Dan's middle name was Saxon. To everyone who knew him well he was "Sax". We were friends from junior high school, through high school and our time in junior college and right through to the years in the Navy until he passed in the late summer/autum of 1980. He was my best friend. Although time and distance separated us we always remained in touch. When we were at Kennedy, we spent time playing cards and reading and discussing science fiction and we were fans of Monty Python's Flying Circus. I remember very well the phone conversation when we became interested.
"Sax, turn on Channel 6 quick! They just showed a tit!"
In 1975 KVIE showed the BBC import late at night and in 1975 no one showed naked breasts on TV. They had flashed a nipple for about half a second and, as are all teenage boys, we were avid to see more. They never did show another; what they did show was a string of bizarre and goofy comedy sketches that immediately appealed to our shared sense of humor. We were hooked. We watched the show religiously and bought Monty Python albums and memorized the sketches and repeated them back to each other incessantly, much to the bemusement of Sax's mother and the consternation of mine. We dreamed of doing goofy things in the mein of Monty Python and one time toted a 4 man inflatable rubber raft into a 7-11 to buy candy bars and sodas. When the bored clerk asked us, "Do you want a bag for that?", Sax said "No, we have a raft." Sax's wit was sharp as a razor and dry as mouthful of talcum powder. Sax and I went to see the opening of Monty Python and the Holy Grail and agreed it was the best movie ever made, laughing from the opening credits on. We left the theater quoting, "it's only a flesh wound." "Only a flesh wound?!, you're arms off." "Come back here, I'll bite your legs off!" Sax had the worst English accent ever. Year later we were still saying that to each other and giggling.
With Robert Grey, Sax's neighbor, we became fans of Mel Brooke's films Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein and laughed ourselves silly at the drive in, eating vast quantities of popcorn and spilling soda on the upholstery of the car as we laughted. We were the three musketeers of fart jokes.
Sax was a voracious reader and would plow through books, mostly science fiction. He gave me stacks of paperbacks and we'd discuss the ideas endlessly, while playing cribbage or rummy or playing marathon games of ping pong. We were hopeles geeks. We didn't have a hope in hell of having a girlfirend in highschool. We pretended we didn't care and played cards in the staircase of the building on the east side of the quad while crowds played frisbee in the quad, making it a hazard to try and cross from the cafeteria. We would invent strange new variants of rummy and play until the lunch bell would ring and go our separate ways to meet again later to talk more about things that teen age boys becoming men discussed. Sometimes we played frisbee too. Sax was a southpaw and had a funny underhanded way of tossing the disk that lead to long beautiful arcs and the Frisbee hanging endlessly above the grasping hands of the crowds in the warm spring sun.
We both became fencers at Sac City, and it appealed to our anachronistic sensibility. We used to fence with foils al fresco in the leaves in the William Land Park while passers by made wide circles to avoid us. We never kept score of the touches. When Sax passed, his mother gave me his foil and I still have it hanging in a place of honor in the den, in the bag that was made for him by the one girl he loved.
We had so many adventures and good times in our so short time together.
Sax was a dreamer and studied in the aeronoautical engineering courses that they had at Sac City. He joined the Navy about a year after me, hoping to continue in that area. It didn't work out the way he hoped.
In mid 1980, the vagaries of Naval bureacracy caused us both to be stationed at the same base. Sax told me of his time on a ship, telling me of how they had a standing joke of giving everything a pseudo-Latin name. "Cuppus styrofoamus" he quipped. That was classix Sax. I have no doubt the idea for the joke was his.
The last time I saw him, he was heading to be stationed on another ship. He gave me a crock of Glenfiddich 10 year old whisky. He had lately taken a liking to it. I still have the crock, although the whisky is gone. I've put many things in that crock over the years but nothing has ever been the same. I've had many brilliant friends and dear over the years but none has ever been the same as he.
Sax was a dreamer. He liked to go ahead. One day I'll follow him and we'll meet again happily and he'll offer me the cards and say, "your turn to cut..."
Thank you, John, for sharing your words about Dann. You offer us a beautiful tribute that captures and honors the quality and character of your friend.
