All That You Leave Behind: A Memoir(47)

Lena Dunham got up and said what I was thinking: “I thought it was important to come up and fill out the female contingent of his friendship circle.” Lena spoke to friendship, New York intros, and, again, loyalty. She closed with, “I will think of you every time I dance, every time I eat bacon, every time I touch a waitress on the butt.”

Natalie Kitroeff came next, then Eric Baker. Tim Carr followed, one of the other great speakers in our family. John Otis, longtime friend and fellow journalist, who flew in for the service from Colombia, recalled, “I think he took me to my first peep show.”

One by one, mourners spoke to the different facets of his personality. The combinations seemed endless. How could one human be so many things? Still, one role had not been addressed: dad.

It is now or never. I had no notes. I walked up slowly to the pulpit, and then I heard myself talking. “I am going to be brief because I get to speak at the funeral tomorrow, but I did want to be sure to say that we—Jill, Madeline, Meagan, and I—are so thankful to all of you for being here.” My voice seized, and I took a big gulp of air. I had no control over what came next; I wondered if I’d be able to make it through without sobbing uncontrollably.

“My dad was a crazy one,” I started. “When we were born, a couple months premature, everyone thought it was not going to end well.” I tried to express the pure and unquestioned faith he had in me and my professional abilities. I caught myself. This is not about me; it is about him.

“He told me I could do anything. And I want to say that to each and every one of you. You can do great things. I’m so sad he’s not here, but goddamn, he would have loved this.”

I exhaled and walked back to my seat. And then eight-year-old Lucy, the daughter of Erik Wemple and his wife, Stephanie Mencimer, hit the podium. “I don’t want to make a speech, but David had a big personality and he never yelled at anyone.” It was my favorite remark of the wake, because it was delivered by someone so young, so small, and so mighty. My dad would have been impressed.

His godson Chris Carr came next, and was followed by writer Seth Mnookin and wild boy Mike Carr. And then it was over.

While I had broken my nine-month sobriety a few months earlier, his death certainly fueled me with more ammunition to imbibe. We headed from the wake to a nearby bar, and countless people asked if I needed a drink. Don’t mind if I do.

I had a nagging feeling that I should be somewhat sober for the funeral the next day, but my Irish heritage kicked in and I clocked out. I got blackout drunk for the fourth night in a row, one of the only things that made the feelings disappear.

They would reappear and grow like the Hydra overnight, but a couple of hours of numbness was all I needed.





EXCERPTS FROM DAVID CARR’S UC BERKELEY GRADUATE SCHOOL OF JOURNALISM COMMENCEMENT SPEECH


My name is David Carr, and I’m an alcoholic. I think it’s cool that you guys have all these drunks and drug addicts and pirates up here talking….

Things have changed in a fundamental way. We talked a lot about that. But just a quick note: My daughter Erin is a video journalist. And I spent a lot of time trying to dissuade her from getting involved in our business. She listened carefully, and went the other way. You should do the same today.

My first story that I did was about police brutality. It was a little local weekly, about thirty thousand people probably saw it. Erin—same age, twenty-four years old—went and did a story about a guy who used 3D printers to make guns to get around federal gun laws, and I sort of head-patted her. I said, “That’s a cute project, that’s a good idea, honey.” Think it got twelve million hits on YouTube. I’d like to strangle her.

I’d like to strangle you guys, too, but I’m afraid I’ll end up working for you, so I’m going to suck up to you instead….

I don’t want to take an opportunity commencing at such an august institution and not throwing down just short bits of advice. I mean, you’d do it if you were up here, wouldn’t you? Just a little bit. These are ten bits of graduation advice you won’t see on any BuzzFeed listicle.

Remember my credentials, though. I was on welfare. I became dependent on the state for both food and medical treatments. I became a single parent at a time when no one would trust me with a ficus plant. Other than that, I’ve been sort of a model citizen. So take what applies and leave the rest, that’s what I’m saying.

Right now, in your class, I know you guys are all having your kumbaya moment and you’re hugging each other and saying how great you all are. But there are gunners, there are people who are really just heads and shoulders above everybody, and they’re bound for glory. You know what? They’re not the ones that are going to change the world. It’s somebody that was underestimated. It’s somebody that you do not know that’s really going to kill it. I guarantee you. I guarantee you, as somebody who has worked with young people. And you know what? Maybe you’re that person. I just want to say.

This has been a theme, and I just want to echo it, do what’s in front of you. When you leave school, you’ve got your loans weighing down on you, you’ve got parents saying, “What the hell are you going to do with all this?” Just do what is in front of you. Don’t worry about the plot to take over the world. Just do what is in front of you, and do it well. I think that if you concentrate on your plot to take over the world you’re going to miss things.