obituaries | trules rules

He Was a Friend of Mine: Jack Slater

May 15, 2015
By: Eric Trules

“Friend” is a word I value. I don’t use it lightly. As in “Facebook friend”. The word has more respect about it than that. At its core, it resonates with words like trust, loyalty and longevity. Because it also has substance about it, something Facebook and merely “acquaintance” simply don’t have. And there is a beautiful song about friendship that I love. it’s called “He Was a Friend of Mine”. My favorite version was sung by Dave Van Ronk, the salty, crusty folksinger with the raspy voice who was sort of the Mayor of Greenwich Village back in the early…

Eduardo Galeano, Latin America’s Leftist Literary Giant and Poet Laureate

May 2, 2015
By: Eric Trules

The great, subversive, political, and poetic Uruguayan writer, Eduardo Galeano died on April 13, 2015, after losing his second bout with lung cancer. Galeano was one of my favorite writers. He was little known in America (of course he would poignantly call us, the rapacious and hegemonic “the United States of America,” in contrast with his own, much-maligned and violently-exploited “LatinAmerica,” but that made sense since he always compared the European rape and conquest of the New World in the 15th-18th centuries to the USA’s current exploitation and subjugation of Latin America in the 20th-21st centuries. Precious metals like gold and silver from the mines…

R.I.P, Clay the Dog, 1998 – 2013

May 13, 2013
By: Eric Trules

It ended the same way it began. On a hard, linoleum-covered wooden floor. Me lying next to Clay, the Dog. Comforting him at the very beginning. And comforting him again at the very end. Clay, my homeboy companion. My escape artiste extraordinaire. Clay, the canine outlaw of Echo Park. The cat killer and coyote enforcer. The sweetheart and heartbeat of Elysian Heights. Clay, the Dog, who is no more.

The Godfather’s Last Appearance at the Apollo

January 5, 2007
By: Eric Trules

Then all of sudden, there’s a great stir amongst the crowd. It’s pandemonium. I crane my head to see – the impossible. Pushing his way through the throng, in his sad-as-tears, soulful way, is… the Godfather himself. James Brown. It’s him! The press corps is popping and pushing. The crowd is moaning and screaming. The Godfather is being carried forward by centrifugal force – right towards me. I lift my camera above the crowd. I click the digital shutter. The Godfather is right there, a foot in front of me!. James Brown lives! He’s pulled another fast one. It’s sham. A publicity stunt. The Godfather’s walking there right in front of my eyes.

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