ADVERTISEMENT

Kref...

trover

Hall of Famer
Gold Member
Feb 8, 2002
11,009
320
83
Kref my BFF? How so? I met the man only once and sent him directly home.

I met Kref in the wee hours of the OTF morning, when just about everybody but Aruss, Kref and me were asleep. Kref was a professional cartoonist, who’d worked mostly freelance but had put comics in such prestigious magazines as PLAYBOY and THE NEW YORKER. But he was retired now and felt left behind as the science behind cartooning had changed, and Kref hadn’t the resources to keep up.

It was a short relationship, lasting only five years, but in that time Kref and I became close friends, BFFs if you will.

We had a lot of fun. Kref was probably the best humor writer on the board, and his cartoons regularly opened the OTF morning shift. When Davis got fired, Kref dreamed up and prepared buttons for each member’s candidate. Numerous members asked Kref for help on personal projects. He prepared a bawdy book cover satirizing my first book, showing a scantily clad woman posing on top of Mount Rainier. I used the parody as my sig until Peegs asked me to take it down. (boobs may have been too large). I’m not aware of Kref ever turning anybody down.

As Kref and I both had free time, we burned up phone lines night and day. If my wife heard me laughing and saw me on the phone, she’d mouth “Kref?” and I’d nod. She liked Kref too; she loved his cartoons.

Shortly before his death, under Aruss’ guidance, Kref, Club Jockey and I started a serial mystery we planned to post on the OTF. We actually wrote and posted several chapters, with Club Jockey and me alternating chapters, and Kref editing.

I told Kref that if he couldn’t come up and see us, I’d come down and see him. I set up some book store signings around Indianapolis and gave Kref the dates. I’d been invited as a guest of honor at St. Paul’s Italian Festival, and Kref and I decided to meet there, over some good pasta. But he dropped in to see me at the bookstore earlier in the day, and what I saw shocked me.

Kref was a dying man. Rail thin, his pallor was gray. I’d seen the walking dead before — in 80s San Francisco. I know the face of the Reaper.

Almost too weak to stand, there was no way Kref would survive St. Paul’s. So I sent him home, to rest, hopefully to sleep.

Shortly after that, my wife and I moved to Arizona. Kref and I stayed in touch, even though his OTF activities had fallen off. On every call, Mike would complain about how tired he was and how difficult caring for his ninety-nine year old father had become. Mike’s sleep was becoming erratic, and he feared caring for his father would kill him. But he would not see a doctor.

We’d only been in Arizona a month when Eric, Kref’s son, called me with the bad news. Kref had passed away. I think it was cancer, but if Kref knew he had cancer, he’d never mentioned it to me.

With Kref’s passing, I lost interest in my daily OTF activities. I rarely post now, preferring to lurk. Also about the same time, Club Jockey disappeared. I don’t know if Kref’s passing played any role in Jim’s decision to leave or not. I haven’t asked him. But for me, every time I look at the AOTF now, there are two big holes. One is Andy; the other is Kref.
 
Kref my BFF? How so? I met the man only once and sent him directly home.

I met Kref in the wee hours of the OTF morning, when just about everybody but Aruss, Kref and me were asleep. Kref was a professional cartoonist, who’d worked mostly freelance but had put comics in such prestigious magazines as PLAYBOY and THE NEW YORKER. But he was retired now and felt left behind as the science behind cartooning had changed, and Kref hadn’t the resources to keep up.

It was a short relationship, lasting only five years, but in that time Kref and I became close friends, BFFs if you will.

We had a lot of fun. Kref was probably the best humor writer on the board, and his cartoons regularly opened the OTF morning shift. When Davis got fired, Kref dreamed up and prepared buttons for each member’s candidate. Numerous members asked Kref for help on personal projects. He prepared a bawdy book cover satirizing my first book, showing a scantily clad woman posing on top of Mount Rainier. I used the parody as my sig until Peegs asked me to take it down. (boobs may have been too large). I’m not aware of Kref ever turning anybody down.

