For Hugh

Hugh Casey died on Tuesday, April 21, 2020.

I've spent the time between then and now doing papers for school, and wondering how to put into words who I saw as Hugh.  Because Hugh was so many things to so many people.

Classic Hugh

After all, how many people have their friends put together a convention to help pay his medical bills?  And have hundreds of people attend?  So I thought, and I thought.

And I concluded- this is Hugh I'm writing about.  He was a punster extraordinaire- one of the few who could defeat me.  And, above all, Hugh wanted people to be happy and laugh.  So, I will attempt to capture in words the Hughmanity of my friend.  

His service and burial were private, but I'll exHughme a bunch of old puns to honor him.

I do this because my friend Hugh is dead. Resting, Stunned, pining for the fjords, wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through him, passed on! Hugh is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-HUGH!!

A rare dignified shot

(If you don't know the source of that, you're no friend of Hugh.)  In Casey you didn't, I'll say Hugh must catch up on your Monty Python.  I think that show was brilliant, but it may depend upon your point of Hugh.

I met Hugh in 1989, when I answered an ad to join a D&D group.  The group didn't last long, but my friendship with Hugh did.  He had Hughmungous heart, which he shared with so many.

He also had a tremendous love for Sci-fi in general, and Star Trek in particular.  He ran a major convention called Philcon for many years until illness forced him to resign.  Or perhaps he just had his phil of the con life.  No, he loved cons- he could list the pros of cons extensively.  As for Star Trek, he was a master- I'd say he's Q but he was Hugh, not Q.  He was borg that way.  Believe me when I say he could Spock the error in anyone's Trek knowledge.  He was the real McCoy.  Great Scott, these puns are bad!  I hope all these puns are Worf the trouble.

He was also huge in the gaming community, comic books, steampunk... if there was a nerd fandom, he was involved, knew everyone, and was beloved.

I was shocked when Hugh first told me he was sick.  He was diagnosed with colon cancer, and had surgury to cut it out.  Afterwards, he told me "Now I no longer have a colon- I have a semi- colon."  I wish I'd thought of that one.  In any case, he told everyone about it, as he wanted people to get checked for it.  Colonoscopy.  At least he wasn't an ass about it.  Butt he was right, people should get checked.  As you know, the road to cancer is based on good intestines.  In the end, it wasn't the cancer that took him, but it sure didn't help.  The disease weakened him, but he fought valiantly.  Yes, he had a lot of Guts.  

With Hugh and Avi at Hugh Con.  Last time I saw him alive.

In 2004, I was hired at Vanguard (mutual fund place.)  I was surprised that Hugh worked there as well.  He was also a registered representative, but he specialized in retirement plans, like IRAs, annuities, and such.  Occasionally, I'd pass a call over to that department, and got him.  Even though the calls were recorded, we'd both get a quick pun before connecting the customer.  He worker there a lot longer than I did.  I'd like to say that I have 401K puns ready for this section, but I guess I'll have to make an ex-SEP-tion.  No laughs?  Wow- Roth crowd.

When I transitioned, Hugh not only took it in stride, he was welcoming.  He knows several transgender people, and knows we're just people.  No joke here- just sincere appreciation.

In fact, that's all this is: sincere appreciation.  Hugh was one of a kind.  The world was better for his having been in it.

And so was I.

May the four winds blow you safely home, dear friend.  I miss you.


Alyce Wilson, poet, wrote this for him.

We Are Hugh

(in memory of Hugh Casey)

In the pull of his orbit, unlikely bodies

revolved in loose ellipse. Celestial sea

that we were, lucky to cross

his sharp eye, to be drawn in

for a laugh, a conversation. Or,

in better days, a hug. That light,

that voice, a safe mooring spot

despite a world that cast

so many of us out. His power --

to see you through all the posing.

To show up for you

when you least

expected it. To make the day

better, just by passing through it.

To some, good Sir, to others

friend, or helper, or just

that friendly face. A glue

holding the universe together.

Keep saying it, over and over.

We are Hugh, and better for it.

Dolls in the hallway.

