One of God’s Own Prototypes
I’ve lately been waiting for a spark, a muse… inspiration if you will, in writing this oh-so-sporadic of blogs, and today I found it. Regrettably, it’s not joyous, but sad news that has today prompted my fingers to pop these keys at the clickety-clackety pace of 60 words/minute (ok, 45), the death of a friendly acquaintance, if not a friend: the late David Farrow.
I read of the death of the journalist, tour guide, Mayoral candidate and fellow happy madman in today’s copy of the Post & Courier, a publication in which for decades he opined in as a columnist, journalist and author of many a letter to the editor. Farrow was 65, and passed away after, what I believe was a long illness. I’m really not sure, and there’s little mention of cause in the article, but I believe he’d been sick for almost a decade. I remember covering Farrow’s 2010 Mayoral campaign for West Of and discussing his health after what had been one of the most enjoyable interviews of my journalistic life.
Never Even Considered for Mass Production
Farrow was first and foremost a “ben’ya” the Gullah/Geechee phrase for a native Charlestonian. He too was a member of Charleston’s elite, born and raised south of Battery St., the son of Farrow and a Ravenel. Farrow though, was never admitted into the Ole’ Boy’s Club here in the Holy City, either that or he’d never accepted the invitation. Long considered an eccentric, when I met him in 2010 for a story I wrote on his Mayoral candidacy titled “Knee Deep in the Big Muddy,” his perspectives on all things Charleston had earned him admirers and detractors alike.
My favorite quote from the story is David Farrow in a nutshell in my mind and memory:
“During in the Vietnam war Pete Seeger sang a song on the Smothers Brothers in which he said, ‘we’re knee-deep in the big muddy and the big fool says to push on.’ I would argue that’s where we are right now,” says Farrow. “We are languishing in the doldrums and we are facing some really rough seas. Am I qualified? I’d argue that I’m more qualified than (Riley) was when he was first elected, because I’ve run organizations and I understand the vagaries of the economy.”
Sitting here typing away thinking back on the afternoon I spent with the late-David Farrow, a sunny afternoon with coffee and cigarettes that made little cherubic clouds in the air as we puffed, I can’t help but smile. I mean, the guy lived.
There was something about the man that simply resonated with me that day, and all the day from that afternoon. I remember that day feeling as if I was talking to a man who laughed away things that drove me mad, a man free from the hindrance of convention.
I simply liked the man. And I’ll miss him.
- To read the piece in today’s P&C, click here.
- For my piece “Knee Deep in the Big Muddy,” click here.
Thanks for reading!
the Pretentious Illiterate