As Kref and I both had free time, we burned up phone lines night and day. If my wife heard me laughing and saw me on the phone, she’d mouth “Kref?” and I’d nod. She liked Kref too; she loved his cartoons.

Shortly before his death, under Aruss’ guidance, Kref, Club Jockey and I started a serial mystery we planned to post on the OTF. We actually wrote and posted several chapters, with Club Jockey and me alternating chapters, and Kref editing.

I told Kref that if he couldn’t come up and see us, I’d come down and see him. I set up some book store signings around Indianapolis and gave Kref the dates. I’d been invited as a guest of honor at St. Paul’s Italian Festival, and Kref and I decided to meet there, over some good pasta. But he dropped in to see me at the bookstore earlier in the day, and what I saw shocked me.

Kref was a dying man. Rail thin, his pallor was gray. I’d seen the walking dead before — in 80s San Francisco. I know the face of the Reaper.

Almost too weak to stand, there was no way Kref would survive St. Paul’s. So I sent him home, to rest, hopefully to sleep.

Shortly after that, my wife and I moved to Arizona. Kref and I stayed in touch, even though his OTF activities had fallen off. On every call, Mike would complain about how tired he was and how difficult caring for his ninety-nine year old father had become. Mike’s sleep was becoming erratic, and he feared caring for his father would kill him. But he would not see a doctor.

We’d only been in Arizona a month when Eric, Kref’s son, called me with the bad news. Kref had passed away. I think it was cancer, but if Kref knew he had cancer, he’d never mentioned it to me.

With Kref’s passing, I lost interest in my daily OTF activities. I rarely post now, preferring to lurk. Also about the same time, Club Jockey disappeared. I don’t know if Kref’s passing played any role in Jim’s decision to leave or not. I haven’t asked him. But for me, every time I look at the AOTF now, there are two big holes. One is Andy; the other is Kref.
Thanks for posting this. I was reading some of your stuff in the Legendary Threads Forum. You don't know Dick had me laughing. A lot. Just great writing. Thanks for all of that as well. I wish you posted more, but I certainly understand.
 
Kref my BFF? How so? I met the man only once and sent him directly home.

I met Kref in the wee hours of the OTF morning, when just about everybody but Aruss, Kref and me were asleep. Kref was a professional cartoonist, who’d worked mostly freelance but had put comics in such prestigious magazines as PLAYBOY and THE NEW YORKER. But he was retired now and felt left behind as the science behind cartooning had changed, and Kref hadn’t the resources to keep up.

It was a short relationship, lasting only five years, but in that time Kref and I became close friends, BFFs if you will.

We had a lot of fun. Kref was probably the best humor writer on the board, and his cartoons regularly opened the OTF morning shift. When Davis got fired, Kref dreamed up and prepared buttons for each member’s candidate. Numerous members asked Kref for help on personal projects. He prepared a bawdy book cover satirizing my first book, showing a scantily clad woman posing on top of Mount Rainier. I used the parody as my sig until Peegs asked me to take it down. (boobs may have been too large). I’m not aware of Kref ever turning anybody down.

As Kref and I both had free time, we burned up phone lines night and day. If my wife heard me laughing and saw me on the phone, she’d mouth “Kref?” and I’d nod. She liked Kref too; she loved his cartoons.

Shortly before his death, under Aruss’ guidance, Kref, Club Jockey and I started a serial mystery we planned to post on the OTF. We actually wrote and posted several chapters, with Club Jockey and me alternating chapters, and Kref editing.

I told Kref that if he couldn’t come up and see us, I’d come down and see him. I set up some book store signings around Indianapolis and gave Kref the dates. I’d been invited as a guest of honor at St. Paul’s Italian Festival, and Kref and I decided to meet there, over some good pasta. But he dropped in to see me at the bookstore earlier in the day, and what I saw shocked me.

Kref was a dying man. Rail thin, his pallor was gray. I’d seen the walking dead before — in 80s San Francisco. I know the face of the Reaper.

