The Durham

When I’m sad or grieving or just dealing with something enormous, my first impulse is to sit down at the keyboard and get it out.

I’m writing tonight.

This afternoon in San Francisco a man named John Durham died after many years of serious health problems. Those are the facts, but not the story. To those of us who knew and loved him so much, he was THE DURHAM: a life force, a gentle soul, a fantastic dresser and a terrible speller. He was generous to his students at USF, to the many one-time interns whose careers he started, to industry colleagues, to shopkeepers and clerks and nurses and complete strangers. He shared his wine, he reached for the check, he did the work to bring his industry friends together over lavish meals that he himself couldn’t enjoy in later years. And he always pivoted the conversation to “…but I want to hear about YOU? How’re YOU doing?”

As I sit here typing tonight with two glasses of 2013 Syrah on the table, I feel like a light has gone out and the world got just a little dimmer. My memories of John were so personal, our conversations so deep and rich. But I also realize that in the world of THE DURHAM, I’m just one of many souls at many tables who are feeling this way tonight. I poured that second glass for John, but it’s there for all of you who knew him as well.

Memories I’ll hold close forever are of John and me at iMedia. Doesn’t matter which one, doesn’t matter which city or resort. No matter what either or both of us had going on, we’d end up sitting next to each other in some breezeway or patio or riverside rocking chairs like Statler and Waldorf, the two Muppets in the balcony, commenting on the world, sharing deep ideas and laughing like fools. And never for twenty or thirty minutes: for an hour, for two. While we connected many times by phone and unintelligible text messages over these pandemic months, our last time together – our last hug- was at the iMedia reunion he organized in New Orleans in February 2020. We sat together over coffee in the hotel lobby for close to three hours. He talked about the directions his life might go in future years. He talked about feeling blessed. Having been to hell and back, he was now a man who simultaneously had so much left to do while also being completely at peace with whatever lay ahead.

It was perfect.

In short, he was THE DURHAM. To his friends, no explanation is necessary. To those who were never touched by him, no explanation is possible. Go in love and peace dear friend. Your name will be spoken and your laughter and kindness and humanity will be celebrated for many, many years to come.

Doug Weaver

https://upstreamgroup.com/the-drift/the-durham

The Extra Mile

An excerpt from a beautiful rememberance by Rishad Tobaccowala

John for over a decade would share a thought, a story, an observation, or an anecdote which came to be known as “Durhamism’s”. They were wise and they were funny. They made you hold in tears or spit out what you were drinking or eating since they were so funny. A request to sign up for a crowd sourcing project to take these writings and put them together in an electronic form prior to publication of a selection was oversubscribed within hours with CEO’s and leaders grabbing as many assignments as they could!

If the measure of a man is the lives he has touched, there is no tape or ruler long or deep enough to measure the impact of John Durham.

John was in many ways the fabric that connected and weaved together a global diaspora of what initially were digital marketing and media pioneers but grew to include people of every stripe from CEOs to students across industries and the globe.

I was one of those lucky to know John Durham. We were far more connected in the last two years of his life brought together by his being a generous champion of my writing and thinking which he asked me to leverage to the benefit of the many communities he cared about from University of San Francisco to the San Francisco Bay Area Interactive Group to his clients at Catalyst SF and many more. Almost every Sunday, he would write me kind words after he read this weekly thought letter.

Many people knew him much longer and far better and interacted with him almost daily and I have now begun to suspect there may have been many John Durham’s because surely one individual could not be so much to so many!

He was friend, mentor, counselor, teacher, advisor, family member.

And he was their sommelier, their sports buddy, their fellow traveler and the one who made them laugh.

The container that molded John was broken when he was born and we are unlikely to see someone like him again in the future, but his teachings can help guide us forward.

For the full article, click here.

We Will Miss You

The Durham: We Will Miss You

• by Cory Treffiletti 

Thanksgiving is a time when family and friends can get together and bask in the warmth of their relationships.  This year will be a little bit different for many of us, because we lost one of our most cherished people last week.  We lost John Durham.

John was called many names:  The Professor.  The Mayor.  The Kentucky Colonel.  The Great Connector.  The ultimate sommelier and member of “The Hillbilly Winos.”  Some of these were inside jokes among friends, while others were a matter of public record.  He was the self-proclaimed “dumb ole’ country boy” when he was feeling humble, but he was also a force of nature that drove people in a positive direction. 

Most people knew him simply as “The Durham.” 

He was personally responsible for kicking off the careers of hundreds — if not thousands — of people in digital advertising and marketing.  He was the momentum behind events that shaped the digital advertising industry from its inception, and the ultimate motivator for anyone sitting in front of him. 

He was a breeze blowing positivity into the lives of so many people. He had the ability to make you feel special, to unlock your dreams and have them wash over you, creating a sense of belief and excitement that would nudge you in the direction to strive for something great.  He published his “Durhamisms” every day over the last 10 years, aggregating the kind and motivational words of so many people into a single thread that furthered their initial purpose. 

To me, he was a mentor, a business partner and a friend.  He was also family.  He was responsible for me meeting my wife, he spoke at our wedding, and he was known to my kids as GodDaddy John.  He would spend many holidays with us, and we spoke to him every week, increasing to almost daily the last few years.  His health was a concern we talked about often, but he would always disregard those concerns and shift the topic toward something else.  He would be “just checkin’ in,” because he wanted to keep tabs on how life was going and offer words of encouragement. 

This past week the digital media business witnessed an outpouring of emotion the likes of which we’ve never seen before.  Stories were told, and tears were shed.  It was a testament to just how important John was and how many people he touched over the last 30 years. Many of the people who grew the digital media community were FODs (friends of Durham) or Durhamites (proteges of Durham). 

I am going to miss our daily check-ins.  I will miss our discussions about grandiose ideas and new businesses.    

And I will miss him deeply this holiday season. The holidays were when my kids would hang out with John, seeing the smiles light up their little faces when he would arrive bearing gifts (far too many — he was always too generous). 

The best way to honor someone like John is to look at what was so great about him, what greatness he helped bring out in you, and continue to strive for success as a way of honoring his commitment to you. 

I know I am who I am partially because of John’s role in my life.  Some of the best relationships I have are because of John, and I will forever be thankful to him.

We should all be such a positive force of nature.  We should all continue to believe in ourselves and the people around us in the same way that John believed in us. 

When you fall into doubt about what to do next, ask yourself what John would tell you.  Many of us would have called him to get his advice.  Know that John would have simply found the right light in you and helped foster its brightness. 

When John passed last week, I posted on social media that I would look for him in the sunrise the next morning because to me, he will always be that beacon of bright light shining down on us every day.  His light shines bright, and it shines wide, and it covers everyone who came into contact with him.

Cheers to you, John, with a glass of ’83 Krug.

Original Article Here

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