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Family, friends gather to remember deceased SIUC student

MURPHYSBORO - Sharon Johnson stepped up to the microphone. She is slender, and her friends remarked that she has been looking even thinner lately. But her jaw and shoulders were set firmly as she spoke.

"Twenty-three years ago tonight, I gave birth to Joseph Dennis Johnson at UMWA hospital in West Frankfort," she said. "He was a joy to carry...he was a creative, loving and sweet boy."

A group of decased SIUC student's Joseph D. Johnson's family and friends gathered at Mungo Jerry's Fat Cat Café in Murphysboro on what would have been his 23rd birthday to celebrate his life and work, mourn him, contemplate a career cut short and console one another.

One by one, they stepped before the microphone to reminisce and read samples of Johnson's writing. Some read shyly, never looking up from the page; others struggled to keep emotions in check long enough to get through it with varying degrees of success.

Many spoke of Johnson's upbeat nature, his generosity and kindness, his devotion to the Chicago Cubs, his passionately held political beliefs and his prodigious writing output.

The first reader was Luella Martin, who knew Johnson from the Murphysboro High School band, the Crimson Express. She read a piece called "Knowledge."

Joan Hodges, who met Johnson at Mungo Jerry's on an open mic night, read a piece Joe had written about his aunt called "Madge." Johnson frequently sent pieces as e-mails and rarely kept copies for himself, preferring to give his writing as gifts to his friends and family. He sent "Madge" on April 16 at 10:26 p.m.

"Madge," written in breathless, headlong style reminiscent of Jack Kerouac, revealed Johnson's appreciation of Beat-generation poets.

"He loved Kerouac, Ginsberg and Whitman," said friend Rob Saylor.

Thursday was a difficult night for all of Johnson's family and friends, but it was especially poignant for Saylor - it was his birthday, too.

"Joe has gotten me to do a lot of things I never would have done," Saylor said. "I have never read at an open mic before and never would have, but since he couldn't be here to read tonight, I thought the person who worked the closest to him should read his work."

Johnson himself was scheduled to read Thursday, having signed up shortly before his death. He was a frequent participant in the open mic readings at Mungo Jerry's.

Saylor and Johnson attended Murphysboro High School together and co-edited the school newspaper, the Obelisk, expanding its publication schedule.

"We didn't think it was enough to do a monthly paper, so we wrote and distributed a paper every week," Saylor said.

Saylor and Johnson wrote together and took a creative writing class together at John A. Logan College.

"That class was such a joy," Saylor said. "I hadn't seen an 'A' in so long, I didn't know that letter was still used on report cards. I thought it started with 'B' or 'C.'"

Although their shared birthday gives Saylor a permanent reminder of his friend, he felt compelled to take it a step further.

Lifting his right forearm, Saylor displayed a tattoo - the letters "JDJ," blue with red edging, in Old English script.

"I always said I would never get any tattoos below the elbows," Saylor said. "But after Joe's death, I got his initials tattooed on my arm in Cubs colors."

Saylor is a Cardinals fan.

Johnson took an active interest in politics at all levels and frequently addressed serious issues in his writing. According to some of his friends, he was sometimes morose about the direction the U.S. took after the events of 9/11.

But if the stories of the evening were any guide, his outstanding trait was his cheerfulness - and his need to spread it around.

This theme reverberated throughout many of the stories told onstage. Johnson could sense when they were depressed, brooding or just needed a break.

"Today is fun day!" Johnson would exclaim.

His friends knew this expression well. It meant he wanted them to go out - go to a bar, go for a drive - anything to break the tension and restore a festive mood.

Ed Fudge, in shorts and a frayed cap, sat down in front of the microphone to read a piece Johnson wrote for him called "Jailed."

Fudge prefaced the reading with the story of his incarceration for 14 days for unpaid parking tickets. Johnson was a faithful visitor and even tried to raise money to bail Fudge out.

"He downloaded a bunch of music, made some CDs and was selling them at house parties," Fudge said. "I think he raised about $60."

Fudge needed more than $1.000 to secure his release, so he stayed in jail.

The audience, including Johnson's parents, laughed at Fudge's recollections. Visibly moved after reading the piece, Fudge recalled what Johnson said whenever he was called upon to make a toast: "Always merry and bright."

"He always had an upbeat attitude," Fudge said.

Jennifer Freebern, who met Johnson in sixth grade, said Johnson was her best friend for many years. She has been dating Fudge for over a year and credits Johnson for bringing them together.

"After my father died, I said, 'Joe, don't you leave me - you're the only man left in my life that I love.' And he promised me he wouldn't," Freebern said.

Justin Davis, another of Johnson's close friends, recalled that they had recently healed a rift in their friendship.

Davis said Johnson's new commitment to the friendship was complete and unqualified.

"It was like it never happened," Davis said.

Davis sat outside the café at a sidewalk table, unperturbed by the raindrops that were starting to fall, and described his last encounter with Johnson. They saw each other in the SIUC Communications Building, where Davis works.

"The last thing he said to me was, 'I'll catch up with you later,'" Davis said. "He never called."

Davis learned later that Johnson was in the hospital.

"That's the last indelible memory that I have," Davis said.

Toward the end of the evening, Steve Trebellas sat down at the microphone and read "An Apology to My Father," a poem of Johnson's that was published in John A. Logan College's literary magazine.

Dennis Johnson listened, his chin resting on his hand, looking intently at Trebellas as he read. He is a deeply private man and did not join Sharon on the stage to introduce the event.

Afterward, the man sitting next to Dennis turned to him, smiled and nodded, silently acknowledging the tribute. Dennis looked briefly down at his lap and then turned his gaze back to the stage.