David Daniel in 1993

Recollections of the Irreplaceable David Daniel

By Ed DeJesus

Deeply saddened by the loss of my dear friend and mentor, Dave Daniel, and mired in Florida commitments that kept me from attending his glorious Celebration of Life (fondly recounted to me in Steve O’Connor’s email, then embellished by others with intimate, eloquent, heartfelt tributes on Dick Howe’s blog), I closed my laptop and knuckled my moist eyes.

I decided the only way I could mourn and honor this kind, caring, courageous man, respected and adored by everyone whose lives he touched, was to painstakingly memorialize his impact on my life.

But please bear with me, as I won’t be as concise as the sparkling tributes by the magnificent writers and commentators who vividly captured the wonderful world of life according to Dave.

With my heart aching for Dave’s family and his closest friends and my head pounding from the noise of contractors remodeling our master bathroom in our condo, I sucked it up and carried on.

I searched for artifacts and uncovered a time capsule buried at the bottom of a banker’s box that had been shipped with our belongings from Massachusetts to Florida. Inside an old, crumpled manuscript box containing my first novel, which Dave had critiqued, I found a trove of mementos and our snail-mail correspondence.

I recalled our first meeting before the start of UMass Lowell’s 1993 Writers’ Conference, where Paul Marion, Founder of Loom Press, was on an editor’s panel, and David Daniel and Andre Dubus III offered individual conferences. Ten years later, Dubus’s novel House of Sand and Fog made it to the big screen, starring Jennifer Connelly and Ben Kingsley.

The conference featured Tobias Wolff, whose memoir, This Boy’s Life, was soon adapted for the screen, starring Leonardo DiCaprio as young Toby, with Ellen Barkin and Robert De Niro.

And my Lowell High School alumna, Elinor Lipman, a highly regarded author and a Parade Magazine humor columnist, presented “The Best [Writing] Advice I Ever Got.” Years later, her novel, And Then She Found Me, was adapted for film starring Helen Hunt, Bette Midler, Colin Firth, and Matthew Broderick.

Elinor is now honored by the Pollard Memorial Library with an annual fiction contest for Lowell students and residents. Stephen O’Connor (one of Dave’s closest friends) earned Lipman’s Distinguished Mention in 2022.

Back then, I had no idea I’d be mixing with brilliant writers destined for the NY Times bestsellers and Hollywood, nor had I known how fortunate I was to have Dave review my manuscript; it altered my writing aspirations and blessed me with an irreplaceable, inspirational role model and treasured friend.

Armed with my not-so-great American novel, I entered the writers’ conference, eager to learn, ready to network, and anxious to hear feedback from the talented mystery author, David Daniel. I’d previously mailed the first three chapters of my novel to his Nesmith Street, Lowell, address and had praised him for his political thriller, The Tuesday Man. At the registration desk, I paid an extra forty bucks for my private conference with Dave. It was worth every freakin penny!

I exchanged pleasantries with the lanky, mild-mannered man whose warm smile, trusting eyes, and soft-spoken voice immediately disarmed me. He was Chairman of Newbury College’s communications and media department, and I was a Software Engineering Manager at Digital, a computer firm. In 1985, Dutton published Dave’s first novel, Ark; that same year, the IEEE journals published my work on Design Automation and Artificial Intelligence (AI).

Dave handed me two pages of suggestions and my sample chapters, which he’d marked up.  He said I do many things well, but my attention to detail slowed the pace. I thought, of course, details: I’d written AI programs in computer language, not prose.

“It picks up steam,” I pleaded. The gracious guy agreed to read my book and gave me his Westford, MA, address. The next day, I brought him my suspense novel set in Lowell and Lake Winnipesaukee. He proudly showed me where he did his writing in a tidy little detached building behind his house.

In 1993, we could not yet exchange email contacts. Thus, I knew Dave before the internet’s external email was available and before he became a prize-winning author.

Two weeks later, I received Dave’s lengthy snail mail letter; his key points follow.

