Seems like just last week when we all spent a weekend together outside Seattle.
This memorial website was created in memory of Dennis, born on June 14, 1953 and passed away on December 31, 2013. We are hoping to create a place for the many people who knew and loved him to share tales of his colorful and adventuresome life. No one loved a good story better than Dennis, and he would have cherished the memory of all the events that made up the fabric of his life. From his origins in the Camelot of 1960's California to the mountains of Colorado to the Northwest where he undertook most of his adult endeavors, his path was never dull or predictable. Please share your fondest moments.
PLEASE JOIN US FOR A CELEBRATION OF LIFE FOR DENNIS
FLORAL HALL AT FOREST PARK IN EVERETT, WA
SUNDAY MAY 25, 2014, FROM 2-6 PM
Tributes
Leave a tributeSeems like just last week when we all spent a weekend together outside Seattle.
Never forget what he told me; that you get an EDUCATION from the newspaper, not from television.
I googled and found this page.
I’m sorry to see that he passed so young.
We had dinner at the Sweet Life a couple times a week once we found it. It was a great place and we loved the menu change each week. I still think of the salmon with berry sauce and the outstanding lemon tahini dressing on the salad.
If you see this Paula I am thinking of what you must have gone through six years ago. My heart aches for you. My husband Marc, also passed and two years later I still grieve so I feel your pain from experience.
I hope you are well.
Upon returning to Spain, we met some European travelers who, after a couple bottles of red wine, gave us the keys and birth certificate to their four-wheeled traveling companion—a 1953 VW van. Pictures of John Lennon, yellow submarines, and full rainbows adorned its patchy green exterior. A rickety sliding door (equipped with extra bungee cords and axle grease) served as the entry door into the magical vessel. There was sleeping for three, a four-star kitchen with burners, frig, and sink, and every inch collaged in late 60s rock star visage.
One look is all that was needed. The three of us immediately went to our hidden money belts and pulled out the cash. As the last drops of red wine were consumed in a three-way salut, we christened our new friend Langinger. And there began a long and wonderful relationship. We meandered up the coast of Spain, up and over the Pyrenees, down into southern France. Everywhere we went, Langinger proved his worth by being an amazing people magnet—food was cooked, wine was drank, music just happened, and life was good. Nice, Monte Carlo, then on through Italy, Florence, Venice. Pasta, antipasta, and more red wine. The long hairs, hippies, and most everyone we met greeted us with open arms (almost everyone—the policia maybe a little less welcoming).
It was now just before Christmas and a coin was flipped. This was our preferred way of decision making. Heads: back to the relative warmth of the Italian and French coastlines. Or tails: cross into Yugoslavia (this was before the war) and cross the mountainous pass into Greece. Tails it was.
Split, Dubrovnik, kebabs, shots of slivovitz, more red wine. Leaving the friendly roads of the coast, we slowly climbed the gnarly switchbacks, higher and higher into the Yugoslavian mountains. Winter was upon us. Snow blanketed the landscape. The roads went from snow to ice. Langinger was in trouble, way out of his league. His nearly bald feet were no match for the long stretches of slip and slide. We turned his wheel to the left, he went to the right. 360 round and round, out of control. We came to a very fortunate, extremely lucky stop—just short of a guardrailess fall off a steep descent.
We jumped out to peer over the cliff and there, 100 yards below us, was the shiny Mercedes Benz that had passed us just a few kilometers earlier. Luckily, they weren’t badly hurt. We were shaken. Langinger was shaken. Red wine and hot café were consumed, kebabs were devoured. Finally, we made our descent into northern Greece, leaving the snow and ice behind.
Relieved, and feeling a whole lot more secure on his feet, Langinger carried us into a land of cinnamon, filo pasties hot off the street vendor’s cart, cafes that could be eaten with a spoon, moussakas and pasteles, olives, and crumbling mounds of fresh feta, all to be washed down with endless bottles of retsina and ouzo. Athens on Christmas Day.
however years past and I kept cooking after sweet life closed, then I got a call about Dennis opening a new spot up in duval and he wanted me to cook there so i did.
those first few months were brutal, no one was coming in,i would look over at Dennis thru the chefs line out to the dining booths were he would be reading the sports stats in the paper and we would just silently shake our heads. eventually things picked up,how could they not their food was awesome and their breakfasts were amazing.
I phased out from duval once i realized I was gonna be a dad and took on a few other jobs.after that I just lost track of Paula and Dennis.
sometimes i would have memories of Dennis,Paula,pat (RIP) kath and the others. we always had a beer and staff meal after the cafes would close giving an honest sense of family and diner camaraderie.
only a few know the stress of working the line/serving when your dishwasher calls in sick..half the specials are gone,getting sandbagged, running out of food and there's a line of people waiting to be served. a good friend once said to me cooking for a living is like helping someone move and then making their whole family a thanksgiving dinner,EVERY DAY and thats so damn true yet Dennis always handled it like a pro.at the end of the night we would all be frazzled and just unwind,eat, laugh and talk about O.J. simpson or charles bukowski...that's the stuff I remember the most.
Sorry i didn't get to have one more meal with you guys. but I will be giving a cheers to Dennis this night.
~Keith gifford
We worked on Dennis' legislative campaign back in the day…..All those wonderful meals and wonderful conversations, all the friends we made through the years. I loved the Sweet Life where we could sit and watch Dennis and Paula work their frenetic magic, preparing one amazing meal after another in that tiny kitchen, with 40's throwback music playing in the back ground and some funky deco-art. One of our favorite Saturday activities was to grab a table mid-morning at the Sweet Life and enjoy brunch while watching Snohomish, people and River, go by outside! Of course what was a relaxed Saturday morning for us was a marathon for Dennis and Paula. But he was always there with his smile, his mustache, and his heart-felt political commentary. And the laugh that filled a room.
