I met Don at the Endup several years ago. I don’t quite remember why or how. I think Housewife and I were carrying on as usual, walking the runway or dancing the Hustle or hooting and hollering for the house music. In any case, Don found me amusing, all 4’11” of grin and crazy dance moves. We became friends instantly, sharing a cocktail or beer over gossip. Don had a lovely voice, one he was too modest to show off very often, and he loved to dance. He had hung out at the Endup since the days of disco and he knew a good groove when he heard it. Like the many men and boys of the club scene, Don was a familiar face, someone I could trust to keep me from getting jostled on the dance floor.
During the dotcom upheaval of the late 90s, Don took a job in Germany. That summer, I journeyed there, crashing at Don’s place. It was my home base as I took the train to Belgium, France, Holland, and different cities in Germany. Together with Don, I partied at one of the best clubs I’ve ever experienced and went to my first rave. I learned a few words in German and learned to embrace traveling alone. Once Don returned to the States, I drew away from the clubs as I dove into straight girl singledom but Don would send me Christmas cards and tell me about the ongoing club scene.
Today, the DJ gave me the bad news that Don passed earlier this year from complications from pneumonia. I am sorry Don is no longer with us but I know he is on that dance floor in the sky, that he’s probably chuckling at someone’s silliness, that he is gracing another place with his affection and good nature.
God bless you, brother.