“Dear Ed,

As promised, here are my thoughts on your novel, WHATEVER IT TAKES. The story does pick up momentum. The characters are well drawn (though there are too many), and the way their destinies interlink is quite skillful. This book, while ambitious, is presently several stages away from being publishable—it’s a novel of apprenticeship. You’ve just got to get more writing experience under your belt.

I believe that with determination and hard work (both of which qualities you possess in abundance), you can break into print. But it takes time (and if it’s any consolation, I wrote about seven novels before I sold one—Stephen King, five before he sold Carrie.) More talented writers can do it in fewer—and you’re much more skillful than I was when I began. You can call, and we can talk further.”

None of my beta readers, nor my UML writing instructor, who all loved the story, had offered such candid and insightful feedback. Apparently, I was a good storyteller, but at best, a novice writer. I was disappointed yet determined to learn more from Dave.

I called, and he brought my annotated book to my house in Chelmsford. I soaked up more writing tips, and he added, “My strongest suggestion is to set the book aside and go on to something else, some short fiction or another novel. Continue to work on your craft.” I swallowed my pride and took his sound advice.

Six months later, I was thrilled to see his photo in the Lowell Sun. The headline and story by Nancy Tuttle—Move over, Robert Parker—announced that Dave’s latest, The Heaven Stone, had won a Shamus Award for Best First Private Eye novel. His Alex Rasmussen Lowell Detective Series cemented his literary footprint on the city’s cobblestone streets.

Lowell Sun, November 14, 1993

Three years later, I attended Dave’s book signing at Barnes & Noble in the former Bon Marché building in Lowell. His follow-up Rasmussen novel, The Skelly Man, published in 1996 by St Martin’s Press, was well promoted in the Lowell Sun by Dave Perry. I made sure I was the last customer in line when I approached the city’s latest celeb at his table. He signed my copies of his first two Rasmussen books.

Dave seemed happy for me when I explained that I’d submitted my second novel, It’s Uncontrollable, to a St. Martin’s mystery contest. A judge wrote back, “Mr. DeJesus, your novel didn’t qualify. But it reminded me of Bonfire of the Vanities. You plot as well as Maeve Binchy. And you should work your butt off to find an agent.”

Dave said, “Good luck with that. And don’t let them see you sweat.”

Lowell Sun, April 7, 1996

After stacks of rejection letters from literary agents, I already knew landing one was not in the cards. There was no Amazon for self-publishing then, and with two kids to put through college, I had to focus on my tech career. I set writing aside and worked my butt off climbing the corporate ladder. The only writing I did was developing business plans for venture capitalists and for mergers and acquisitions.

Having never exchanged emails, Dave and I lost touch as our goals diverged. Over the next 20 years, I led startups and served as VP of Engineering at MSL, CEO of JustZip.com, and President of Sightline Solar. I retired in Florida and began writing again.

Dave continued to do what he loved and excelled at: writing and teaching. He went on to publish 10 books and more than 200 short stories, and he taught at schools and universities, including a distinguished year as the Jack Kerouac Visiting Writer-in-Residence at UMass Lowell. Dave also wrote countless pieces, including exceptional book, music, and film reviews, for the Boston Globe and The Arts Fuse.

Every story, essay, or review left me in awe of Dave’s voice and skill. I thoroughly enjoyed his four Private Eye Rasmussen books, his hippie-generation novel White Rabbit, his collection of horror shorts, Coffin Dust, his homecoming novel Reunion, and his final book, Beach Town. Through his well-drawn characters in his excellent short stories, he conveyed his love for Stephanie, his family, and his childhood friends, as well as his appreciation for his fellow soldiers.

During the pandemic, I wrote several short stories about growing up in Lowell and began my third novel, The Vulnerable, a thriller set in Lowell and Florida. I also read Stephen O’Connor’s terrific Lowell collection, Smokestack Lightning, for which Dave had written a jacket blurb.

I followed both Steve and Dave on Facebook. I discovered that they, along with Paul Marion, Dick Howe Jr., Emilie Noel-Provost, Susan April, Louise Peloquin, Dave Perry, Jerry Bisantz, Sheila Eppolito, Jennifer Myers, Jack Neary, and others, were contributing strong pieces to the Richardhowe.com blog and the Lowell Review. Dick’s review of Jackie McDonald’s The Paper Route made me a fan of hers. The popular Howe blog was a magnet and showcase for exceptional wordsmiths with ties to Greater Lowell.

