I first met Jack because a friend insisted that we meet. He kept telling me, “Hey, man, there’s this guy at Lone Mountain College and you and he look exactly alike.” It was true that day in 1970 as I walked across the dance floor of the Wabe at Lone Mountain College toward Jack. We both were wearing bell-bottom jeans with a bright shirt and vest. We each had a long reddish beard and blond hair. He had a few inches on me but our friend was right, we did look remarkably similar. We became fast friends, brothers and partners in a long 30-year+ history of theatrical productions, events and just plain fun.

I was in awe of his ability to get things done with such grace and style and simplicity. He could come into a crowd of bickering people and when he spoke, the waters calmed, heads turned and people listened. It became known as the Jack Davis effect. He radiated calm, competent intelligence. He was gracious and kind and I rarely saw him loose his temper. There were occasions however when he could be extremely intimidating. I remember on a music awards show we were both stage managing, one very self-important rock star became upset with me for announcing him on too soon and began threatening me after his set was done. Jack stepped between us and said a few words in a tone that drained the blood from the face of said star and he retreated to his dressing room.

I still hear his voice. I hope to always hear his voice in my mind. “Hey, Dougie, how’s it going? What’cha up to?”
Every time I needed something, Jack was there-40 foot stage, sound system, crews, advice, lunch – what ever it was, he could get it or do it. He loved and lived to be there for people. He revered good conversation and good books and his knowledge of the world was legend.

He also knew where all the good eateries and drinking establishments were, the little, out-of-the-way places that people usually pass by, the places where great food was offered at humane prices. Little hole in the wall spots that served the working class with honest, good food and drink. Whether it was Chinatown, 3rd St, the waterfront, Oakland, LA, he knew where these gems were buried and delighted in turning you on to them.

One day, in 1977 he came and got me in my office at Fort Mason and said, “Come see this.”
“This” was an optical illusion he had just finish hanging in Pier 3 of the face of Thomas Jefferson, or was it George Washington. It was to be hung in Grand Central Station in New York and Jack wanted to make sure it worked. He had designed the rigging and figured out how to hang it so it became 3-dimentional over the length of a football field.

One day in 1984 Jack called me up and said meet me at the Bay View Boat Club. I walked in and there was Jack, talking to 6 old geezers at the bar. He showed me around the place and said, “I think this place has tremendous potential. Let’s join and see what we can do.” Jack talked the club into having a special, one-year membership drive that allowed people who didn’t have a boat to join. We called everyone we knew and before you could say ‘bottle of beer’ the club had 200 new members, all who eventually got boats. Jack was elected Commodore two years later and set the model for what is still one of the most astonishing, real, funky places in the world.

Jack was as close to a bodhisattva as anyone I ever met. This quote from Emerson is appropriate to Jack. I will miss him every day of the rest of my life and count myself blessed that I was his dear friend.
Doug McKechnie.

“To laugh often and love much; to win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children; to earn the approbation of honest citizens and endure the betrayal of false friends; to find the best in others; to give of one’s self; to leave the world a bit better, by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exaltation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived… this is to have succeeded.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Back in the early 80’s, he ran Intersection for the Arts when it was on Union Street near Washington Square Park.

We had a fledgling musical theater-in-residence there called the Overtone Theater. For two seasons there, it was total rule by the mob.

And through it all, Jack put up with us and watched over us – like it was a daycare center rather than a theater.

Through the years, he was always a pleasure to be around… a calm port in the storm – occasionally tough when he needed to be; never ungentle.. always compassionate.

When you talk of “good” men, this is what you mean… someone who gives of themselves for the good of others.

There will never be enough of those kind of people around, ready at the drop to DO the job that needs doing.

Jack will always be for me, one of those people who made San Francisco great. He will be MORE than missed.

Today was a beautiful day. Blue sky, warm sun. It soon turned into the darkest day on earth when I learned my friend and mentor, Jack Davis, had died unexpectedly over the weekend.

The news hit me the same way it hits a 9 year old when he learns the biggest kid in class, his friend, is moving to another city, never to be seen again.

Jack Davis was one of the only people I trusted whole-heartedly, and he never let me down.

I would seek out his advice about some aspect of life not because I was expecting an answer, but because being in his very presence reassured me that the answers always rested within myself. He was a boulder, holding more of the sun’s secret than a diamond. And I need only touch him to find my own answers.

After my father, Jack Davis was the greatest man I’ve ever known. Working behind the scenes, he helped stimulate a vibrant community-based arts atmosphere in SF by providing a home for the unaccepted, the under-appreciated, the under-funded (and under-fed) artists trying their best to bring life-giving, vibrant art to a society that seems to care less and less about meaningful culture.

It is in this climate that Jack brought rich artistic treasures into the hearts and minds of everyone who attended a SomArts event. As the video documentarian for the center, I was privileged to witness a vast array of artistic wonders unseen in most traditional museums and galleries with 10 times the budget. I got to witness first hand how appreciative artists and audience were to seeing, hearing and feeling something new, alive and wondrous in the cavernous space of the old machine shop on Brannan St.

And like so many of these people who came before me and after, we could then try to explore our own creativity in a safe, welcoming space, and, if we are lucky, find our own muse and follow her to the ends of the earth. Knowing, unconsciously, that we could always go home to SomArts to renew our reasons, our ways to once again continue the impossible task of “art”.

I mostly admire Jack for his ability to navigate the growth of the space through the waters of self-indulgent, self-absorbed and self-deluded artists while beating back the bureaucracy, the political, the cynical and the petty who thrive in our “me-me” and “cover-your-ass” society.

Jack worked to give me, and others, a home for our minds. A place that allowed true freedom of expression untied to how much money it could make. A place to imagine new beauties, new ideas and then take them into the world to see if they can swim on their own. And like the salmon, return once again to spawn.

Because of what Jack helped created in San Francisco, I’ve found my true calling in life:
Someone who uses his imagination and skills to help people like him and others who teach, and who work hard to provide food for our starving minds. In his honor, I shall continue along this path all the days of my life.

What can I ultimately say about what this man who has meant that much to me? I could only hope and pray to have an epitaph like his. I would voice it in all sincerity, in all honesty and it would read:

“He was a good man. The very best kind of man life could produce.”

So now today has become one of the most beautiful days in my life. The blue sky and warm sun has new meaning given to me by you, Jack, once again.

In closing, I will say the following only to myself whenever I have future success and only say now out loud for the last time: “Thank you for everything, Jack.”

George Aguilar
September 25, 2007

My heart is very heavy knowing he is gone. Such a strong voice for community arts, he will be greatly missed.