Marc Baptiste died in July of 2020.
Marc was from Trinidad (his father was kind of a big deal), and his slight accent was distinctive and melodious. Marc was a funny, self-deprecating guy with a gentle nature.
He ended up moving to Los Angeles not long after I did, and I helped him get an apartment in the building I was managing at the time. He lived on the floor below me for a year or so, and we'd spend evenings playing Mortal Kombat on his Sega Genesis (he mopped the floor with me), or watching Conan O'Brien or Star Trek. He provided good feedback and support for my early band efforts in L.A.
I remember him like this photo shows -- smiling, laughing, hanging out. Marc left Los Angeles quite suddenly a few months after this photo was taken, and didn't talk about it with me at all. Marc did not share much about his internal darkness or problems. I suppose none of us did, in those days.
Perhaps if we had, if we had been willing to be more vulnerable and available, he might still be here.
I miss you, Marc. Thank you for being my friend. I hope you have found some peace.