Rest in peace, Barry Cowsill.

They found his body near the Chartres Street Wharf (New Orleans) on December 28th, but only recently completed the positive identification. It just showed up in the Baton Rouge paper.

What a fucking waste.

I know that we say that about a lot of people dying too young, or dying tragically, or dying period. But this time it's very true.

Barry's about the only real "celebrity" that I've ever really known, and at one point in my life, about 10 years ago, he and his (now ex-)wife Debbie were a huge part of my life. Debbie & I worked together at my very first radio station, and they kinda adopted me into their little family, with their kids, Colin & Kiera, who I often babysat (yeah, I know, it sounds ludicrous, but they survived).

Barry had a lot of "issues," all of his life. None of his life was ever easy, and Debbie carried a helluva load when she was with him. Neither of them were perfect, but they tried. Barry was one of those people for whom the phrase, "artistic temperment" was sorely inadequate. He was one of the funniest human beings I've ever known, and he had a rock star's temper from hell.

The Cowsills were a phenomenon when I was a fetus, so when I met him, I had no idea of the context. I got to know Barry as a person first, a musician second, and a child star last. He was a remarkably talented artist, with an imagination that I coveted. He was also a flaming fucktard, when he wanted to be.

They lived down in the ass-end of the Faubourg Marigny, right on the borderline with the Ninth Ward, when I knew them. The last time I heard of them was 2002, when a bartender I knew was their current babysitter (and with a grandchild from Debbie's older daughter from a previous marriage). Now I sit her trying to eulogize this bizarre, gifted, tortured, twisted, hilarious, kind and mercurial man, and I regret that I ever lost touch with them. Isn't that always the way?

I did, at least, appreciate them when they were in my life. I never think of Barry as a "him," though, since I was friends with he & Debbie both from the beginning. I didn't even know that they had divorced until I looked his death up online.

You lose touch with people, it happens. Then they die and you know that it was not a painless, comforting death to alleviate pain, you know that it was hell, you know that while he might've courted death all of his life, he wasn't ready to go. You just know. Barry's been talked down off of the Mississippi River Bridge before. But this... This is too fucking weird, even for him.

I wish that I could tell y'all the story about Barry where he made me laugh so hard, so fast, that I really fell down, gasping for breath, but it truly is one of those "you had to be there" things, 'cause you had to KNOW Barry to understand why it was so funny. Besides, I don't think that his family, however estranged, would appreciate seeing it in print right now. (It's not smutty or lascivious, but it ain't fit for wakes.) But it is a memory that is permanently branded on my brain: the feelings, the rush of laughter, the visuals... What I wouldn't give to be able to explain it in a way that you could see it, to be able to transfer my brain cells to video...

All that I can really say is, Colin & Kiera, wherever you are, know that I'm thinking about y'all and that I've missed you both for a long, long time. And Debbie, honey, if you can ever find this, please holler at me. I am so sorry for your loss, because even with all the hell that y'all went through together, and all the joy, there will never be another Barry Cowsill. He broke that mold ALL to hell.