I sent Dick Howe a few of my short stories about Lowell. They garnered encouraging comments from Paul Marion, Steve O’Connor, and Dave Daniel, who then reached out to me.

In addition to praising each other’s pieces on Dick’s blog, Dave and I would follow up by email. We were both Army veterans from the Vietnam era, and I had owned a record store in the 1970s. Along with discussing writing and books, we shared our war stories, counterculture experiences, and our passions for music, sports, and politics.

By then, I’d been shopping my novel, The Vulnerable, to publishers, and Dave had read the synopsis and teaser blurbs on my author website. I’d mentioned that I’d woven in cameos by Mickey Ward and others in a chapter set in Lowell.

Ever the mentor, Dave replied, “Journalists, politicians, and the chief of police appreciated seeing their names in my Rasmussen series. Just be careful and never trash anyone, friend or foe.”

What he didn’t know was that I’d also inserted cameos by Dave, Steve O, Paul Marion, and Dick Howe.

As was Dave’s nature as a teacher, he routinely praised everyone’s work and always complimented me on my stories or blog comments. However, after I’d lauded him in an email about his podcast reading and commented on his fabulous essay on The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds album, his reply floored me!

“Hi Ed,

Thanks for your long, detailed, and kind email. Always good to read your voice. 

Who needs Wikipedia with you on the planet!?

Speaking of Brian Wilson, many, many thanks for your comment (riff) on the Pet Sounds piece. It was informed, cluey, and a fun read. You continue to surprise and amaze me with your enormous wealth of life experience. Owning a record store!! That along with everything else bespeaks a man of ambition and tireless energies. I’m not blowing smoke here; you’re a man (as the Bard would say) of many parts. And having said that, let me go on a bit further to say that you have developed great writing chops.

I remember pretty clearly that you were a strong writer back when we first knew each other–certainly well above average. In the years since, those skills have sharpened and deepened. That being said, I know it’s still a very competitive “marketplace” for writers out there, but you’ve got skills and persistence and ambition going for you–and I think that will pan out. I certainly wish you well, and if you ever need a blurb for a book jacket, I’ll happily offer it.”

I was over the moon! I’d wager that any writer privileged to know Dave would value his approval of their work more than the Pope’s blessings.

In the fall of 2024, I returned to my hometown for the Lowell Celebrates Kerouac weekend and for Paul Marion’s reading of his latest book, Portraits Along the Way, at the Pollard Memorial Library. I planned to get a signed copy of Paul’s book and to meet Dave, Dick Howe, and Steve O’Connor there. Unfortunately, Dave injured his Achilles tendon and couldn’t make it.

I managed to get photos of me with Paul, Steve, and Dick. I texted them to Dave and told him I had family commitments every day except Wednesday and that I was leaving on Friday. Was he available for lunch? No go. Dave had doctor’s appointments on Wednesday. I was bummed because I hadn’t seen him in twenty-eight years.

I’d arranged to visit my dearest cousin, Sandy, whose breast cancer had spread to her lungs. When I spoke with her on Tuesday, she was on oxygen but still wanted to see me on Thursday. Regrettably, she canceled by text that morning. I texted Dave to say I was free for lunch, and he agreed to meet me at The Establishment in North Chelmsford.

I was excited when I spotted him at a table in the lounge. We greeted each other with a firm handshake, then an awkward, macho hug.

“Ed! So great to see you again after all these years,” he said. “And you look good.”

“Likewise, Dave, likewise,” I said as my pulse quickened.

He’d previously disclosed that he’d been diagnosed with advanced pulmonary fibrosis. I didn’t mention that my cousin was on borrowed time. Sadly, she passed away a few months later.

After we ordered, I asked how he was feeling

Dave shrugged, “I can’t jog anymore. I get winded just climbing stairs. But I soldier on.”

