Shawn C. Dodd
This last Wednesday my friend Shawn Dodd faltered in a long fight with an old demon, one that at times seemed beaten only to sneak back out after lying dormant long enough to be forgotten. His demon was depression and it did what it does best in creating a cloud so dark one loses context and forgets one’s innumerable talents, dreams and friends. Without the ability to see the beauty that was so clear to the rest of us, he ended his life.
I met Shawn working at a software startup, pcOrder, where we spent many long nights together hacking out code like enthusiastic little monkeys. He was very sharp and had an ability to pick up new technical skills at amazing speed, but he wasn’t one to promote himself or sing his own praises. He liked being in the background, making things happen. I remember a time when David Howard and I were worried that our manager, Gordon, didn’t realize everything that Shawn regularly contributed. The two of them were in a meeting one day discussing using a new technology and Gordon turned to David and ended our concern by saying, “Just ask Shawn. He’ll know, and if he doesn’t, he’ll get it within the hour.”
A lot of people have talked about his brilliance and about his love of technology and interfaces and what made things work. All of these things are true, but he was so much more than that. I learned a lot about kindness and about being a gentleman from Shawn. He had a way of doing things with style and would forever be finding subtle ways to make me feel good about myself. I remember wearing a new shirt and having him tell me, “you wear that really well,” with such sincerity that I genuinely felt like I was making the shirt look good.
He was enthusiastic about so many things. When I last saw Shawn, he rolled up to my house blasting Indian Bhangra music, the music of the region of India where I spent time earlier this year. He was loving it and was eager to tell me what he knew and share the story about finding himself accidentally dropped into the middle of an Indian wedding afterparty to hear it for the first time. He stayed grooving with the happy crowd for the rest of the night and spent the next day digging up whatever he could about the music.
When I got into the Austin swing scene, Shawn was always down to get dressed up and head out to hear great bands with me, although he preferred to sip a cocktail and look good while I fumbled around the dance floor. In much the same way, when he later dove into electronic music, he had a friend build an amazing wooden case for his decks so that he could learn to DJ despite never being interested in dancing.
He was someone who loved creating and facilitating great experiences for other people. When he decided to become a great bartender, he made the most amazing Mexican Martinis I’ve ever had. We had a regular group gathering every Monday night at Josh Hildebrand’s house where we would all gather to watch our favorite TV show. Our free jazz band would play as the little crew gathered and then we’d pile into the living room to watch catch the show and rant about the social politics woven within. No evening was complete without one of those frosted glasses kissed with fresh squeezed limes and filled with the hand shaken mixture Shawn created, and I’ve tried unsuccessfully over the years to find anyone who can produce anything close to the one cocktail I’ve ever liked.
I have so many memories of Shawn. Juggling pins at four in the morning as we excitedly brainstormed new ideas. Going out for great dinners and talking about life. His laughter and his joy at the absurdity of the stories I’d share from places like Burning Man. I very much wish we could have spent some more time together in the years I have remaining, but I’m learning to love and appreciate what we can all manage to squeeze into our short span as humans together instead of regretting what we can’t. Despite the way he had to go, I hope that he enjoyed the better times as much as I did. I’ll miss you Shawn.
Other sites:
