosen to stay in touch almost exclusively by email as his voice lost more ground to his thoughts. He could use a computer, though he typed much slower than he used to. I knew he'd deteriorated considerably when the email stopped. When Gayle told me that he'd stopped using the computer and could only communicate awkwardly through a speaking device, I knew there was little time left. Even if Craig continued to live, his life would be over when he could no longer communicate.

Gayle's note concerned me but didn't alarm me: He'd been in the hospital for several days with pneumonia and would be released after the weekend. I used to share stories with him that would make him laugh beyond his usual emotionless register; I loved telling them because finally my humiliations now had a purpose other than torturing me. I figured, even if he couldn't speak he could listen; I would keep him entertained.

Gayle said in her note that she would meet me at the hospital. When I arrived, around 11:30 in the morning, no one was there yet. I looked in Craig's room and saw a proliferation of doctors and nurses in hushed tones around his feet. I caught one of the nurses on her way out.

"How is he doing?" I said.

She gave me a polite smile--the kind you give to people you are not authorized to talk to--"Not too well," she said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Craig told me he had six kids, I didn't believe him; he seemed like such a kid himself. His was a Brady Bunch situation, but with a twist: He'd had three boys with his previous wife before meeting Gayle, and she'd had two sons. After they married they had a daughter. The few times I visited their palatial retreat in Woodside one or two of their older kids would be back from college, or needing to crash there for a few months while they looked for work. There were always dogs and cats wandering inside and outside the property. One cat they named schmee, which somehow seemed to fit her mushed up little face and lionesque fur. Gayle had the cat groomed like a poodle, shaved along her torso and extremities but with tufts of hair that looked like little fur bracelets around her paws. She wandered in and out of Craig's office, amidst the endless cords, servers, and unused electronics. Just seeing this cat hovering around his feet made me laugh out loud: So much of it--the house, the BMW, the poodle cat--seemed incongruous with the man who would wear the same shirt every day if he could.

Gayle was responsible for much of this. She loved her horses, and took weekend retreats to ride or ski. On a career level she and I had much more to talk about. We both were go-getters and loved to discuss marketing and management. I could see her negotiating for the car, the horse trailers, every one of the fabulous things that they couldn't buy on Ebay, and Craig shrugging and nodding, OK. The lovely deck with the built-in jacuzzi seemed perfect for entertaining a few dozen people on weekends. I imagined Craig on one of his perfect Saturdays, taking slow walks through the woods, configuring a server or two, seeing what movie arrived from NetFlix, then, if no one was home, sitting alone to watch it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was disappointed that he was sleeping. I held his hand for a minute and then retreated to the chair next to his bed. I figured I would stay a few hours, talk to Gayle, and hopefully he'd wake up. If he didn't, Gayle would have to tell him I came to visit. His ventilator lulled me into a brief catnap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I often wondered how Craig was as a father. The sons that I'd met I spoke to briefly, and they seemed to have an aloofness about them, ducking in and out to, say, finish laundry, but pretty much leaving me and Craig alone to catch up. I probably should have asked about them more. But, most days, Craig was my Dad. I had him on loan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gayle was the first person that I saw. I must have heard her coming. I jumped to my feet and hugged her. I cracked some joke about how typical it was that Craig would crash out when I arrived. One of Craig's sons was with Gayle, and he'd brought his girlfriend. I smiled and went on about how it had been a while since we last met. He was cordial but walked right past me to the front of the bed. He started to cry. Next came Craig's daughter and her boyfriend, then his son, then another son, then another son, then another son. They surrounded Craig's bed, with Gayle closest to his face. At this point I joined them in tears, though I didn't know why. Gayle left to speak with the doctor, and I followed her out.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner," she said. "But it was news to me, too. He stopped breathing on his own early this morning."

The doctor said something to Gayle about needing two minutes alone with Mr. Cline to "call it officially." Everyone left Craig's room, weeping in bursts, then staring into space. I couldn't tell initially which kids were Craig's biological children and which were Gayle's, they all wept for their Dad and held each other.

When we re-entered the room, Craig had been freed of all the apparatuses that had surrounded him like his beloved electronics had for years. They'd even taken his glasses, which Gayle would replace when she returned to say her final goodbye. We wept and took in this new unplugged version of the man who had passed even more peacefully than he'd hoped to--all seven of his kids.

Comments

[Joy]

Honey, what a truly beautiful and heartfelt tribute to Craig. He surely was like a dad to you in so many ways. When you called to talk to me about Craig, I could hear the hurt in your voice...once again. As painful as it may have been to witness Craig's last moments, I'm so glad you were there...and I know you were too. He was a wonderful friend that was always there for you....and now, you needed to be there for him. I love this piece...it so represents the Craig you knew.
- All my love, Mom

[jen]

Jory, Craig sounded like a fabulous friend. I think I could do with someone like him to tell me the mistakes I'm making with the men I choose.

He sounded like a very generous man with his time - having six kids then helping you out as much as he did, and of course spending time with his wife. You probably weren't the only one he was generous timewise with! The generosity obviously outweighed his annoying habits. What are good friends though, if you can't put up with your annoying habits?

Again, I'm sorry you've lost such a great friend.

How's the wedding plans? I vaguely remember you saying you were getting married in October. If it's October 14, that's my 40th birthday!!!

[jen]

Oops, re the end of my third last para above, I meant to say, What are good friends for though, if you can't put up with THEIR annoying habits? Still doesn't make sense.

[jeneane]

i am so sorry.

i love you.

j.