I swallowed hard and said, “You look good,” which was true. He had that familiar twinkle in his eyes and the knack for steering a conversation that made people open up quickly. He said my book sounded interesting and complex, then asked how long I’d been working on it.

I said, “Two years writing, another year editing, delayed by three major hurricanes with no power for weeks. Plus a heart attack and ambulance ride for an emergency stent.”

He sighed and said, “I hope you land a publisher soon.”

I said, “Two in New York have passed; I’m waiting on others, and vetting smaller ones as well.”

He smiled and said, “Keep shopping it. And don’t let them see you sweat.”

We dug into our salads, loaded with grilled chicken. Dave raved about Steve O’Connor and the times he enjoyed Pat’s games at his brother-in-law Kevin’s house and with Jerry (a Bills fan). Then admitted that, due to his declining stamina and his meds, he could no longer keep up with the Tequila shots and would skip the night games.

I said I was a huge fan of Steve and his writing. Dave said, “You and Steve are the two best storytellers I’ve worked with. I’m boring, but you guys are the life of the party.”

I couldn’t imagine anyone calling this enchanting, intellectual guy boring, let alone his writing. But Dave couldn’t help himself; he was always flattering others. Being in his presence felt like listening to James Taylor sing, “Shower the people you love with love.”

He suggested that many of my short stories on Dick’s blog might fit well in a memoir. I agreed and said, “I already have a working title, Simpler Times in The Spindle City, but it will need a lot more stories to fill a book.”

After another hour of hanging on to his every word, I excused myself. On the way to the men’s room, I handed my card to our waitress and covered the tab. When we walked out to the parking lot, Dave led me to his car and pulled out copies of The Marble Kite and Beach Town.

He signed one. “To Ed, Great to reconnect!”

And the other, “Keep writing, I look forward to your next.”

We bid farewell and vowed to do this again whenever I returned to the area.

David Daniel at Establishment restaurant in North Chelmsford

When my novel was accepted for publication, the first two people I told were my wife and Dave. I sent him an ARC. He wrote a superb jacket blurb and got it to me just before it went to print.

“With The Vulnerable, Ed DeJesus has executed a layered, complex, and highly entertaining debut thriller. Crime, domestic terror, family wounds, romance, the pandemic, climate change—it’s all here. Moving fluidly (at times breathtakingly) between Massachusetts, Florida, and California wildfires, the story crackles with energy, sharply drawn characters, and an unflinching vision of a world in which we are all vulnerable.” — David Daniel, prizewinning author of the Alex Rasmussen Lowell Detective Series and Beach Town.

I treasured that blurb even more than the great reviews that followed from The Literary Titan and Kirkus.

It was released on April 1, 2025, my 75th birthday. This old fool hoped my family would be proud of me. But deep down, I’d hoped it would please Dave, who’d believed in me since the beginning of my thirty-five-year writing journey.

The Vulnerable garnered the Literary Titan, Pencraft, and Reader’s Favorite Book Awards. I’d built a broad social media following, and with readers in Massachusetts and Florida, where the story was set, the book sales and five-star reviews far exceeded my expectations.

I scheduled a book signing and reading event in October at the La La Bookstore in Lowell. I called Dave for tips, since he’d performed dozens of book readings there and elsewhere. He shared his wisdom and said, “You’ll be fine; you’re a natural.”

The night before I flew to Boston, Dave called to say he was now carrying oxygen tanks and didn’t do well in crowds. As a result, he couldn’t attend my book reading but hoped we could get together before I returned to Fort Myers.

I was elated that friends from as far away as Arizona and California had attended. I was also grateful that Steve O’Connor, like a surrogate for Dave, was there to support me. After it ended, my wife and I went directly to Lowell General Hospital to visit her older brother, who was on Hospice and laboring.

Having assisted my father, mother, and older brother through their final Hospice days, I knew what to expect. My wife and I spent the next six days with her brother and his family until he passed. We extended our stay for the funeral.

I tried to hook up with Dave, but because of his doctor’s appointments, I never got to visit him. So he insisted that we block off time to catch up on a call.

