In Memory of Steve Muller, My
Friend of 18 Years
(written after his death a number of years ago; posting because I miss him.)
I knew him…
A fellow of most infinite jest,
of most excellent fancy.
--
from Hamlet.
I
remember well when I met Steve. He was
15; I was 17. The first thing I noticed
was his hairdo—a New Wave-ish 80s do that reminded me of a small bird perched
on the side of his head. And all of
those silver chains on top of the black tee shirt du jour! We became immediate friends, to my
recollection. I spent many evenings and
weekend days over at the Muller’s house—his parents, especially his mom , Astrid, showing me great kindness and not seeming
to mind that I and other wayward but reforming teens hung out at their house
after going to our little 12-Step gigs.
I had been so lonely and desperate for friends, and Steve and the other
kids around didn’t care about my chequered past at the mere age of 17. On the contrary, we were so much alike that
it gave us the basis for a friendship that, even with its twists and turns,
lasted until his untimely death. When
not at one of their homes, we were at Spires on Beach Boulevard or Denny’s at
Main & Ellis drinking the “endless” cup of nasty coffee and smoking
cigarettes and swearing—but at least we weren’t drinking, and we felt very fine
about that being the best we could do.
I
remember how upset I was during our fights—fights Steve always won. I could never
compete with his dissing skills. (Could
anyone? Maybe Mike Drenchen…) But, we always made up in the end. My most vivid memories are of Steve’s
legendary mouth in action: in 1986, his incendiary
comments to his mom over whether or
not she would stop to get him a Super Big Gulp on the way to a meeting at the
Civic Center which resulted his ejection from the car and Astrid driving me to
the meeting as if a chauffeur, as I was in the back seat; his tirade on
“liberals” and my choice of attire at Kurt & Lori’s wedding that resulted
in us not speaking for 5 years (in fairness, I said he looked like Steven
Seagall); his affection for the Weekly
World News’ Bat Boy that offended the heck out of his girlfriend at the
time but resulted in his dedication of his whole refrigerator as a monument to
the monster… Steve had a knack for “bringing it on.” No one can deny that, for
sure.
Steve was known to outpour obscenity-laced invectives
that made even me occasionally blush and shudder. He loved to play pranks, usually on some
unsuspecting salesperson at the mall or on a friend’s answering machine. His conversation would often go beyond witty
repartee, and sometimes his remarks to his friends and family bordered on
cruelty—or even succeeded in residing there. I think most of us who were close
to Steve were bit by his occasional meanness, but we all were won back into the
fold by the kindness he showed on other occasions, and I am sure that none of
us really felt that such insensitivity reflected his heart. On the contrary, we all knew him to be
extraordinarily caring, and, when cognizant of others’ feelings, often very
solicitous of them. The fact that Steve
was very sensitive may surprise those who didn’t know him well, but most of his
close friends are very funny, witty, blunt people, like himself. That we mostly shared his fault of frequent tactlessness
showed how much great minds think alike.
In
the last few years, Steve suffered terribly from headaches whose origin was
never pinpointed. Not all of us agreed
with his choices regarding his illness, his recovery, or other decisions he
made about his life. Yet I am sure none
of us deny that we had real and lasting love and affection for him, whatever
our differences were. Being someone who suffers from a chronic illness, I well
understand the temptation to check out both temporarily and permanently, and I
can only feel relief and a little despair at the discovery that his death was
accidental, and not the result of despair from health problems that his
physicians were unable to solve.
I
think the things I want to remember most about Steve is how much we laughed
when we were together, mostly because he was one of the biggest jokesters I’ve
ever known. I know he wants us to
remember his smile, his laugh, his guffaw, all his witticisms and funny jokes,
and, above all, not to get any stains on white carpets. His death brings us all together and closer
to him this one last time, and I hope in death he finally knows how much we all
loved him in life.
--Juliet
Whitted Hattersley
