Farewell to Douglas Adams

    
By Brother Ragnarok



      The world isn’t as funny as it used to be.  I got a sad note
from Chris Holland over at Stomp Tokyo last Friday informing me
that Douglas Adams, creator of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the
Galaxy and Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, as well as
some of my favorite Doctor Who episodes, died two weeks ago of a
heart attack.



      Doug was one of my heroes.  After reading the Hitchhiker’s
Guide I was hooked.  I tracked down Dirk Gently and loved it
just as much.  There aren’t many people I look up to, but Doug
was one of them.  He was a genius.  His brilliant and irreverent
work brought smiles and laughter to countless lives, and that’s
something we should all strive for and look up to with the
highest degree of respect.


      I’ve only remembered two of my heroes dying.  Sure it’s (almost)
always sad when someone dies, but having one of your idols die
is different.  It reminds you of your own mortality, that those
people aren’t immortal, and neither are you.  It also gives you
a sad, empty feeling.  Something different than when a loved
one dies.  Something that formed, not inhabited, but formed
part of your world has been wrenched away.  It leaves you
feeling cold and empty.  Maybe that sounds a bit callous.  I’ve
had many loved ones die.  Of course I was sad.  Of course I cried
and mourned.  But the only loved one that ever was so influential
to me as that was my Grandma Hogen.  Of course I was only seven
at the time, so it was a different kind of emptiness.



      The first one (at least that I understood) was back in
1996, when Jon Pertwee (the 3rd incarnation of the Doctor for
those of you keeping score) died.  Sure, I was alive in 1987 when
Patrick Troughton (Doctor #2) died, but I was five and not really
a big fan of Doctor Who at the time.  I remember Mike Frisbee,
the host of Sci-Fi Friday Night on the local PBS station, coming
on very somber and delivering the sad news about Jon.  A while
later I read a touching article about Jon in Doctor Who Magazine
and was in tears for an hour.  It does something to you.


      And now the second of my great heroes has fallen.
I’m sure there are better articles and tributes to him, but I
still feel I owe him at least this much.  He gave me an entire
galaxy, the answer to life, the universe, and everything, and
some very sound advice about driving and towels.  The least I
can do is say thank you.  So farewell, Doug, and remember as
you fire up the ol’ infinite improbability drive and prepare
to blast off into the great unknown, that we love you, and
that we will always remember you and everything you’ve given
us.  Thank you, and goodbye, my friend. 

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