NY TYRANT

By GIANCARLO DITRAPANO

Breece D’J Pancake is the kind of writer that if I’m at a party and I hear his name, I tune out every other sound around me so I can hear exactly what is being said about him. I zone in on the person who just dropped that beloved name and move closer to see what else I can pick up. He’s from my hometown and I don’t want false rumors either created or spreading.
Now, Pancake isn’t a complete unknown, but he is unknown enough that if you’re talking to a stranger and his name pops up, the bond between you and this stranger strengthens. And if this little talk happens to take place at a bar, then it is inevitable that shots of whiskey are soon to appear. Maybe you’ll toast to him, or to you, or more appropriately, to young death. Breece D’J Pancake ended his life at 27. He’d sold stories to the Atlantic Monthly (this was a big deal back then) and he had a great teaching gig. He was on a good track. One afternoon he showed up at his best friend’s house, urgent to talk to him about something. Pancake needed to know that his friend’s children were going to be raised catholic. Nothing seemed more important at that time and he made his friend promise. His friend promised. Pancake–himself childless–said he’d be their godfather. After the visit, Pancake went home. He took a beer and his shotgun, went out back. He sat down in a folding patio chair and ended his young life.

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By GIANCARLO DITRAPANO 2 years ago

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