Shit I learned from Dan!
I am still expecting an email: Pling “Hi Breki, a friend / neighbour / colleague / former student is stopping over in Iceland. I think you should meet?” And an adventure ensues, because how can a friend of Dan’s not be your friend?
Do shit playfully
Dan Leahy and I clicked the instance we met by sheer coincidence in Aguascalientes México in 1994. The first thing I noticed about this gringo was his laidback, deeply contagious chuckle and his serious light-heartedness. And I instantly felt that I had met the brother I never knew I had. Steina and I were just kids, 24–25-year-olds living an adventure in México for a year. Dan, Bethany, and the boys had just moved to a city nearby. It wasn’t too long before we went on “a small mission” to San Patricio, which laid the foundation of a longstanding alliance with the village, including a few Saint Pat’s celebrations, enlisting people to the El Batallón but also reaching out with relief after natural disaster, and the cultural exchange between people in Olympia and San Patricio.
Shit’s important, but so is nourishment
Dan Leahy taught me to go fearlessly into the jungle in San Andrés Larráinsar to witness the first negotiations between the Zapatistas and the Mexican governmental delegation, after which it was up to standard to go to the nearest restaurant and order a Cuba Libre and the largest steak on the menu, and upon serving, scoop al the greens to the side to focus on the “meal” while ordering a second Cuba Libre. “That hit the spot” has since been a saying in our family.
The Irish/Viking shit
Dan and I had this banter about the Irish discovering Iceland long before the Norse Vikings and teaching them civil stuff like reading and writing the Sagas. Steina, the redhead, would of course always take the side of the Irish and I would take on the impossible task of maintaining the stance of the brutal Norse Vikings, that overran the peaceful Irish settlers in Iceland a millennia ago.
The mission shit
This life being a series of coincidences that we may or may not influence, seemingly silly, yet deeply meaningful missions give meaning to it. Like going to San Patricio (not Melaque), finding la playa del Paraiso or, locating a decent slice of pizza in Barcelona or, finding the 12th century Viking graffiti hidden in plain view on the second floor of the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul (the Irish would never have vandalised the mosque, as they had culture and faith) or, hiking from dusk till dawn in the Icelandic countryside (ok, an easy one in the Icelandic midsummer). And the missions in Mexico, Iceland, Denmark, Catalonia or Turkey always were meaningful since Dan had always studied the place and vigorously mapped the political landscape and was genuinely interested.
Friends are the shit
One of my fondest memories is when “Danthany”, as our children would lovingly refer to both Dan and or Bethany, lovingly opened their home to our family in the summer of 2015, and taking us on a public transport road trip from Olympia through Aberdeen, stopping for deep fried oysters in South Bend, before exploring the cinematographic history of Astoria and then off to Portland, where Dan and Bethany would show us around and, of course, introduce us to new friends and friends of friends. Danthany seem to have friends everywhere.
I am grateful for all the shit I learned from Dan. I am grateful for the community around Dan. And I am grateful that bth JD and Chad seem to have inherited Dan’s laidback, deeply contagious chuckle. The world needs more of that.
I will be expecting the occasional shoutout from Dan’s clan: “Hi Breki, I’m a friend/neighbour/colleague/former student of Dan’s, stopping over in Iceland. I think we should meet” And an adventure will ensue because any friend of Dan’s is a friend of ours. And friends are the shit.
Love,
Breki and Steina
