The last few days have been sad ones: first it was the passing of Tom Magliozzi, Click of NPR's Car Talk at age 77. The next day it was Harry Pearson, also 77.
Harry was my friend. We had our ups and downs. He pissed me off more than a few times, but he alone inspired my love of music, audio and life more than any other human on the planet.
Harry loved life and lived it to the fullest. He made it to king in our industry and ruled over the land and all he could see like no one has before or since. HP was bigger than life.
One of my fondest memories was shared with him while sitting on his porch in Sea Cliff. It was the beginning of spring and we chatted, not about music and stereos, but about life and its living. I had come from California where the land was dry and brown. Before us a bounty of green burst through the warm flower beds of his home. I had never witnessed such energetic growth. It seemed to tear itself out of the ground.
"Harry, this is amazing, I have never seen flowers and plants bursting into the open like this," I said, "what makes them do that?"
"Winter. These plants don't have long to enjoy the warmth of the sun. When spring comes they bust through the ground with a vengeance."
"We don't have anything like this in California."
"Of course not. Life loves living because it knows the death winter brings. California is neither alive nor dead. You can't have one without the other."
And Harry had both. He didn't make it to the spring but his life tore through the very fabric of our world. I owe him much.
Rest in peace my friend.