The Scene at Jasper's in the evening was usually more laid-back, and we continued the tradition of great conversations. It is simply impossible to imagine that a personality so large, vibrant and PRESENT could be no more. So, I believe we all experience a profound (to say the least) transition when our time comes to leave the physical plain and body, and I know (call it "faith") that we move on to another existence, and yet some part of us remains behind, some kind of loving energy and presence. When we all gather on Sunday to laugh and cry and recount the memories, I know he will be there as well, at the very least in all our hearts, and his unmistakable "Dennis laugh" will be heard throughout the floral halls…..
Leave a Tribute
Seems like just last week when we all spent a weekend together outside Seattle.
Never forget what he told me; that you get an EDUCATION from the newspaper, not from television.
We named him Langinger. He was in his twilight even when we met him, maybe 20 years old or so. Since that was way back in late 1973, that’d make him about the same age as Dennis, Paula, and myself. Langinger was a noble, charging VW bus. We met him in the south of Spain after spending a few glorious weeks floating around the beautiful country of Morocco, from Tangiers to Fes, Fes to Marrakech on the Marrakech Express, then on to Essaouira to drink mint tea in Jimmy Hendrix’s castle in the sky.
Upon returning to Spain, we met some European travelers who, after a couple bottles of red wine, gave us the keys and birth certificate to their four-wheeled traveling companion—a 1953 VW van. Pictures of John Lennon, yellow submarines, and full rainbows adorned its patchy green exterior. A rickety sliding door (equipped with extra bungee cords and axle grease) served as the entry door into the magical vessel. There was sleeping for three, a four-star kitchen with burners, frig, and sink, and every inch collaged in late 60s rock star visage.
One look is all that was needed. The three of us immediately went to our hidden money belts and pulled out the cash. As the last drops of red wine were consumed in a three-way salut, we christened our new friend Langinger. And there began a long and wonderful relationship. We meandered up the coast of Spain, up and over the Pyrenees, down into southern France. Everywhere we went, Langinger proved his worth by being an amazing people magnet—food was cooked, wine was drank, music just happened, and life was good. Nice, Monte Carlo, then on through Italy, Florence, Venice. Pasta, antipasta, and more red wine. The long hairs, hippies, and most everyone we met greeted us with open arms (almost everyone—the policia maybe a little less welcoming).
It was now just before Christmas and a coin was flipped. This was our preferred way of decision making. Heads: back to the relative warmth of the Italian and French coastlines. Or tails: cross into Yugoslavia (this was before the war) and cross the mountainous pass into Greece. Tails it was.
Split, Dubrovnik, kebabs, shots of slivovitz, more red wine. Leaving the friendly roads of the coast, we slowly climbed the gnarly switchbacks, higher and higher into the Yugoslavian mountains. Winter was upon us. Snow blanketed the landscape. The roads went from snow to ice. Langinger was in trouble, way out of his league. His nearly bald feet were no match for the long stretches of slip and slide. We turned his wheel to the left, he went to the right. 360 round and round, out of control. We came to a very fortunate, extremely lucky stop—just short of a guardrailess fall off a steep descent.
We jumped out to peer over the cliff and there, 100 yards below us, was the shiny Mercedes Benz that had passed us just a few kilometers earlier. Luckily, they weren’t badly hurt. We were shaken. Langinger was shaken. Red wine and hot café were consumed, kebabs were devoured. Finally, we made our descent into northern Greece, leaving the snow and ice behind.
Relieved, and feeling a whole lot more secure on his feet, Langinger carried us into a land of cinnamon, filo pasties hot off the street vendor’s cart, cafes that could be eaten with a spoon, moussakas and pasteles, olives, and crumbling mounds of fresh feta, all to be washed down with endless bottles of retsina and ouzo. Athens on Christmas Day.
I can't remember why Dennis gave me photocopied pages of his 1970 yearbook, but here are the two pictures he wanted to show me. I'm guessing he was telling a story about his basketball prowess in high school and wanted to give me proof. I must say, that is some good form. Keep shooting, Dennis, you the man!
Our First Friends
In February, 1990, Wayne Thomas III and I moved to Snohomish from Tampa, FL. Our first day in Snohomish, we went to the Sweet Life Cafe for lunch. Having never been to Snohomish, we were unsure about having made the move so impulsively and were hoping for the best. Trudging up the wide stairs to Sweet Life, we thought it a bit odd to have a restaurant in an old office building and then, there we were at the door of the Cafe. As we sat in window seats, looking out on First Street, we were approached by Paula with her 1,000 watt smile asking what we would like to drink. There was no turning back.
We followed Dennis and Paula from the Sweet Life to The Duval Cafe and Jaspers with a devotion made strong by the great food and great friendship. I listed their home in Snohomish and sold them their home in Duval, which was easy to do as they did (not surprisingly) most of the foot work. We continued to dine with them after they moved to Seattle and looked forward to hearing about their new adventures and the lives of Katy and Rosy. We even met Dennis's parents and became friends with his sister, Diane.
I have been in Gallup since 2009, so my exposure to the Lebow/Inman family has only been through Wayne's telling. I am deeply saddened by Dennis's passing. He was much larger than life in all the best ways and someone who was folded in to my heart almost 24 years ago. I know he will be watching all of us celebrate his life and live the legacy he left with Paula and the girls.
Much love Dennis,
John Beeman