Almost too weak to stand, there was no way Kref would survive St. Paul’s. So I sent him home, to rest, hopefully to sleep.

Shortly after that, my wife and I moved to Arizona. Kref and I stayed in touch, even though his OTF activities had fallen off. On every call, Mike would complain about how tired he was and how difficult caring for his ninety-nine year old father had become. Mike’s sleep was becoming erratic, and he feared caring for his father would kill him. But he would not see a doctor.

We’d only been in Arizona a month when Eric, Kref’s son, called me with the bad news. Kref had passed away. I think it was cancer, but if Kref knew he had cancer, he’d never mentioned it to me.

With Kref’s passing, I lost interest in my daily OTF activities. I rarely post now, preferring to lurk. Also about the same time, Club Jockey disappeared. I don’t know if Kref’s passing played any role in Jim’s decision to leave or not. I haven’t asked him. But for me, every time I look at the AOTF now, there are two big holes. One is Andy; the other is Kref.

I was lucky enough to have met and hung out with both. And I feel very fortunate to have done so.

I remember the time when IU football was selling some old equipment, uniforms, etc.
Andy had asked me to pick up a couple old uniforms, and I would get them to him. Well, the day I was to drive to Columbus it snowed several inches the night vefore. The roads weren't great but I went anyway.

I guess when something as trivial as a football uniform means a lot to someone, I was more than willing to make the drive, despite that road conditions.

I knew it meant a lot to Andy and his son, and it meant something to me too.
 
  • Like
Reactions: hoosierdug
Kref my BFF? How so? I met the man only once and sent him directly home.

I met Kref in the wee hours of the OTF morning, when just about everybody but Aruss, Kref and me were asleep. Kref was a professional cartoonist, who’d worked mostly freelance but had put comics in such prestigious magazines as PLAYBOY and THE NEW YORKER. But he was retired now and felt left behind as the science behind cartooning had changed, and Kref hadn’t the resources to keep up.

It was a short relationship, lasting only five years, but in that time Kref and I became close friends, BFFs if you will.

We had a lot of fun. Kref was probably the best humor writer on the board, and his cartoons regularly opened the OTF morning shift. When Davis got fired, Kref dreamed up and prepared buttons for each member’s candidate. Numerous members asked Kref for help on personal projects. He prepared a bawdy book cover satirizing my first book, showing a scantily clad woman posing on top of Mount Rainier. I used the parody as my sig until Peegs asked me to take it down. (boobs may have been too large). I’m not aware of Kref ever turning anybody down.

As Kref and I both had free time, we burned up phone lines night and day. If my wife heard me laughing and saw me on the phone, she’d mouth “Kref?” and I’d nod. She liked Kref too; she loved his cartoons.

Shortly before his death, under Aruss’ guidance, Kref, Club Jockey and I started a serial mystery we planned to post on the OTF. We actually wrote and posted several chapters, with Club Jockey and me alternating chapters, and Kref editing.

I told Kref that if he couldn’t come up and see us, I’d come down and see him. I set up some book store signings around Indianapolis and gave Kref the dates. I’d been invited as a guest of honor at St. Paul’s Italian Festival, and Kref and I decided to meet there, over some good pasta. But he dropped in to see me at the bookstore earlier in the day, and what I saw shocked me.

Kref was a dying man. Rail thin, his pallor was gray. I’d seen the walking dead before — in 80s San Francisco. I know the face of the Reaper.

Almost too weak to stand, there was no way Kref would survive St. Paul’s. So I sent him home, to rest, hopefully to sleep.

Shortly after that, my wife and I moved to Arizona. Kref and I stayed in touch, even though his OTF activities had fallen off. On every call, Mike would complain about how tired he was and how difficult caring for his ninety-nine year old father had become. Mike’s sleep was becoming erratic, and he feared caring for his father would kill him. But he would not see a doctor.

