Bill Goggins
Monday, July 31st, 2006
Bill Goggins, a friend of SMITH and a fantastic journalist and raconteur, died unexpectedly, shockingly, while running the S.F. Marathon over the weekend. Bill was totally quirky and completely curious. Those qualities, and many more, made him a pleasure to work with as an intern at a weekly newspaper back in the day, sit next to at a wedding, or drink a cold one with in a dive bar in San Francisco. His good pal Paul Boutin offers a fuller tribute here and the San Francisco Chronicle reports on Bill’s profound mark on Wired magazine here.
Update: This is a picture of Bill at mile 21. He died doing what he loved (he was a very fit and prepared runner). Bill, my friend, you will be missed. - Tim
Sorry to hear about your loss
Those in New York City who adored Bill but like myself are unable to make it to Mill Valley for his memorial service Friday are welcome to join me in Central Park at 2 pm EST for a run of 2.2 miles — the distance Bill had left to complete the SF marathon Sunday. The idea of honoring this way comes from Rebecca Smith Hurd, a more recent colleague of his at Wired. Several will be running/walking the actual course he left unfinished when he collapsed in SF at 11 am Pacific — hence my plan to “join” them. I will be at the 6th Av /59th St entrance to the park at 2 pm on the nose and should be unmissable as my friend Jake has said he’ll join. We are six-feet-seven (red blond hair), and six-eight (black hair), respectively. Can’t speak for Jake, but lumber like the giant with old knees so you needn’t run as well as Bill did to join.
It has a been a difficult week trying to accept his loss. There are few people I can think of in my life who made me better, while asking so little in return. Or made me laugh as hard (and at myself).
Then again, nowhere have I met a man who could speak in baffling paragraphs of postmodern criticspeak — and still manage to be amusing.
I didn’t spend so many days and nights with Bill, but we understood one another, and we appreciated that some around us didn’t ‘get’ either of us.
Tempting as it might be to think of him as this uptight, exacting editor who had to compensate for so much anal retentiveness by partying his ass off, I don’t think he was passive-aggressive that way. He was subversively playful all the time, which is why no one surpassed him in slugs, display, photo- captioning… Ever see IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER with Daniel Day Lewis? When they’re on the ferry, listening to Dylan, being 20, alive with first adult freedom? That is how I think of Bill. Only it’s North Beach, and we’re closer to 30, and laughing about ridiculous Dot Com brats.
Spend Monday quiet and trying not to cry at my desk, and the image that helped was Bill running fullspeed into a postal box and falling down on a street in Soho, clowning for Shoshana Berger’s benefit after a Readymade loft party. But really not needing her attention — just the excuse to be moronic for an hour or two and forget it all for awhile.
You captured Bill, and my emotions this week, beautifully. Thank you.