I admire your work

I've contemplated lately following the trend of starting a blog. I had planned, when and if I ever got around to this endeavor, to mourn the loss of the Balsley family website I had built two years ago. It was an effort to use technology to help keep my extended family up to speed on what was going on in each other's lives. I lost steam, however, when I eventually realized I could never be as effective at collecting and distributing family information as my grandmother is by nature. And so, this spring I allowed my domain name ownership to lapse without renewal.

What ultimately drove me to start this blog, however, was my discovery today of a loss of a completely different nature. I'm not sure what made me think of my college friend Chuck Cass today out of the blue, but whatever it was prompted me to do a search on Google for him to see what he was up to these days. The first hit was an obituary, dated November 2005. He was 31 years old and had lost a 3-year battle with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

I was shocked, of course. We had kept in touch through email for a couple of years after college. Then, as it often goes, we both just got busy with other things in life. I guess I took it for granted that I could always drop him a line someday when I thought of it, as I probably would have done today.

We were photography students together at the University of Illinois and we and our classmates spent a lot of time together working into the wee hours of the morning on projects in the basement of Greg Hall. We also worked together at the student paper in the photo department. Chuck was an incredible photographer. He was probably born to be a photojournalist, a career which he did pursue and in which he succeeded. He was gentle and quiet, but he was one of those people who, when he did speak, made you laugh. I remember one day we were sitting beside each other in the computer lab when I suddenly felt something in my contact and had to take it out to rinse it. I deftly sprinkled it with solution and popped it back in. Chuck - who was also damned to wear corrective lenses - watched me, smiled, and casually said, "I admire your work." It's one of those you-had-to-be-there kind of experiences, but there was such humor in his remark that I often think of that moment when I take out my contacts (which, admittedly, I do with some amount of pride because of his keen observance of my uncanny agility).

Throughout the rest of the afternoon I became aware that Chuck's death was affecting me more than I would have expected. I read several articles people wrote about him. They all described him perfectly. I may not have known Chuck as well as many people, but the words used by those who were close to him truly captured his spirit. I guess that shows what an open and true person he was. Mike Davis, former visual director of Sun Publications, where Chuck worked as a photographer, had this to say: "Occasionally we get to work with people who are just plain nice to be around and who can make photographs that are reflections of their own character. Chuck Cass was that person - never complain, always make more of the situation than you thought was possible, come out smiling and asking questions. I'll miss him."

What shook me the most was an audio slideshow created in memory of Chuck. It profiles his cancer treatment through photos as well as his own words, which he recorded while going through chemotherapy. It brought tears to my eyes but a few laughs as well, seeing his friendly, smiling face and quirky personality shine through. The show is followed by some of Chuck's own photography. If you have a few minutes, I encourage you to take a look.

To Chuck, I'd just like to say I'm sorry we lost touch. I will miss your friendship but hope you are at peace. Oh, and I really admire your work.

Photo by Chuck Cass