A Memory of Patrick Prentice
From FB, dated October 7, 2016:
What my friend Patrick said. We're both looking down the barrel of the Big Gun. Why we trust each other so much. He has a row of Emmies earned from his National Geographic documentaries. I have a royalty check from Workman Publishing for $13. We now talk almost every day by phone. He is bravely battling the Big C. I am grateful for his friendship, no matter how late in the day it has arrived.
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“I stumbled on Robert Laird’s blog Instapunk about ten years ago, and it changed my life. My morning ritual consisted of a cup of coffee, a cigarette, a quick look at Drudge to see if the world had collapsed, and if it hadn’t, I went to Instapunk, where I knew I would find something I hadn’t thought about before, or if I had, Robert had thought about it more deeply, and written about it more beautifully than anyone else I had read. It didn’t take long to convince me that Robert Laird was the best writer and deepest thinker of the entire 20th (and by then, 21st) century, and it wasn’t even close. The first thing that astonished me about Instapunk was the scope of the intellect behind it – history, art, literature, cars, The Stones, Mozart, architecture, politics, quantum mechanics, what it means to be human – and the second thing that popped out in a pretty obvious way was the sorrow and the anger Robert felt about the collapse of the fantastic civilization humans had invented, and Americans in particular had brought to near perfection. Sorrow and anger that I shared. Back then, I NEEDED Instapunk to remind me that I wasn’t alone in my sorrow and anger. And he didn’t disappoint. Now Robert needs the rest of us to remind him that he’s not alone as he senses himself running on fumes. Remind him that he’s still the champ, that it’s just the 14th round, still plenty of time to do what needs to be done. So, Robert, do your job. Do what you were put on earth to do. Wade into the ring and flick that left jab into the hideously swollen face of your obviously senseless opponent, talk some trash, and, when the opportunity presents itself, deliver the knockout right. May God deliver you, and us, a well-deserved victory, a victory even the clueless desperately need, on November 8.”
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