March 21 was, to date, the last time I saw my daughter.  I drove down to watch her while Wife had surgery.   I noticed that Daughter's room was cleared out of almost all of her toys- especially her stuffed animals.  She kept some, yes.  All the unwanted stuffed animals and dolls were lined up in the hallway.  They were to be given away or sold.  Many of them, I'd given her.  Some I'd given to Wife before Daughter was even a possibility. 

Daughter outgrew them.

Daughter (here 4 years old) LOVED that horse.  Then... she got too big to ride it.

Her childhood is over, and with it, that sense of Wonder at the world- that sense of innocent discovery.  That time to play with her toys in worlds of her own mind that I will never see.  But I could have- all I had to do was to be there to watch.  Or even sometimes participate.  But, those worlds are hers alone, and she didn't access them when I was around because my being around was a "special occasion" instead of a given routine. 

When I was there, we couldn't be in the house, as I'm not allowed there.  So we always had to go somewhere- usually to the mall, or the grocery store, or to lunch.  Wife would be there as well.  It was very rare that I was with Daughter alone, and I'm ok with that, as it meant I was with Wife. 

She is now a pre-teen.  Puberty began some time ago.  It won't be long before she begins to have an interest in boys (or girls) romantically.  Crushes.  Heartbreaks.  Love's little joys and humiliations.  That first dance.  The first kiss. 

But dad is far away, and won't be there to share her joy when I pick her up from the dance, or to comfort her sorrow at the first rejection. 

Dad isn't there.  Dad hasn't been there.  For going on seven years.  She was FIVE when I was thrown out.  She was a young child, a precocious little girl whose happiness was my chief desire- whose well-being was my top responsibility.  Who lived under the same roof, slept a couple of rooms away, and who ate at the same table.  When she ate- she was a picky eater. 

Daughter at Disney, 2011.  I wasn't invited- and had to work

It all ended because I was Born Different.  Because I couldn't contain that difference burning inside me.  I did so for twenty five years... then failed.  Now, I'm miles away, and her childhood ended without me.

One of my few memories of my pre-teen years was that I didn't want my childhood to end.  I enjoyed playing with my toys, each with their own personalities, and retreating into that world where I HAD these friends- even though most of them were plastic.  And they were friends with each other.  And there were adventures.  And when i lay in bed crying after another spanking, or after being beat up by the neighborhood bully- knowing that I wasn't supposed to cry- MEN don't cry. 

"Do I have to come up there?" I'd hear echo up the winding stairs of the old house where I grew up.  Everyone my age knows THAT phrase.

My toys would play games with me.  I'd set up a board game, and my toys would take the other pawn colors so I'd have "opponents."  Rarely, my brother would join in with his toys, so there'd be teams, and we'd keep score of victories (winner choses next game) on rainy summer days.  Eventually, I lost interest in those games.  I pretended to lose interest in my toys.  They started slowly to disappear.  Sold?  Thrown out?  No idea.

Sixth Grade- when I was Daughter's current age

I still have some of them.  They once lived in an old, large wooden toy box, but now live in two cardboard boxes in storage.  Every once in a while, when I visit the storage unit alone, I'll open one of those boxes, look in, and there'd they be- lifeless, some broken- plastic.  Outgrown- because that's what happens.  I remember desperately wanting more time to play, but I had to go work my (and my brother's) paper route.  Homework.  Eventually, girls.  And... dressing up like the girl I knew I was inside. 

Maybe the reason I like gaming (D&D, etc.) so much is because I didn't want that time to end.  That I wanted more time to be a child, instead of... what I've become.

I don't know how daughter feels about "outgrowing" her toys.  I don't know if she gives them a second thought.  Unlike me, she isn't the sentimental type.  She sets things aside and moves on; a skill I never acquired.   


I know it's unfair- it's her time to grow up, but I DON'T WANT HER TO because I missed it.  Because I wanted to share that childhood with her, and see it through her eyes and maybe catch some of that sense of Wonder that I so desperately miss in myself. 


Here I am.  Sobbing at my keyboard over something that I'm powerless to stop or change.  My God I hate my life.  I hope she doesn't hate hers.