Farewell to a neighborhood institution
Thursday, July 22nd, 2010 05:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serai.
Actually, I'm not sure that "institution" is the right word. But anyway...
Marc Jacobs, the Walking Man
For nearly 30 years Dr. Marc Jacobs, known locally as The Walking Man, could be seen at any time of day or night, rapidly walking along the streets of Silver Lake. Always wearing the same denim shorts and sneakers, shirtless and deeply tanned, he strode purposefully at an energetic clip, gaze always focused on the folded newspaper he was reading as he walked. Few people knew anything about him, but he was one of the fixtures of my neighborhood, an unchanging symbol of the idiosyncratic, freewheeling feeling of our little corner of L.A.
He passed away last night, quite a shock to those of us who'd grown so accustomed to seeing him trucking along. I used to see him whenever I walked from my house to the nearby Trader Joe's; it seemed no matter what time I made that trip, he'd be there somewhere along the way. I always wanted to say hi, but he was inevitably so engrossed in his reading that it seemed like an imposition, and indeed he gave off waves of "don't bother me" vibes, so I never did. But it was somehow comforting to know he was always around, pacing the streets like some engine of energy.
A memorial walk is planned for this Sunday, traversing the 10-mile route he routinely walked. I'm not able to do walks like that these days, but I'm certainly going to join up with them for the part that's near my house.
Actually, I'm not sure that "institution" is the right word. But anyway...
Marc Jacobs, the Walking Man
For nearly 30 years Dr. Marc Jacobs, known locally as The Walking Man, could be seen at any time of day or night, rapidly walking along the streets of Silver Lake. Always wearing the same denim shorts and sneakers, shirtless and deeply tanned, he strode purposefully at an energetic clip, gaze always focused on the folded newspaper he was reading as he walked. Few people knew anything about him, but he was one of the fixtures of my neighborhood, an unchanging symbol of the idiosyncratic, freewheeling feeling of our little corner of L.A.
He passed away last night, quite a shock to those of us who'd grown so accustomed to seeing him trucking along. I used to see him whenever I walked from my house to the nearby Trader Joe's; it seemed no matter what time I made that trip, he'd be there somewhere along the way. I always wanted to say hi, but he was inevitably so engrossed in his reading that it seemed like an imposition, and indeed he gave off waves of "don't bother me" vibes, so I never did. But it was somehow comforting to know he was always around, pacing the streets like some engine of energy.
A memorial walk is planned for this Sunday, traversing the 10-mile route he routinely walked. I'm not able to do walks like that these days, but I'm certainly going to join up with them for the part that's near my house.
