By Martha Quillen
Ed Quillen was the sort of person who always knew what he wanted to do and proceeded accordingly. When Ed called to ask me out for the first time, he asked me what I’d like to do. I told him there was a movie I’d like to see, but he took me to an author’s lecture. For our second date, I told him that I’d like to go to my favorite eatery, an inexpensive Mexican restaurant; he bought a six-pack of beer and took me to a party. For our third date, I told him I’d like to go to a coffee house where my friends occasionally performed, but there was a band Ed wanted to hear.
Finally I asked Ed why he always asked me where I wanted to go if he wasn’t going to take me there, and he said it was the polite thing to do.
As it turns out, Ed was always stubbornly disinterested in doing what others wanted him to. But he didn’t want to control me, either (or what I said and thought), which made him an awesome friend and husband. So things worked out.
But Ed’s certainty about what he wanted stymied me after he died. Ed never cared about what kind of household products I bought or linens I used, but for 43 years I had always talked to him about the big things: what to do about moves, mortgages, jobs, kids …. After he died, there were so many decisions to make, and I kept trying to figure out what he’d want. I wanted to talk to him so much; I needed to talk to him, but I couldn’t. I made the initial decisions about the hospital and mortuary, but Columbine arranged for a wake, a funeral and a gathering at the house.
Publishing a second anthology of Ed’s Denver Post columns was something a lot of people talked about at Ed’s funeral. But frankly, the idea scared me. I thought about how difficult it would be to read a dozen years’ worth of columns and handle the editing and design and promotional demands.
We couldn’t possibly do it, I concluded.
We could … Abby countered.
But I knew that I couldn’t. At least, I couldn’t do it then, when it clearly had to be done, and I doubted the girls could either.
I was wrong, though. Columbine had to go back to school, but Abby revamped Ed’s website, then contacted Ed’s editors and friends. She started reading her dad’s columns, and at her urging, I and several of Ed’s friends started reading, too. Then Abby and her husband, Aaron Thomas, looked into publishers and found out that it would likely take a publishing house until early to mid 2014 to come out with a book, which they felt was too late.
But they already had professional editors working with them, so Abby and Aaron decided to do it themselves. While Abby read Ed’s columns, Aaron learned about producing trade paperbacks and ebooks. He also designed a cover (which features a gorgeous photo by Hal Walter), then made a short film about Ed. Then Aaron and Abby initiated a Kickstarter campaign.
For those who aren’t familiar with it, Kickstarter is a way to fund a project by selling the product in advance; Kickstarter guarantees the return of all contributions if the fund-raising goal isn’t met and/or the project doesn’t happen. Abby and Aaron’s Kickstarter goal is $5,500 and it has to be met before August 6, which makes me nervous.
But Abby assures me that this book is going to happen no matter what. Ed’s new book, Deeper Into the Heart of the Rockies, is already in production and scheduled to come out in November. But Abby and Aaron aren’t sure whether they can come out to Colorado in November, which makes me even more nervous.
“So will I have to give speeches and interviews, and drive hither and yon and visit bookstores all by myself?” I wondered, but diplomatically refrained from asking. Instead I blurted, “But I don’t even have a vehicle that I’d want to drive to Cañon City, because my car hates rain. And it really, really hates deep puddles. It chokes, it sputters …”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Abby soothed. “Everything will be all right.”
All right? I thought incredulously. And yet I smiled. Talk about switching roles. Who’s the mother now?
At this point, I don’t expect things to be “all right,” but I’m starting to believe that our lives will go on in new directions, with fresh challenges, and ups and downs, and good times as well as bad.
But I still miss Ed. A year before he died, Ed had gotten very ill, and he’d lost lots of weight and optimism. He was just starting to feel better again, to laugh and joke the way he used to. And he was also starting to get really excited about a novel he was writing. Then he was gone.
For me, it was wholly unexpected and incomprehensible. After the funeral, I just wanted to crawl into bed for three months. But the girls wanted to do something to commemorate his life. And they are.
I’ve been impressed by Columbine’s grit. At first she was so upset, I didn’t think she’d be able to go back to law school and her two jobs and grueling schedule. But she did. And I’ve been absolutely awed by Abby and Aaron’s determination, dedication and enthusiasm.
But from the day Ed died, people have been amazing me. Friends, neighbors, fans, distant relatives, old school pals and mere acquaintances came, called, visited, penned touching notes, exuded sympathy, and sent cards, condolences and money.
So what happened to that money? you ask.
After I was sure that I could pay for the mortuary and ambulance without help, I turned it over to Abby and Aaron to get this book started, because I think this is the sort of memorial Ed would appreciate. If, after expenses, there are any proceeds left, the majority will go to Abby and Aaron to reimburse them for all of the resources they’ve contributed, but we plan to set aside money for a local memorial for Ed. (And if there’s enough, Abby would like to establish a scholarship in Ed’s name.)
But I’m sure Ed would be satisfied with a book, and he would have been absolutely overwhelmed by the grief and caring sent his way.
Ed was never motivated by status or money, but he worked hard, often putting in 60 to 80 hours a week, and he knew Colorado – the elevation of every fourteener, the names of governors, mountain ranges, rivers, towns, counties and candidates. Ed also knew U.S. history and politics and math and science, which made him a phenomenal Trivial Pursuit player. Ed’s sense of humor was contagious, and his writing was clear and straightforward.
I cried when I sorted through old photos of Ed; and I cried when I watched the online film Aaron made out of those photos. But I don’t cry when I read Ed’s columns, because they make me think about what Ed wrote about, rather than what we’ve lost.
Bob Sweeney, one of Ed’s early employers, once told me that Ed was going to be the next Mark Twain. “He’s that good and that funny,” Sweeney said.
But Ed’s idea of a great job never included going abroad to hobnob with heads of state. Ed loved Colorado, and his heart was always here, at home.
After re-reading Ed’s Denver Post columns, Martha Quillen decided she should try for more wit and brevity. But writing less while saying something relevant and being funny is harder than you’d think. Maybe next time.
Abby Quillen is currently a freelance writer whose work has appeared in YES! Magazine, the Christian Science Monitor, and on Shareable.net. She specializes in articles about organic farming and living, and resides in Oregon, where she raises kids, cats and chickens. (You can check out her blog at newurbanhabitat.com). Abby’s husband, Aaron Thomas, is a high school English teacher in Eugene, but locals may remember him as a reporter for the Chaffee County Times in Buena Vista and a member of the F Street Sheiks, a Salida band. Columbine Quillen attends law school in Salem, Oregon and lives with her husband Brad Goettemoeller, a computer programmer and river guide..
