When I met David Bellini, he was a successful Italian TV writer who had just moved to LA to make it in Hollywood. A foreign land, a foreign language… I was struck by the courage he had to chase his dream. Even though he spoke with a noticeable Italian accent, when he wrote in English, it was almost impossible to tell it wasn’t his first language. This was certainly a testament to his ability in capturing dialogue… a skill that all good writers possess.
On our first meeting, we talked for several hours. I offered him as much advice as I could. On the way home, David sent me a text thanking me profusely for the time I spent with him. How could I not like this guy?
As our friendship grew, David and his wife Olga celebrated many occasions with my family. Halloween, Thanksgiving, block parties, Superbowls… To David, everything was amazing. He had a way of experiencing the world through the eyes of a child. Just a genuine curiosity and sweetness. As a friend, he was incredibly supportive. And when he wasn’t asking about me, he was asking about my family.
I learned a lot of my Italian by conversing with him. I kept a list of his expressions on my phone called “Bellini Vocab.” Over the years, I started sounding more and more like him. One day, while hanging out with him, I took a phone call. Naturally, I spoke in English. When I got off the call, he looked at me strangely. “You sound so different in English!” I laughed. “That’s because I don’t sound like you!” Later, I made the mistake of teaching him the word mensch. I told him it’s the highest compliment you can give someone. I didn’t realize he would commit it to memory.
In April, David was diagnosed with lymphoma. He had tumors in his lungs and brain. We were all stunned. Chemo was scheduled, and on my first visit with him, I bought him a six-pack of Trader Joes Natural Ginger Ale to help fight the nausea. David couldn’t believe how delicious it was, but he was afraid that drinking alcohol wouldn’t be good for him. I assured him that “ale” was just another example of good old American deceptive advertising.
A few days later, I returned to Trader Joes and told the clerk I needed to buy every last bottle of ginger ale in the store. If someone else was nauseous, they were screwed -- It was all going to my friend. The clerk smiled and searched the storeroom for more ginger ale. When she returned, she confided to me that a few years earlier, her sister had been diagnosed with lymphoma.
I packed my car with as much Ginger Ale as it could carry, and drove to his house. I was hoping to make him laugh at how much fucking Ginger Ale I was dumping on him. But he was too weak to come out of the bathroom.
Over the next few months, I visited him in the hospital as often as I could. Sometimes every few days. The cancer wasn’t responding to the first round of chemo. I brought him matzoh ball soup and told him it contained “jewish magic” that worked even better than chemo. To be fair, it didn’t work any worse.
The second round of chemo was much, much, stronger. It was targeted straight into his brain. For awhile the tumor began to shrink. But soon, it grew back even bigger. The side effects from this chemo were tremendous. It was poisoning his brain and changing the best thing he had going for him: his amazing personality.
Not one to give up, David tried radiation targeted directly at the cancer in his brain. I sat with him before the orderlies wheeled him out for his first treatment. "Buon divertimento," I told him. "Have fun." When the doors closed, I fell into his parents arms, sobbing. Everyone knew he was dying.
My last visit with David was a few weeks ago. Grateful for our years of friendship, he threw my own words in my face. He called me a mensch. Suddenly whatever things I had done for him... big or small... didn’t feel like enough. He took my hand and thanked me for everything. And I thanked him.
David died this morning in Spain. He was 43. He leaves behind his adoring wife Olga Bernal, and Franca and Pasquale Bellini, who couldn’t have been more loving and devoted parents. I will miss David’s friendship dearly. Ciao amico.