Mark Dunakin
Every so often a single event, will make you stop and reflect. So it is with the passing of Mark Dunakin, Sergeant for the Oakland California Police Department. He was killed in a random act of circumstance that happens on occasion with people that choose to take on the burden of enforcing societies' laws.
At work on Monday, somebody is going to make the mistake of asking if I was close with Mark. I'll have to admit, it's been since 1993 since I really talked to him. We parted and went our own ways in life as people do when they grow up. The reason life had brought us together had expired, we no longer could afford to work at a summer camp . But all of us that have ever worked at that camp have a sense of family. You see it went we get together to drink a beer, to watch each other's kids get cranky because they need a nap, or just to cook a dinner together and think about where the world is taking us.
Even though that Mark had gone on to do things beyond our little summer camp, we all followed him. We all took note when he was on T.V. speaking for the Oakland Police. We all kept apprised of what he was up too. --And I have to admit, every time I saw an Oakland PD cruiser or motorcycle, I looked to see if Mark was the one driving. It's those little acts, the "Have you news of Mark" moments, that remind us that once bound by common powerful experience the tie forever remains.
When I think of Mark, I think of a 18 year old running the corral at the camp where I was program director. He would stop me on the trail with some crazy new stunt he had to get more kids to ride horses. I was always pretty sure, my boss , the offseason insurance broker would and part time summer camp director, would nix these slightly risky but exciting endeavors. He cited the possibility of high injury rates. But both Mark and I had an ace in the hole. Mark's dad, Dave Dunakin, the Director of Camping for the San Francisco Bay Area Council Boy Scouts of America. -And Dave had given us both a directive: "Make the camp sizzle." We may have taken liberty with that phrase a few times. Our camp director, on an almost daily basis, would haul Mark and I into his office to discuss our "activities." But we were on a religious mission to take a faulting summer camp and breath "Sizzle" into it. Whether we succeed or not is a discussion we are still having around campfires and dinner tables twenty five years later. I suspect the consensus is: "We did."
But in the web of that experience, one penetrating thing is true, the Dunakin family was the anchor point we all started from. It was Dave Dunakin that hired us, treated us like his own kids, an guided us through one of the major experiences of our early lives. We grew up with Mark like he was one of our brothers. To us, summer camp was the home our whole family reunited at each year. Whether we worked at Camp Royaneh or Wente Scout Reservation the Dunakins were part of our family. We were there for their successes and for their learning experiences. and for the things all families endure. Those common experiences , the Dunakins enabled, cemented lifelong friendships for all us. Twenty five years after the Dunakin's entered my life all of my closest friends, the ones that call me at 11:30 at night to chat, that asked me to be in their weddings or at their children's Christenings came to me through my meeting the Dunakin family. --And when we get together the meeting rarely goes by where a Dunakin story isn't told.
We are all, like the Police Department of Oakland, collectively wounded beyond words to describe.
At work on Monday, somebody is going to make the mistake of asking if I was close with Mark. I'll have to admit, it's been since 1993 since I really talked to him. We parted and went our own ways in life as people do when they grow up. The reason life had brought us together had expired, we no longer could afford to work at a summer camp . But all of us that have ever worked at that camp have a sense of family. You see it went we get together to drink a beer, to watch each other's kids get cranky because they need a nap, or just to cook a dinner together and think about where the world is taking us.
Even though that Mark had gone on to do things beyond our little summer camp, we all followed him. We all took note when he was on T.V. speaking for the Oakland Police. We all kept apprised of what he was up too. --And I have to admit, every time I saw an Oakland PD cruiser or motorcycle, I looked to see if Mark was the one driving. It's those little acts, the "Have you news of Mark" moments, that remind us that once bound by common powerful experience the tie forever remains.
When I think of Mark, I think of a 18 year old running the corral at the camp where I was program director. He would stop me on the trail with some crazy new stunt he had to get more kids to ride horses. I was always pretty sure, my boss , the offseason insurance broker would and part time summer camp director, would nix these slightly risky but exciting endeavors. He cited the possibility of high injury rates. But both Mark and I had an ace in the hole. Mark's dad, Dave Dunakin, the Director of Camping for the San Francisco Bay Area Council Boy Scouts of America. -And Dave had given us both a directive: "Make the camp sizzle." We may have taken liberty with that phrase a few times. Our camp director, on an almost daily basis, would haul Mark and I into his office to discuss our "activities." But we were on a religious mission to take a faulting summer camp and breath "Sizzle" into it. Whether we succeed or not is a discussion we are still having around campfires and dinner tables twenty five years later. I suspect the consensus is: "We did."
But in the web of that experience, one penetrating thing is true, the Dunakin family was the anchor point we all started from. It was Dave Dunakin that hired us, treated us like his own kids, an guided us through one of the major experiences of our early lives. We grew up with Mark like he was one of our brothers. To us, summer camp was the home our whole family reunited at each year. Whether we worked at Camp Royaneh or Wente Scout Reservation the Dunakins were part of our family. We were there for their successes and for their learning experiences. and for the things all families endure. Those common experiences , the Dunakins enabled, cemented lifelong friendships for all us. Twenty five years after the Dunakin's entered my life all of my closest friends, the ones that call me at 11:30 at night to chat, that asked me to be in their weddings or at their children's Christenings came to me through my meeting the Dunakin family. --And when we get together the meeting rarely goes by where a Dunakin story isn't told.
We are all, like the Police Department of Oakland, collectively wounded beyond words to describe.
posted by Stan at 10:55 AM
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