The Death of a Reader

I got some bad, if not entirely unexpected, news this morning. An old friend by the name of Gerry Woodbury died last week.

I had not seen Gerry in years, but I knew him way back when.

The sad truth is, whenever I saw Gerry, he seemed to be drunk. Often unpleasantly so. One of the first times I ever talked to him was at a party. Gerry looked at me and said to no one in particular, "There's Mark Sieber. He knows I'm not worth a shit". Not the most auspicious of meetings.

The thing with substance abuse is, some individuals never want to grow up and wish to remain a party boy or girl their whole lives. Then there are others who, whether they even realize it or not, are grappling with mental and/or emotional difficulties and find comfort in the arms of drugs and alcohol. When, of course, that is false comfort and it only compounds the existing problems. And despite the way they destroy themselves and hurt those who care for them, we should only feel sympathy and compassion for people in that kind of situation.

It was immediately obvious that Gerry had low self esteem. And unfortunately there were far too many people more than willing to perpetuate that sense of worthlessness in him.

One night we were both at a party, and somehow the subject of books came up. Gerry told me that he loved The Chronicles of Narnia. I was shocked, and impressed. We discussed C.S. Lewis and other writers, and whenever I saw Gerry we would talk books.

Gerry liked Horror, but like most people he only knew of the big writers. King, of course,and Koontz. He knew about Clive Barker almost as soon as he was being published in The States.

Sadly, whenever I saw Gerry, he tended to be wasted. Many of us were back then, but he usually surpassed the rest of us in inebriation. It was often a painful and ugly thing to witness.

We went our separate ways. Heck, I didn't see most people I knew back then for years and years and years. I was busy with relationships and jobs. I heard things about Gerry over the years. None of it was good.

I just checked back, and I see that Gerry had contacted me on Facebook on October 11th, 2011. He asked of there were any new writers he should know about. Ha, were there ever! I gave him a long list.

Gerry thanked me for turning him on to F. Paul Wilson. Apparently I had given him a copy of The Keep years ago. I have no memory of that, but he said that Wilson was one of his favorite writers.

Gerry also said that he had just finished reading The Passage, by Justin Cronin, and that he loved it.

Now, a lot of you didn't care for The Passage. I loved it, but I can definitely see your point. However, I do not think many would deny that The Passage is not a book for stupid readers. It is complicated and difficult to read. My hat is off to anyone who made it through The Passage.

A lot of people put Gerry Woodbury down. They considered him to be an idiot. Like many people in such a downward spiral, there was a lot more to him than met the eye.

I offered to go visit Gerry, and bring him some books. I have a hell of a lot around here that could use good homes. He declined to take me up on my offer. My guess is, he didn't want me to see how he lived.

I heard this and that about Gerry after that. I can't confirm this, but I was told that he was addicted to medication. I'm not sure if it were pain pills, or antidepressants. A combination of them both perhaps, and more? And then add alcohol into the mix, and you have a deadly cocktail.

This morning I heard that Gerry Woodbury passed away. He was 51 years old. I had not seen him for twenty-five years.

I don't know how Gerry stood spiritually. Whether he had peace at the end, or not. I hope that he did.

Rest in Peace, Gerry Woodbury.