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Light a Candle
"He's the most incredible guy." So said everyone from close friends to jazz greats, from famous lawyers to the people at the local coffee shop. Not a cliché but a truth—David Averbuck connected with everyone he met. His intellect, humor, philosophical musings, observations and ebullient bonhomie—his sparkling spirit—were infectious. He moved beyond the shell of the normal and into the heart of life. And, he touched people's hearts, as they touched his. Those ephemeral moments were often transformative. David was born in Boyle Heights in East Los Angeles on April 25, 1943. His parents, Alvin "Buck" and Evie, were organizers for the Communist Party in the early part of his youth. They led lives of deep commitment and passion, qualities they gave David and his siblings, Ned and Judy. The Averbucks were economically poor and the family moved often between various humble homes and apartments. America's anti-Communist fervor after WWII meant that for long stretches Buck had to live incognito and in hiding, away from his family. David always scornfully recalled being followed by the FBI on his way home from school as agents tried to find his father and intimidate the family. At age 5, David caught polio, an event which transformed his life even as he refused to let others define him by it. With his and Evie's best efforts—she gave him physical therapy every day for years when she would come home from her job as a secretary—he walked using braces and crutches. They became an extension of his already ferocious energies, and his sister Judy remembers him taking stairs two at a time at Roosevelt High School when he had classes on the second floor (both going up and coming down), as well at some of their East LA apartments. As his chest and arm muscles developed, so did his out-size personality. In high school he was elected student body president. After graduation he travelled to Europe at age 18 and later hitchhiked across Canada, visiting rough and tumble rural logging outposts in the far north. In 1960 he enrolled at the University of California at Berkeley, beginning a relationship with the school he carried throughout his life. David was soon working as a manager for Cal's basketball team, which had won the NCAA championship in 1959. One of the stars was his older brother Ned. He also participated as a rope climber on the gymnastics team.David's intellect blossomed at Cal as he connected with professors who became his mentors for life. Years later he wrote about a chance encounter with a prof which resulted in a debate on a Berkeley street corner about how humans communicated their thoughts before there were alphabets. It was the kind of repartee that always delighted David. His dulcet voice with its gravelling, booming notes, found a ready outlet in his chosen major: speech. Cal was also the scene of David's most consequential encounter, when he met a former homecoming queen from Arcadia in January 1964. Patti Rimpau was unmoved by David's confident bluster on that first chance meeting: "jerk" was her verdict. Yet within five weeks they had their first date, they were engaged two months later and married two months after that on June 27. This unlikely pair proved all doubters wrong. They had perfectly matched wits and a shared love of art and music. They sought a bigger and more unconventional life than the ones ascribed to them. They started small, literally, in a tiny Berkeley apartment that was home while David studied law at Cal's since renamed Boalt Hall School of Law. Unsurprisingly, David was part of Berkeley's formative Free Speech movement. Freshly minted by the California Bar in 1968, David got his first job. It was no posh ticket to wealth that a grad of one of the country's top law schools could easily snag. Rather, David and Patti went to work for a man and movement that was radically transforming both labor law and the very food on Americans' plates. They joined Cesar Chavez in the battle with California's agricultural industry. The goal was simple: basic dignity, rights and pay for the poor and exploited farmworkers. As part of his efforts, David went on long marches with striking farmworkers, who were largely Mexican and Filipino immigrants. In one memorable photo, David explains to a pistol-packing sheriff why the strikers were abiding by the law and exercising their constitutional rights and thus shouldn't be set upon by either the cops or the growers' goons. It was the first in a long line of work when David and Patti showed their passionate commitment to justice and to learning through rich life experience. In 1970, Berkeley called again. At only 27, David was named Dean of Admissions of the law school, charged with making it less male, less white, less privileged—a role he embraced. Soon, however, David and Patti succumbed to the call of the wild—international adventures which would become another hallmark of their lives. Starting in Amsterdam with a used $300 Opel Record station wagon, they hit the legendary overland route from Europe to Kathmandu, that was an avenue for dreamers, explorers, and outlandish characters. Theirs was a 28,00K ten-month trip, four of those months in India. Along the way, they made lifelong friends while crossing borders long since closed in places like Iran and Afghanistan. Their first child, Alexis, was conceived in the garden