[Lisa Williams]

{hug}

[Phil Wolff]

This says as much about you, Jory, as it does about Craig. I only know him through your posts, but I think he would have liked that.

[Koan Bremner]

As I started reading this piece, I asked myself, "I wonder if Craig was Calvin?" Your recording of "The Inevitability of Authenticity" touched me deeply when I first heard it, last year - I've just replayed it.

I think there's something special about those who are close to us, when they don't have to be - when they *choose* to be. Craig patently felt that you were someone worth spending time and energy with. I suspect that if you'd asked *him* to itemise the ledger, he would have omitted the $8 lunch, listed an array of things that *you* had done for *him*, and understated his contributions to you.

You had a special friendship - and I know you won't forget it, or him. Your ongoing success, having applied so much that he helped you to learn, will be the kind of memorial that I sense will please him immensely.

[John Stanforth]

Wonderful post, Jory... the kind that makes me wish I'd known Craig... the kind that beautifully conveys your loss in such a real and personal way, a feat rarely accomplished with mere words on a screen... and the kind that inspires us all to think about the daily words and small actions and helpful deeds which, slowly, over years, build up to the incredible legacy you've described here... Thanks for sharing this with us.

[Garry Freemyer]

Oh man!, I don't even know Craig, but I found my heart touched, and a bit saddened that I didn't get to know this person, but through you I got a glimpse at the person, and what really is important in life is not just self, but friends.

Thanks for the well needed reminder. You go Girl!

[Randy Kiser]

Jory - I found my way to your blog in my quest to find out more about the life of my old friend Craig in the years since our paths diverged. Craig and I were cousins, and during our high school years in Hagerstown, we were best friends. We shared many adventures together, from launching model rockets in the fields beyond his house, listening to Sgt. Pepper for the first time in his parent's living room, and of course - discovering girls. Now THAT was an exploration of mind and soul that I'll never forget. We acted on our high school stage together, we wrote scripts for our local radio shows together, and we shared many goofy teenage laughs together. After college we saw each other rarely and spoke to each other only a little more often. Time and distance seperated us as we forged different paths into the future. Nevertheless, I was stunned when I heard the news of his illness last spring. I spoke to Craig a couple of times after that and despite the obvious discomfort he was in, we shared some good laughs recalling those youthful adventures. It occured to me just last week that I hadn't gotten a reply to any of my recent e-mails, and I was intending to call him just this past weekend. I got the sad news on Saturday evening from my Dad, who had just received a call from Craig's Dad. Even though we had been seperated by time, distance and events over the years, the news was like a swift punch in the stomach. I enjoyed your memoriam immensely. It verified to me that the essence and the spirit of Craig changed very little over the years. The friendship you shared with him will always live, and there will always be a little bit of Craig in your life as there will in mine. I'm truly happy that Craig had such great friends like you to share his life with. My thoughts and my heart go out to you, and of course, his family.

[David Spencer]

Thanks so much for sharing. When I knew Craig back in the Seybold heydays of the 80's, mostly professionally, he was indeed a special person -- and you've paid a fine tribute. Thanks again.

[JustJohnny]

If his chore in you was teaching you to write, I'm sure he'd be proud of this post. I don't know you, or Craig, and I cried when I read it.

My heart and prayers to you --and Craig's family.

[David Biedny]

Jory, those are intensely wonderful thoughts about Craig, I just heard about his passing today. I suspect he's smiling down at you right now, with much love.

[miffy]

Thank you...
human love, life and friendship at it's most beautiful.
xo
Mif

[Megan Schirmacher]

As I read this, I couldn't help but smile at the accuracy of your descriptions and the vivid picture it brought back for me of the Craig I once knew. Craig was one of my first bosses: I was hired directly out of college to work in the programs department at Seybold Seminars. After 4 months on the job, he, I and a cohort of colleagues made the move from Malibu to the Peninsula, and he became my boss. I would work for him for the next 6 years. In that time, he became my advocate, mentor and friend. He encouraged me to take on so much for someone my age -- and my age never bothered HIM at all. His corniness (messy shirt, food in his beard, a zillion electronic devices hanging around his office, chronically disheveled and behind schedule) made him little off-putting sometimes but endearing, too. So, after I moved on from the Seybold brand, he and I continued to have lunches together in somewhat the same way you describe. But, I moved away from the area and lost touch with him -- except for the annual Christmas card. I was so surprised to hear the news of his passing and saddened to think of all I had missed by not keeping in better contact with him. He was kooky, brilliant, and loveable. And your tribute to him describes him perfectly.

Take comfort where you can find it. God bless.

Megan

[Jay]

Synchronicity. Rob sent me a copy of More Space when it was published. I am finally reading it, mortified it's taken me this long, and just happen to be in the middle of your chapter, which so far is particularly compelling. Your writing here is so recognizably you that it feels like supplemental material.

At any rate, I realized immediately who Craig had to be, before you said as much. It's going to add a new dimension to the rest of the chapter, when I pick it up again in the next day.

He seems too special to be gone.

[Alison Murdock]

Jory,
I stumbled upon this post. I had no idea. Craig was my first boss in the tech media biz in 1994 back when Seybold and ZDNet had merged.

I was surprised and saddened to hear of Craig's passing. He was my boss when I was an intern at ATEX in Massachusetts before he went to Seybold. I knew he had moved there and was interested in wine, so when I bought a bottle of wine from Cline Cellars, I was wondering if it was his. Then I googled him and found your posting. Thanks for your touching tribute to him.