Doug came up to Chapel Hill in late April of 2010 so he could help Tate take care of me after I suffered a near-fatal heart attack brought on by 100% blockage of my LAD artery, aka, "the widow maker."

During the two weeks he was here, he cheerfully worked his ass off. He drove me to and from my cardiac rehab sessions. He re-shingled and painted our falling apart firewood shed. He rewired two table lamps. He repaired our totally fucked up weedeater and lawnmower. He made me watch "Me, Myself, and Irene," "Talladega Nights," "Step Brothers," and "Bad Santa."

But by far the biggest reason that I started to feel better was the fact that he brought one of his guitars, along with a small amp. Watching and listening to Doug play his signature transcendent arrangement of "Little Wing," I could feel my heart growing stronger.

Agonizingly, six months later, Doug's bipolar illness pulled him down into the seemingly bottomless pit of soul-crushing depression. When we talked on the phone, it was excruciatingly clear that he was feeling overwhelmed and paralyzed by fear, and self-doubt, and disorienting sorrow.

Doug didn't have health insurance, so I drove to Conyers on three consecutive weekends in November to try to help him begin seeing a doctor at the Public Health Clinic there. I'm sure I didn't even come close to taking care of him the way he had nursed me back to health. But I did insist that he would be riding back to Chapel Hill to spend Christmas with me and Tate.

Thankfully, over the next few weeks, with the help of his doctor at the Public Health Clinic, Doug ever so gradually began to emerge from the terrifying darkness that had enveloped him.

Certainly the most heart-wrenching moment during my first trip to Conyers was when Doug haltingly said to me, "I can't even bear to pick up my guitar." My throat absolutely clenched in sadness. It was if he just said that he had lost his ability to breathe. I wanted so desperately to be able to help him see his own beauty and goodness and incalculable worth.

My prayers were answered a few weeks later on the last day of his Christmas visit with me and Tate. As we were getting ready to make the drive back to Conyers, Doug asked me to sit down with him in our sunroom. To my infinite joy, he picked up his acoustic guitar and said, "Here's something I wrote for you this morning. It's called Waiting for You to Wake."

On February 20, his birthday, he sent me this card in the mail. 

Every time I look at it, I am filled with the joy of Doug's life-restoring love, and grace, and courage, and strength.

Thank you, my beloved Doug. Your love sustains me through EVERY moment.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjRpRVnP3J4 

At Doug's memorial celebration on November 9, his dear friend, Chris Murphy, shared a story about a Christmas gift of music that Doug made for family and friends in 1989.

I've uploaded to my google drive mp3s of the songs and Chris' tribute to Doug. I've also included some artwork I made for the song collection.

The version of "Amazing Grace" is the only time that I've ever heard Doug sing. To say that it overwhelms me is the understatement of the millennium.

https://drive.google.com/folderview?id=0BzF17mBb29TlOWNWMEZyc0N3UWs&usp=sharing

Here's another one of Doug's favorite quotes from Miles Davis.
When Miles asked John Coltrane why his solos are so goddamn long, Coltrane responded, "The ideas just keep coming I don't know how to stop them."

Miles: "Take the motherfucker out of your mouth! That's how you stop them!"

I've also attached a design I created for him to add to his embroidery design inventory. Check out what happens when you rotate it 180 degrees.

It kills me that I hadn't yet sent it to him. Fuck me.

I did not know Doug well but I was lucky enough to go on a trip to Myrtle Beach with him when he was playing with Texas Crude. Steve Ayre is a friend of mine and invited me to go. At the time I only knew Doug as an awesome guitarist that I admired and was intimidated by because of his immense talent. After the first night in Myrtle Beach I was up early the next morning and Doug was also up, we started talking about music and guitars. Later that day he asked me if I wanted to go with him and one of the other guys to get some barbeque, of couse I did, and as we talked more the intimidation faded and I found him to be an intellegent, well spoken, funny guy. I ended up finding that he was as cool as he was talented. In our coversation about about music he conveyed to me his philosophy that a single note played with conviction and feeling was much more powerful than a bunch of notes without meaning. I took that lesson to heart and believe it has had more impact on my own playing than any other lesson I have ever had.

Recently Karin Johnson had talked to him about coming out and sitting in with our band Vintage Boogie. He said he would like to do that but now it will never be. My respect and admiration for Doug has grown over the years and I am saddened that I won't have the opportunity to share a stage and jam or tell him how that day helped shape my playing and outlook on music. Mostly I am saddened that I will never have the chance to know him better. Rest in peace Doug, you are and will always be missed.

On September 25, 2004, Doug was the best man at my wedding, where he helped me survive the terrifying experience of tying a bow tie. I can still hear him saying, "Holy fuck, man! You've got a master's degree in math. You should be able to tie this bitch."

A few minutes later, he played a breath-stopping, achingly beautiful version of "Little Wing" on a guitar he had never seen before that moment.

This video is my clumsy attempt to tell him "thank you" for filling my heart with light and love and joy and grace.

Our father died in August of 1993. For the next 18 months, Doug lovingly and patiently helped me survive my first experience with the terror and desolation of sustained clinical depression.

In December of that year, he loaned me money to buy a plane ticket so I could visit friends in Berlin over Christmas. He also loaned me his camcorder and made me promise that I would use it. I mostly ended up shooting video of clouds.

Shortly after the first anniversary of our father's death, it was because of Doug's encouragement and loving care that I found the strength to climb out of the pit of despair where I had been lost since our dad's funeral.

So I went skydiving in late October of 1994. Once again I used Doug's camcorder, this time to shoot video before and after the jump. I also paid the extra fee to have a video guy jump with us and shoot my time in the air.

I've been working for a long time on putting it all together in a movie to honor Doug and our dad. I had just finished about a month ago, but hadn't yet been able to share it with him. 

I'd now like to share it with him, and with all who love and cherish him.

PS: If you have trouble viewing the video here, please let me know and I will gladly mail you a copy on DVD.