We’d only been in Arizona a month when Eric, Kref’s son, called me with the bad news. Kref had passed away. I think it was cancer, but if Kref knew he had cancer, he’d never mentioned it to me.

With Kref’s passing, I lost interest in my daily OTF activities. I rarely post now, preferring to lurk. Also about the same time, Club Jockey disappeared. I don’t know if Kref’s passing played any role in Jim’s decision to leave or not. I haven’t asked him. But for me, every time I look at the AOTF now, there are two big holes. One is Andy; the other is Kref.

I still say the "Olive Horseshoe" is a sexual practice.

Glad you ain't dead Trover.
I've reached the age where, in the last 2-3 years, folks I knew who shouldn't have died.
Makes a fella think he shouldn't waste any more time,
 
I still say the "Olive Horseshoe" is a sexual practice.

Glad you ain't dead Trover.
I've reached the age where, in the last 2-3 years, folks I knew who shouldn't have died.
Makes a fella think he shouldn't waste any more time,

Not dead, just ailing a bit. Attempting to clear ground on my vertical. :cool:
 
Kref my BFF? How so? I met the man only once and sent him directly home.

I met Kref in the wee hours of the OTF morning, when just about everybody but Aruss, Kref and me were asleep. Kref was a professional cartoonist, who’d worked mostly freelance but had put comics in such prestigious magazines as PLAYBOY and THE NEW YORKER. But he was retired now and felt left behind as the science behind cartooning had changed, and Kref hadn’t the resources to keep up.

It was a short relationship, lasting only five years, but in that time Kref and I became close friends, BFFs if you will.

We had a lot of fun. Kref was probably the best humor writer on the board, and his cartoons regularly opened the OTF morning shift. When Davis got fired, Kref dreamed up and prepared buttons for each member’s candidate. Numerous members asked Kref for help on personal projects. He prepared a bawdy book cover satirizing my first book, showing a scantily clad woman posing on top of Mount Rainier. I used the parody as my sig until Peegs asked me to take it down. (boobs may have been too large). I’m not aware of Kref ever turning anybody down.

As Kref and I both had free time, we burned up phone lines night and day. If my wife heard me laughing and saw me on the phone, she’d mouth “Kref?” and I’d nod. She liked Kref too; she loved his cartoons.

Shortly before his death, under Aruss’ guidance, Kref, Club Jockey and I started a serial mystery we planned to post on the OTF. We actually wrote and posted several chapters, with Club Jockey and me alternating chapters, and Kref editing.

I told Kref that if he couldn’t come up and see us, I’d come down and see him. I set up some book store signings around Indianapolis and gave Kref the dates. I’d been invited as a guest of honor at St. Paul’s Italian Festival, and Kref and I decided to meet there, over some good pasta. But he dropped in to see me at the bookstore earlier in the day, and what I saw shocked me.

Kref was a dying man. Rail thin, his pallor was gray. I’d seen the walking dead before — in 80s San Francisco. I know the face of the Reaper.

Almost too weak to stand, there was no way Kref would survive St. Paul’s. So I sent him home, to rest, hopefully to sleep.

Shortly after that, my wife and I moved to Arizona. Kref and I stayed in touch, even though his OTF activities had fallen off. On every call, Mike would complain about how tired he was and how difficult caring for his ninety-nine year old father had become. Mike’s sleep was becoming erratic, and he feared caring for his father would kill him. But he would not see a doctor.

We’d only been in Arizona a month when Eric, Kref’s son, called me with the bad news. Kref had passed away. I think it was cancer, but if Kref knew he had cancer, he’d never mentioned it to me.

With Kref’s passing, I lost interest in my daily OTF activities. I rarely post now, preferring to lurk. Also about the same time, Club Jockey disappeared. I don’t know if Kref’s passing played any role in Jim’s decision to leave or not. I haven’t asked him. But for me, every time I look at the AOTF now, there are two big holes. One is Andy; the other is Kref.

trover . . . Kref . . . hmmm, rings a bell, I guess . . . .
 