He asked how my book signing went and how my wife was holding up. He then mentioned that he’d given a lecture in Pepperell, MA, to aspiring writers, young and old. He said he’d held me and my book up as an example of a writer who’d kept at it for decades. He could have explained that in an email, but he’d clearly saved it for this call. I stuttered as I told him how much I appreciated him. He was simply the best, better than all the rest.

I was always amazed at how Dave would produce timely pieces for the Globe and the Howe Blog. Like Hallmark cards, he unveiled them to coincide with stories about his Dad on Father’s Day. A tribute to Edgar Allan Poe on his birthday. Another on Daylight Saving Time, about the many clocks in his house that he was tasked with changing twice a year. A comical one about the annual Christmas card that arrived at his house by mistake instead of at his neighbor’s.

I sent him a Happy Holidays email. Dave replied with a vivid account of his annual tradition of meeting Jay Atkinson at Kerouac’s gravesite on New Year’s Eve. I thought of the Rolling Thunder Revue at Edson Cemetery and pictured Jay as Bob Dylan and Dave as Allen Ginsberg, the Ambassador of Peace.

After the holidays, I’d planned and promoted a three-month Florida book tour to coincide with the snowbirds through March. It included six local bookstores, a podcast, a Barnes & Noble book signing, the Southwest Florida Reading Festival in Fort Myers, and a guest speaker at the Literacy Council in Bonita Springs.

Dave wrote to me, praised my marketing skills, then asked a favor. Although his health was rapidly declining, he still pushed on to please his friends. He said I was more in touch with the industry today and asked if I could recommend an editor and how his Army buddy might get a book into print. I sent him several sources and pointers. And I explained how to weed out the takers and scammers. I wish I had given him more to work with.

I emailed him a Happy 81^st birthday. He wrote back that Steve and Kevin had stopped by with lunch to help him celebrate. He said his home was where he did all his socializing now because he was too weak to go anywhere else.

A few days later, a foolish war had broken out with Iran. It would not sit well with Dave.

I said a prayer for him and replied that my wife and I were leaving on March 31st for a month in Australia to visit our daughter and her husband, followed by a week in Fiji to celebrate our anniversary on May 6^th.

After an 18-hour Dallas-to-Sydney flight, I opened what turned out to be his final text.

Not sure I have the date right (and at the risk of seeming like a limp April Fool Joke) Happy birthday, Ed. I hope you and your lovely wife are having a wonderful vacation. I’m holding the country together against chaos till you get back 🎂🙏

When I settled in Australia on April 3rd, I thanked Dave in an email and never heard back from him. I feared the worst!

Upon our return, on May 8^th, I read Stephanie’s heartbreaking Facebook post: her beloved husband, Dave, had taken his final breath on May 5^th.

Although it was inevitable, it’s still difficult to process that this irreplaceable dude has left us.

I don’t know how Jay will navigate another January 31st. I don’t know who will meet Steve at the Owl diner. I don’t know who will set the clocks to daylight saving time.  And I don’t know who will remind me; never let them see you sweat.

Dave’s legacy and incredible body of work are well documented. It’s worthy of a Wikipedia page; his academic and literary colleagues, his students, and his family could all contribute to it.

Dave was a model citizen and a near-perfect man. Perhaps his loving wife, Stephanie, would say otherwise, but I believe he had one blaring weakness, and he knew it.

Dave never learned how to say “No.”

No matter how over-committed he was, even when burdened by his deteriorating health, he never wanted to let anyone down.

It’s safe to say that if you didn’t owe him, then you didn’t know him.

I filed every email exchange with Dave in a special folder.  It’s stored in the cloud forever, as is Dave’s heavenly spirit floating above his loved ones and his devoted disciples.

Dave is in a place now where no one will ever see him sweat.

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Ed DeJesus is the author of the multi-award-winning thriller The Vulnerable. His award-winning short story in Indies United’s 2025 Anthology offers a preview of his forthcoming memoir collection, Simpler Times in The Spindle City, a coming-of-age and nostalgic portrait of Lowell, MA, in the ’60s and ’70s.