Here inside the J.C. Beans cafe in Dana Point, there are nine tables, a bunch of baristas, a display of pastries, the best flavor of coffee in the world (coconut cream—yummy!) and a bulletin board.
It’s in the back of the building, and always features a ton of business cards for such disparate entities as Tracy Campbell: Energy Healing Practitioner and Sadie Bloom Designs. When you’re bored or need a break, the pinups make for entertaining escapism.
Anyhow, a few moments ago I was reading the board when I stumbled upon something that made my heart sink …
I didn’t know Maurice Ogden. I’ve never even heard of Maurice Ogden. A quick Google serach turned up nothing.
For me, the heartbreak here isn’t merely the death, but the delivery. There’s just something … hollow about the index card—nine blue lines, a bunch of pin holes—as a medium to convey news of this nature. It also leads to 1,001 question about Maurice Ogden: Who was he? An old man who enjoyed card games at the ol’ coffee shop? A homeless person who begged for change out front? The mysterious benefactor of someone’s college education? The uncle of a nephew of a cousin of a son? Did he have a wife? Did he live nearby? Was he a native?
We’ll never know.
There’s just a card.
PS: An update. Huge props to my pal Ashley Brouwer for finding this.
