By Dan Bloom
CHIAYI CITY, Taiwan – I do not accept Jeffrey Zaslow’s death.
But before I explain why, or rather, as I am explaining why, let’s review how the tragic incident unraveled, how those several days happened, that is to say, the days leading up to that tragic, ill-fated day, the outcome of which I do not accept (even as I of course mourn and grieve the premature death of a good man gone too soon; of course I know he is dead, but what I am saying here is that I do not accept his death.). Keep reading. Stay with me here.
There’s a tale to uncover and a tale to tell. Here:
First of all, Jeff had made 206 public appearances for his books and writing projects last year in 2011 alone, and 2012 was shaping up to be another year full of planned book promotion events — and this for a man who was already a wealthy man and bestselling author who could get any reporter in the world on the phone if he wished and dish some news for a good front page or inside story for his books, with great PR and sales promotions following. He did not have to leave his wife and children so often. He was at the top of his game. He had the best PR in the world. His books flew off the shelves.
Yes yes, I know, Jeff loved to meet his readers and fans, and he would travel a million miles to honor a committment he made to a bookstore or sales outlet to meet and greet his fans and readers, sure. He was that kind of man, that kind of writer. He was, for sure, an angel on Earth, one of the 36 wise men that G-d keeps at His disposal 24/7 for His Creation here on Planet Earth.
But did Jeff really have to travel all the way to Petoskey in upstate Michigan in the dead of winter to sign books for 40 people who made reservations to attend the Log Cabin Series of readings at the Mclean and Eakins bookstore in the resort town’s Gaslight District? He could have done the event in the spring or the summer time, when the roads are better and the living is easy. But in the first few weeks of February?
Of course, this was all arranged long beforehand. The free wine and cheese event — “reservations required” the bookstore’s website said — was planned earlier last year and Jeff, being Jeff, of course, said “sure.” Barbara Becker Mueller of Becker’s Bridal Shop in Lansing, the center of Jeff’s new book The Magic Room, would be there, too.
So off Jeff drove in his front-wheel car on Thursday, February 9, arriving in Petoskey after a long and leisurely drive up from Detroit. He was driving his own car, alone — no driver or limo or perks like that for Jeff, he was a down-home guy, the boy next door. No airs, no VIP personna, just the real deal. Everyone who knew him came away with the same impression. He was a genuine mensch.
So he drove to Petoskey on Thursday, Feb. 9. went to the bookstore run by Julie Norcross and her son Matt, and mixed with the invited guests over wine and cheese, gave a short talk about The Magic Room and then sat at a table and signed a bunch of books. It was a great night. Great folks, lots of smiles, fond handshakes, good conversation, Jeff had a great time.
He went back to his hotel and slept the sleep of a very happy and fulfilled and contented man. A great wife,three great kids, a bookshelf full of his own books, the future looked wonderful. Wonder-full.
He had arranged with Barbara Mueller to have an early breakfast Friday morning with her, before setting off for his long solo drive back to Detroit. He liked these solitary solo drives in his nice comfy car. Time to think about things, listen to music — Springsteen was one of his favorit singers — time to think things over, ponder the future, the next book, the next book tour, the next trip away from home. Remeber in 2011 alone, Jeff did over 200 public appearances. He loved them. He lived for his fans. He was the boy next door, the good neighbor next door.
But something happened. DRUM ROLL. CUE THE MUSIC. When he woke up on Friday morning, Jeff looked out the window and saw that a winter storm was coming, the TV news said the same.So he called Barbara Mueller and said sorry, that he wanted to get an early start for the drive home in order to be home when his teenage daughter Eden would get home from school. She was just 16. Jeff was 53 when he died.
So he called Barbara. She understood. Jeff got into his car and started driving. About 30 minutes later he was dead, his conciousness not part of this world anymore, all his education and lessons learned and deep human probing lost to space and time, his body no more alive in this universe of time and space. Gone with the wind, but not Gone West, and NOT called back home. He became part of Thornton Wilder’s 1927 bestseller “The Bridge at San Luis Rey.” Read that book, if you have not read it before. And re-read it if you have read it.
Here’s the rub: had Jeff had breakfast with Barbara, his car later on would not have skidded on the snow and ice at precisely that moment when a big semi trailer truck was coming his way. Think about it. All the things in the universe combined at that moment in time to put his car and that truck in the perfect storm of a freak accident, and poof, just like that, gone with the wind. He died instantly, most likely. A good man gone too soon.
I do not accept Jeff’s death.
February 10, 2012 was not his due date. He was more likely scheduled to leave this mortal coil sometime in the 2040s or so. He had many more things to do, more books to write, more hugs and handshakes and smiles to give. Kisses, too.
So what do I think went wrong? Let me spell it out for you here:
He was being pushed too hard by someone or some thing or himself or his superego or his own love of life, and I am not blaming anyone or any thing or Jeff or anyone else for what happened.
But all those public appearances, away from home? Some 206 appearances in 2011 alone? What was that all about?
Did he really have to go to Petoskey for a meet and greet book promotion on a cold Thursday night, when he could have done the event in the spring or summer? Or done a book event closer to him, perhaps in downtown or suburban Detroit?
Was he ”on the road” too much? Did he push himself too hard, maybe? Did he have some inner demons that he was still chasing? Were they pushing him on and on, go here, go there, do this, do that?
Many friends told him to take it easier. He was sometimes writing two books at once. He sometimes had to put one book down in order to fulfill a promise to write another ”co-authored” book. Did the pace have to be so damn fast, so unrelenting, so relentless?
I do not accept Jeffrey Zaslow’s death, even though I recognize he is dead and no longer with us. But there are questions here that need to be asked — and perhaps answered later on, as time goes by, and the mourning and grieving process ends.
He should NOT have died this way. He should NOT be dead. I refuse to accept Jeff’s death.
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Bloom is bureau chief for San Diego Jewish World in Taiwan and commentator on events near and far. This article was published previously on www.open.salon.com