--As long as I’m on the subject of people passing.

Dave Finke, a co-worker, passed into another life recently. I would like to say, we had a long association. That we had grown old cubed together in the shadow of late night practices of computer science. Our only mission: to ease the mundane burdens of life for everyone. But he departed my world after a relatively short stay.

He was 6’9” inches of Missouri powerhouse heartbeat. A professed public transportation socialist transplanted from his native soil to the concrete filled salt marshes that ring the bay. There, only money is allowed to grow. –And Finke couldn’t bear it.

So, he left us. There is no other real term for it. He just left.

It was self inflicted.
It was planned.
All the signs were all there.

I should have realized he was considering parting this world when I said in passing one day “Dave you won’t have anything to complain about on your raise.”

He just retorted a Finke kind self deprecating way, “I hope to didn’t waste raise money on the likes of me.”

That was the last sign.

The first, was selling his beloved motorcycle. The vehicle that he owned to profess minimally adding greenhouses gases to the world. Finke was one of those people who the city of Berkeley dreams of recruiting. A man who would fly Southwest Airlines to Midway airport in Chicago and take public transportation for three hours to get out to Hoffman Estates, rather take the $70 more expensive American Airlines flight and take a 20 minute cab ride. “It’s a decadent use of fuel and money” he told me. “I just can’t do it.” –And he didn’t last year when he went on a business trip with me.

He never felt simple here, apologized for his job and thought undeserved cash was lumped on him weekly. --Burdened, he went on a quest for lesser employment. Something outdoors, climbing poles, where the sun could draw lines in his face as he strung cable between people’s houses. But it was not to be. When he interviewed for the situation, they pulled him from the room where he sat happily doing wiring diagram tests with his fellow potential hard hats, and said he wasn’t one of them. Did he have a fever? To climb down the office ladder you have to quit, or be laid off. None of this voluntary retreat of rungs shit. He was a suit, and suits couldn’t be hard hats. –And suits sickened Finke.

So one Friday, not so long ago, when I was back in Chicago on business, Finke terminated himself. He left a short note, “I can’t do this anymore.” --and he’s gone.

We feel the vacuum. Not for the obvious reasons. I think he left the Finke Fever virus. Somewhere, we think Dave’s found another life. A life of ski lifts, snowboards, and white water rafting. --A heaven for the penniless. Where people realize lack of heath insurance didn’t cause the extinction of the buffalo. Even with all our mortgages and kids, we’d like to dwell in his house just for a moment.

So, I did the only think I could at a time like this. I wrote a sonnet, as a eulogy to Finke. Here it is.

Finke Fever

Finke resigned his job the other day.
--A sudden act with small thought and lament.
It was not about enough pay
We just raised him eighteen percent

Cubes gave him a fever from office life
A creature of snow, river, wind and sun
Working indoors caused too much strife.
His butt in a canoe had to be done.

His boss, his mom, his friends, all raised a brow.
Good God, pursue a life of just leisure?
You will go broke and pay your rent how?
But he was lost to his case of Finke fever.

Now his departure has caused quite a fuss.
I suspect cause we all wish he was us.