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This Space Reserved for Dennis Lane




A Great Little Story, first posted on May 11, 2013


Julia 

Do you regret doing an April Fool's Day post?


Dennis 

Never. I was just thinking about whether or not to do it again this year. Right now I don't have a good idea but, as they say, the day is young...


Julia

I've got one ready, but I'm on the fence. I don't have as wide a readership as you do, so it probably won't cause as much of a stir.


Dennis 

Go for it. That's how readership grows. I don't know if I'll be able to make your blogtail party but I'll try. I like your blog. You write good. 


Julia 

Thanks. You just made my day. 


Dennis

Happy to oblige!

- - From an online conversation March 31, 2012


                                                                 

It took me a while to realize that I was wrong about Dennis Lane. I put together a persona for him without the benefit of actually knowing him.  I decided that he was the coolest of the cool kids, and that I was never going to be in that club. I observed him at blog parties, impeccably dressed, holding forth to a tightly knit group of fans and he seemed to be the grand high wizard of something. Something secret and not easily attained.

It did not occur to me that I could just go up and say hi. He seemed to me to be the sort of gentleman for whom one must procure an official introduction. Believe me, I tried. I loved his writing, the way he looked at things, the way he treated his subject matter.  But I kept myself at a distance out of shyness, or pride. Or both.

I never managed to broker an introduction. In the end it wasn't necessary. One day at Starbucks he appeared out of nowhere to congratulate me on receiving one of Jessie's Bloggers Choice awards at the Stanford Grill blog party. He extended his bigger-than-life laugh and twinkle towards me in a warm handshake and in that moment shattered my carefully constructed "Dennis Lane" and revealed a truer one.

I never really stopped having a fangirl reaction to getting a comment or a link or a shout-out from Dennis. I think that's probably okay. It would have amused him, certainly. Added to that was the knowledge that I could wave at him from across the room, or steal a moment to chat and he'd be happy to see me.

The last time I saw Dennis was at the Union Jack's Blog Party. I came with my daughter Alice, writer of HoCoHouseHon. We were enjoying a little moment of excitement as Hocoblogs only mother-daughter bloggers. Then something happened which thrilled me to the core. Dennis came over to talk to us.

I remember only snippets of what was said. It doesn't matter. Although I knew Dennis so very little, his impact on me was huge. And that is the point of this remembrance. I barely have the right to write one, in the grand scheme of things. But knowing him made me a better blogger, and helped me learn how to get over myself a little. And it's a great little story.

Thanks Dennis.

*****

Ten years ago. 

If you are reading this today and don’t know his name you might want to look here. I can’t link to what remains of his blog, Tales of Two Cities, because it has been usurped by bots. That’s too bad, because there’s a lot of good stuff in there. Local stuff. Things that could show us that the more things change, the more they stay the same. 

And some great little stories.

Ten years ago I was a part of a blogging community called HoCoBlogs, created by Columbia writer and activist Jessie Newburn. At the time I thought it was as close to being one of the Cool Kids as I was ever going to get. Thank goodness I’ve grown up a lot since then.

HoCoBlogs doesn’t exist anymore. There are multiple reasons for that. Dennis’ death certainly was a contributing factor. I look back now at BlogTail parties past and I realize that we were a very white, altogether privileged bunch. At the time I was completely unaware.

I don’t know what Dennis would have written about over the past ten years if he could have. I do know that his voice and perspective are missed and that his human presence in this world is still deeply mourned by those who loved him. 


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