of a Kabul hostel that was all full up with vagabond hippies. Back in the US, David and Patti made a home in Oakland, California, and grew their family. Their daughter Rachel was born in 1974 and son Jacob in 1977. A loving and attentive father, David was hands-on in family life the way he was in all other aspects of his life—thinking and playing: records, joyrides, and late-night Pac-Man. From an office at the iconic Tribune Tower downtown, David took on an array of legal clients—arguing for civil rights, disability law and more. He represented the nascent island-nation of Palau in its fight against nuclear testing and dumping by the United States. Former Oakland Raiders great Gene Upshaw recruited David to represent the NFL Players Association in the union's fight with owners. Once again, the goal was dignity, respect and financial security, this time for football players, who until the 1980s didn't usually share in the league's enormous and growing wealth. He also taught social workers and public health professionals across the University of California system, including at the School of Social Welfare at Berkeley. David and Patti continued to explore the world with their young family, initially with each carrying a kid in a backpack and the third in a stroller. As they grew, they also lived abroad, including in Hong Kong, where David worked in Cal's study abroad programs. A pair of Fulbright Fellowships took them first to India and later Sri Lanka, where David lectured on labor and civil rights law at national universities and state ministries and wrote Hijacking of International Aircraft: Sepala Ekanayake and Ex Post Facto Legislation. In 1987, David and Patti bought a house on a pastoral bend in the Russian River between Guerneville and the Pacific Ocean. It became their beloved home for over 30 years. Here amidst the soaring redwoods and roosting ospreys, David's thoughts could expand through his myriad interests, which included 12 years as a philosophy professor at Sonoma State University in Rohnert Park. (And how many knew of his love for film noir? He could recite The Maltese Falcon verbatim, taking special joy in growling "The cheaper the crook, the gaudier the patter.") Their travel continued and included frequent trips to places as diverse as New York City, Fiji, Peru and the Netherlands, visiting friends along the way. A favorite spot was New Orleans and its immersive world of jazz. After years of visiting annually—in all attending 26 Jazz Fests—Patti and David bought a house in the Bywater neighborhood and David made a fateful decision to deejay at the community's volunteer-run treasure, WWOZ, where both had donated countless hours of time. David's baritone voice, curiosity and deep knowledge of jazz made him a natural. From 2005 through 2016 David's on-air persona, Jelly Roll Justice, entertained and educated millions of jazz fans not just in New Orleans but around the world thanks to the station's popular live internet stream. After Hurricane Katrina decimated the city, David provided hundreds of hours of programming taped in a recording studio he'd outfitted at home on the Russian River. These recordings filled the empty spots on WWOZ's schedule since dozens of other deejays had been displaced. On his popular drive-time show, he interviewed scores of top musicians including Victor Goines, Mulgrew Miller, Jason Moran, Tootie Heath and others, trying to elicit each artist's particular view of their music and the world. He wrote dozens of articles about jazz for the WWOZ website and said: "From Leadbelly to Snooks Eaglin, from Louis Armstrong to Terence Blanchard, the rhythms of Louisiana music have infused every aspect of what is our country, our society, our soul. While I love playing the old masters, I am amazed by the next generation of musical geniuses from New Orleans." David and Patti's love of life in NOLA didn't stop at jazz—they enjoyed every aspect of the city's effervescent brew including Mardi Gras, where David's costumed personas memorably included an all-too-real pope. By 2016, they were once again spending most of their time in California, closer to their grandkids. David would drive off to the local coffee shop every morning in his motorized wheelchair with his dear dog Homer, where he would banter with the collection of regulars. Frequent visitors to the Russian River included friends from across the decades and relatives that now included six beloved grandchildren (Oren, Redmond, Eva, Timothy, Amias and Simone). After he died at home, with Patti holding his hand, one of his doctors—an oncologist specializing in pancreatic cancer—wept and summed up the thoughts of many when she said: "He had such an incredible mind, all of our interactions were just so meaningful and interesting." David's ideas, shared freely, powerfully impacted those around him. One barista quit her job the day he advised her to get out there and take the trips she was dreaming of, adding, "don't save them for later!" A nurse recalls being tardy for a meeting and apologizing. To which David responded: "I am not and never have been a slave to time. Love is our greatest asset, time is just relative, don't let it rule you." His oft-repeated "I love you, Patricia Diane," spoken across 55 years with deep conviction, was a clear demonstration of this principle. Frequently accompanied by a knowing grin, painted across the lines of his face.
