A Class Act Cousin

Sunday June 27th, 2010 - Kenosha, WI

There are only a few members of my family who I’ve ever felt close to, and one of them was born on this day in 1957. His name is Jef Parker and unfortunately he died a slow and painful death from cancer in 2001. He was only 44. That still seems so unfair, even now.

Jef’s father and my grandfather were brothers, so that made us second cousins. Jef had a very unpleasant childhood because his old man was also a lout and a cold hearted ass and in fact his father and my father were very close throughout their lives. It totally figures, as they were cut from the same cloth. Both were horrible fathers and never felt bad about it.

Jef had to endure the torture of bouncing around to different foster homes and was also a ward of the state for a while. He used to tell horrific stories of getting ganged up on, and like me, he didn’t suffer bullies well. Sometimes he’d have to wait weeks or more to pull off his revenge, but he did. Jef was a total dented can, and we were able to bond quickly.

We didn’t meet until I was in my early twenties, when a mutual friend introduced us for the first time. Jef started Collector’s Edge Comics in Milwaukee from scratch. He busted his ass to make it happen, and he did it with ZERO help from the family. I can totally but sadly relate to that feeling. Our blood line is loaded with small timers, goofs and losers.

Jef and I grew very close very quickly, and we hung out often. He was a big brother at a time when I really needed one. He encouraged my show business pursuits, and offered his well thought out advice whether I wanted it or not - but I always did. Jef was on top of it.

We had a mutual admiration society. Both of us knew how our family operated, and for both of us to get where we did despite that was nothing short of miraculous. Jef loved that I wouldn’t accept the fate most of the rest of the kids did, because he wouldn’t either. The fact that even one other person had the guts to buck the system gave us both some hope.

Then his cancer showed up. He fought it to the end, and not only was he courageous, he kept his dignity and class the entire time. We had detailed, in depth, no holds barred talks about life and it’s meaning or lack thereof, or whatever else popped into our heads. I wish we’d recorded them, because they’d usually get pretty deep. I miss those talks, even now.

Jef told me he would send me a signal from beyond if he could. He told me I’d know it was him because he’d make it funny and something special that I’d recognize right away. So far, I haven’t seen anything and that takes wind out of my sail. I know he’d absolutely do it if he could, as would I. So far, nothing. I sure thought I’d have gotten it before now.

I miss Jef more the longer he’s gone. He’d be 53 now, but he still had the heart of a kid. He was older than me by a few years, but we still got along famously. He showed with his own life that dented cans can indeed overcome obstacles, but the dents never go away. He was hurt by his father’s ignorance just like I was, but he pressed on. Jef Parker is my hero. How he’s dead and reptiles like Bernie Madoff and other maggots still live mystifies me.