John Freeman
Dan's middle name was Saxon. To everyone who knew him well he was "Sax". We were friends from junior high school, through high school and our time in junior college and right through to the years in the Navy until he passedin the late summer/autum of 1980. He was my best friend. Although time and distance separated us we always
remained in touch. When we were at Kennedy, we spent time playing cards and reading and discussing science fiction and we were fans of Monty Python's Flying Circus. I remember very well the phone conversation when we became interested.
"Sax, turn on Channel 6 quick! They just showed a tit!"
In 1975 KVIE showed the BBC import late at night and in 1975 no one showed naked breasts on TV. They had flashed a nipple for about half a second and, as are all teenage boys, we were avid to see more. They never did show another; what they did show was a string of bizarre and goofy comedy sketches that immediately appealed to our shared sense of humor. We were hooked. We watched the show religiously and bought Monty Python albums and memorized the sketches and repeated them back to each other incessantly, much to the bemusement of Sax's mother and the consternation of mine. We dreamed of doing goofy things in the mein of Monty Python and one time toted a 4 man inflatable rubber raft into a 7-11 to buy candy bars and sodas. When the bored clerk asked us, "Do you want a bag for that?", Sax said "No, we have a raft." Sax's wit was sharp as a razor and dry as mouthful of talcum powder. Sax and I went to see the opening of Monty Python and the Holy Grail and agreed it was the best movie ever made, laughing from the opening credits on. We left the theater quoting, "it's only a flesh wound." "Only a flesh wound?!, you're arms off." "Come back here, I'll bite your legs off!" Sax had the worst English accent ever. Year later we were still saying that to each other and giggling.
With Robert Grey, Sax's neighbor, we became fans of Mel Brooke's films Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein and laughed ourselves silly at the drive in, eating vast quantities of popcorn and spilling soda on the upholstery of the car as we laughted. We were the three musketeers of fart jokes.
Sax was a voracious reader and would plow through books, mostly science fiction. He gave me stacks of paperbacks and we'd discuss the ideas endlessly, while playing cribbage or rummy or playing marathon games of ping pong. We were hopeles geeks. We didn't have a hope in hell of having a girlfirend in highschool. We pretended we didn't care and played cards in the staircase of the building on the east side of the quad while crowds played frisbee in the quad, making it a hazard to try and cross from the cafeteria. We would invent strange new variants of rummy and play until the lunch bell would ring and go our separate ways to meet again later to talk more about things that teen age boys becoming men discussed. Sometimes we played frisbee too. Sax was a southpaw and had a funny underhanded way of tossing the disk that lead to long beautiful arcs and the Frisbee hanging endlessly above the grasping hands of the crowds in the warm spring sun.
We both became fencers at Sac City, and it appealed to our anachronistic sensibility. We used to fence with foils al fresco in the leaves in the William Land Park while passers by made wide circles to avoid us. We never kept score of the touches. When Sax passed, his mother gave me his foil and I still have it hanging in a place of honor in the den, in the bag that was made for him by the one girl he loved.
We had so many adventures and good times in our so short time together.
Sax was a dreamer and studied in the aeronoautical engineering courses that they had at Sac City. He joined the Navy about a year after me, hoping to continue in that area. It didn't work out the way he hoped.
In mid 1980, the vagaries of Naval bureacracy caused us both to be stationed at the same base. Sax told me of his time on a ship, telling me of how they had a standing joke of giving everything a pseudo-Latin name. "Cuppus styrofoamus" he quipped. That was classix Sax. I have no doubt the idea for the joke was his.
The last time I saw him, he was heading to be stationed on another ship. He gave me a crock of Glenfiddich 10 year old whisky. He had lately taken a liking to it. I still have the crock, although the whisky is gone. I've put many things in that crock over the years but nothing has ever been the same. I've had many brilliant friends and dear over the years but none has ever been the same as he.
Sax was a dreamer. He liked to go ahead. One day I'll follow him and we'll meet again happily and he'll offer
me the cards and say, "your turn to cut..."
Vicki Romani
Let's honor Dann by first submitting his correct name. His last name was Janes (not James) and he passed September 1980. Rest in peace, my friend.
Linda Carlos
Thank you, John, for sharing your words about Dann. You offer us a beautiful tribute that captures and honors the quality and character of your friend.
Edward Rios
I'm just finding out about this today ... sad.