Anthony Shadid. To say that I knew him well would be misleading. We grew up in the same neighborhood. I hung out with him in college. It was never a romantic thing, but I liked him. I really really liked him. He was part of the fabric of my youth. As years passed, whenever someone would mention his name, I would always ask with a smile, "Wow, Anthony. How is Anthony?!" I think probably a lot of people felt that way. Anthony was special. Even at an early age, he had a profound humanity about him. A certain zen-ness that connected him to people. It was remarkable considering his jet-pack intelligence. It could have been off-putting, but instead, it was engaging...and endearing.
Fresh out of high school, I remember floating the Illinois River with a group of friends. After accidentally being tossed over-board, Anthony fished me out of the rapids and I ended up canoeing with him the rest of the day. While our friends exemplified a floating frat party, Anthony and I meandered along the river, contemplating the meaning of life. We had a cooler of beer. We were very deep. It was lazy and lovely and we were the absolute last ones to make it down the river. I can still remember coming upon our friends, cat-calling that we had finally arrived, and how their drunken merriment was so different, so out-of-place from our buddhist boat trip. I don't really remember what we talked about that day, but I do remember the babble of the river, the trees that lined the river bank and us not having a care in the world. And Anthony. I remember Anthony.
Years later, the same group of friends met up in DC. Several of us were summer interns for politicians. Anthony interned at a paper. One night, we all went to happy hour and stayed until closing. We talked about current events and politics. We were profound, yet profoundly silly. It was the kind of night where we dared each other to drink out of a shoe...and we did. When the bar closed, we all headed over to Anthony's for a night cap. We were a swerving pack of drunken scamps. The boys pushed and punched each other. One fell into the bushes while trying to pee. I remember Anthony and our friend Jeff colliding, tumbling over each other into the grass and bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Giggling. Uncontrollable giggling. We were quite a group. Upon arriving at Anthony's apartment, he put on his favorite tunes, which of course, were not on the pops hit chart. His music was magical and mysterious, and filled with lyrics from the Middle East. As we settled around the room, crashing onto the couch or floor, Anthony started his "Arab Sexy Dance". This is literally what he called it. In his khaki pants and disheveled button down shirt, he clapped and gyrated. His ancient mating dance. He loved it. And we loved him. One by one, we joined him in his Middle Eastern mosh pit. Giggling while we half danced half stumbled, pretending to know the words. Dancing with Anthony. Until the wee hours of the morning. Dancing. And giggling.
Over the years, I would occasionally hear about Anthony. I followed his career as it was reported on the news. Sometimes it was daring and great, other times it was scary and heartbreaking. I remember hearing about his divorce and was sad for him. His job was hard. His lifestyle took a strain. But he fell in love again. And got married. And had another baby. And his life was full. And big. And purposeful. From a bullet wound in the West Bank and torture in Libya to chance-of-a-lifetime interviews and Pulitzer Prizes. His life was lead in the midst of war, but when I learned of his death, I literally said out loud, "Oh Anthony. Noooooo....". The power of social media is so quick, I knew before some of his relatives. And then I learned how they were told, and how they crumbled in greif. Anthony. Sweet Anthony.
In the last 24 hours, I have been pouring over the internet, searching for more news about Anthony. About his prolific life. His impact on the world. I found one quote particularly compelling. It is from the commencement speech he gave last June at the American University of Beirut. It was in reference to his experience of being held captive in Libya and I feel it encapsulates his essence:
“There is nothing exhilarating about escaping death. Its very prospect felt to me like a poison, spreading through your body. It lingers far longer than the bruises, and it lasts long after the memories fade of hands and legs bound by wire, in scenes so familiar to me over so many years in Baghdad and all the other cauterized cities in Iraq.”
Below are posts I felt compelled to share. He meant so much to so many. But to me, I remember the canoe ride...and the dance...and the giggling. I remember Anthony.
Rolling Stone:
http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/blogs/national-affairs/in-memoriam-anthony-shadid-20120217
"Anthony Shadid: Quite simply the best":
http://www.csmonitor.com/World/Global-News/2012/0217/Anthony-Shadid-Quite-simply-the-best
Excerpts from Anthony's articles:
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2012/02/17/world/middleeast/20120217_shadid_excerpts.html
Social Media outpouring of respect:
http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/02/17/on-twitter-an-outpouring-of-respect-for-shadid/
