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Those of us in our clique considered George Semerau the most likely to succeed given his talents in art and poetry. The last page of our yearbook, before the ad section, contains a poem he wrote with the now prophetic lines: “…it often seems that i, alone, will have to leave tonight, as if for the last time, while the others stay behind warm walls and the glow of friends faces…” A bit later, as I was preparing to leave Buffalo again, he wrote a poem to me which still hangs framed on my hallway wall. He said: “…never say that our nights when young together have been lost…you must learn to love and tell us other quiet men of what you know. peace. george semerau.”
George never found peace or maybe never found love. His demons, whatever they were, overcame him. Perhaps it was his bisexuality, his blood disorder, his background more unusual than most of us, or possibilities unknown to me. I reconnected with George briefly in Denver in the early 1970’s just before permanently leaving for California. He was working construction and doing OK, but his mind was gone; maybe from hallucinogenic drugs he couldn’t handle. He was living with a woman, but the one night I visited was acrimonious.
Later, assuming that my chronology is correct, George became a leading bicycle messenger in Manhattan known as the bullet. This occupation was what probably led him to San Francisco where we reconnected again, along with another Buffalo friend. By then he had transitioned from bicycle messenger to mail room clerk. His coworkers showed him a special affection but his menial position sustained him primarily in skid row hotels. He was then an alcoholic who rarely ate anything but candy bars.
George still did artwork with scraps of paper, but that remaining spark was not nearly enough. We all tried to help. The extent of his deterioration became apparent to me during a week end visit to my rural home. I intended it to be healing, but it was far too late.
Much later we learned, via a mutual friend, that he had died of AIDS. We shared our stories of past experiences where George had revealed himself as being bi or gay. His sister, who lived nearby, apparently abandoned him. He had been too sick or too embarrassed to have us two lifelong friends there for a final goodbye. His body was probably disposed of by whatever means the county then used for indigents.
George, whatever place or form you are in, we all love you George. Those of us who knew you and even those of us who didn’t. We will always love you and we all hope that you are finally at peace.
Mark Bennett, Pine Grove, California 4/4/15
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Daniel Feldman
I only knew George casually through others, but I could tell he was insightful in a way I could only vaguely comprehend. A shame his life turned out so.
Mark Bennett
I am very touched by everyone’s remarks here. Probably none of you have the memories I have of George drowning my TV remote in beer and being totally unaware except for the possibility that I might run out of beer. Or him helping me move rock on my property and discovering that he had no strength left. Since he had no car I picked him up at the Stockton Bus Station, an hour away. He felt humiliated by the realization of how far he had fallen as the only non Spanish speaker on the bus.
Somehow I know that George’s soul or whatever one wants to call it has felt everyone’s concern.
I also want to thank everyone who complimented my writing. At times when I write Miss Scott still hovers over my shoulder like a fairy godmother. And it was good to connect with people. Sherry, is my memory correct that I first meet you when I was 14 and mowing your grandmother’s lawn?
Lynn Dahlman (Ouellette)
As a classmate, I believe I can best honor George's memory by remembering him as he was in high school, that is, a brilliant and creative individual. He deserves the dignity in death that his very personal, private struggles denied him in his lifetime.
"So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now part of us, as we remember them."
Sharon Selib (Epstein)
I did not know George well, but I know we were in some of the same classes, and I do have memories of his talents, especially in writing. When Mark mentioned the poem he wrote at the end of the year, I looked for my copy of the yearbook so I could read the poem.
We probably never spoke much, but I see that what he wrote in my yearbook was very perceptive, and I would like to share that:
sitting on our islands(with glass cages of
different ideas, different standards)
we find it so hard to communicate.
but our memories, those friendships of
high school, transcend the glass cages.
keep the memories. the memories are eternal.
they are youth.
in friendship,
George Semerau
Rest in peace! You made a big impact on others.
Rick Rappaport
It's truly heartening to see so many people touched by one person's too short life. Just want to say that I was uncomfortable with the the initial post(s)---which were of course only well intentioned. It just felt like too much very private information was revealed, disclosures that maybe should have been blessed first by George's loved ones. But recent posts seem spot on in their glory of a profoundly influential man.
Sherleen (Sherry) Miller (Hocking)
I would like to thank everyone who has shared memories of George and especially the words he wrote to each of you. If it hadn’t been for this conversation, I would never have known about the life of my good friend, beyond our space/time intersection. I had tried over the years to locate him, and his sister, but had no success. In the Google era, I knew that to be unusual. So I wondered.
George had an intellectual and emotional brilliance, maybe shining too brightly at points. He had a remarkable courage, never averting his gaze from hardship, suffering, or hurt in others. He was kind and compassionate. In part, I think that is what made it so painful for him to live in the culture. His poetry was his only defense. And a remarkable and strong one it was. Just not strong enough. I believe in my heart that he would feel honored by our remembrances – joyful and painful. I believe that our words here are tributes to the many gifts he gave each of us. And I don’t think George received enough tributes in his life.
George would have expected us to do as he did – not to shy away from the difficulties of life. He recognized more quickly than most of the rest of us that hardship and struggle were as much a part of being human as were joy and laughter.
And, Mark Bennett, yes, I believe that we did first meet as you were mowing my grandmother’s lawn. I thank you for helping her. I’m sure at the time I didn’t think to say that. A few years after our meeting, my Dad and Mom moved us into that house and my sister and her family are there still. I also write – even today- with Miss Scott and John Milner reading and editing in my ear. I have many loving memories of Kenmore.
Patricia Hoffmann (Andrea)
I only knew George as someone to say hello to in the hallways of Kenmore West. I don't recall him being in any of my classes. I do remember him as a brilliant, artistic guy and being awed by his poem in the yearbook. I am saddened that I didn't make more of an effort to get to know him at Ken West. His story is very sad. I had tears in my eyes as I read Mark's entry. Thank you, Mark, for sharing.
I also can feel Mr. Milner checking all of my writing. He taught me so much about the English language and the importance of grammar and spelling! As a HS science teacher, I always insisted on that with my students!
Mark Bennett
Sherry – You have a good memory as I do. I thought John Milner had published a book, but I couldn’t find it just now checking on the internet. Last I heard, which was some time ago, George’s sister was living in Daly City south of San Francisco.
Phyllis Millemaci
I have two signed books by Mr. Milner. And Yet...a Mix which conists of essays and poems. I also have Schoolbook, A Teacher's Memoir. The latter has a picture of West on the cover and recalls his years of teaching from 1959 until 1990. Both are my treasures!
Steve Gross
He will always be a "cool" guy,although i didnt know him that well!