Not dead, just ailing a bit. Attempting to clear ground on my vertical. :cool:

For a second there I thought you might be looking off into the distance, getting ready for a confession. Had me worried for a minute . . . .
 
Sope Creek, the body of water feeding Water Cooler link fests? Yeah, I remember.

Me? Linking stuff? You have me confused . . . with Rock. He's still at it . . . I don't have the time to do research these days . . . which means . . .

. . . I have no problem giving an opinion without relying on facts or expertise . . . MTIOTF and Univee are my internet role models.

Nope . . . what I recall about you is that back in the 2004 campaign you essentially said Democrats were all pussies and couldn't be trusted with foreign policy, and I responded with a McNutt internet stare and said in my best Clint Eastwood internet voice "any time, any place, just name it". You were gracious - as usual - and wrote me an email, which I believe I still have on another computer. Want me to look it up?
 
Me? Linking stuff? You have me confused . . . with Rock. He's still at it . . . I don't have the time to do research these days . . . which means . . .

. . . I have no problem giving an opinion without relying on facts or expertise . . . MTIOTF and Univee are my internet role models.

Nope . . . what I recall about you is that back in the 2004 campaign you essentially said Democrats were all pussies and couldn't be trusted with foreign policy, and I responded with a McNutt internet stare and said in my best Clint Eastwood internet voice "any time, any place, just name it". You were gracious - as usual - and wrote me an email, which I believe I still have on another computer. Want me to look it up?
Good lord, will you two just sit down and share a couple of daquiris and do each other's nails already?
 
Me? Linking stuff? You have me confused . . . with Rock. He's still at it . . . I don't have the time to do research these days . . . which means . . .

. . . I have no problem giving an opinion without relying on facts or expertise . . . MTIOTF and Univee are my internet role models.

Nope . . . what I recall about you is that back in the 2004 campaign you essentially said Democrats were all pussies and couldn't be trusted with foreign policy, and I responded with a McNutt internet stare and said in my best Clint Eastwood internet voice "any time, any place, just name it". You were gracious - as usual - and wrote me an email, which I believe I still have on another computer. Want me to look it up?

Some opinions are so pure they need no back up.
Like universal truth, they shine through the cosmos undiluted.
And undetected by the unwashed....
 
Good lord, will you two just sit down and share a couple of daquiris and do each other's nails already?

Beer. Isn't beer the official AOTF beverage? My recollection was we weren't too far apart on many issues. Just typical lawyer-baiting. If Sope ever comes to Tucson, I will welcome him with open arms, no comparison to a Cap greeting intended. I'll even serve him a beer from a Nick's mug, a Frosty, if you will.
 
So glad you posted this, trover. Both because it's great to read about memories with Kref (I remember hearing about the serial mystery at one point) and to see your name again. I saw your reply to another post here recently and was very happy to see you around again. (Or maybe I'm just now paying attention again.)
 
So glad you posted this, trover. Both because it's great to read about memories with Kref (I remember hearing about the serial mystery at one point) and to see your name again. I saw your reply to another post here recently and was very happy to see you around again. (Or maybe I'm just now paying attention again.)

Thank you!
 
Kref my BFF? How so? I met the man only once and sent him directly home.

I met Kref in the wee hours of the OTF morning, when just about everybody but Aruss, Kref and me were asleep. Kref was a professional cartoonist, who’d worked mostly freelance but had put comics in such prestigious magazines as PLAYBOY and THE NEW YORKER. But he was retired now and felt left behind as the science behind cartooning had changed, and Kref hadn’t the resources to keep up.

It was a short relationship, lasting only five years, but in that time Kref and I became close friends, BFFs if you will.

We had a lot of fun. Kref was probably the best humor writer on the board, and his cartoons regularly opened the OTF morning shift. When Davis got fired, Kref dreamed up and prepared buttons for each member’s candidate. Numerous members asked Kref for help on personal projects. He prepared a bawdy book cover satirizing my first book, showing a scantily clad woman posing on top of Mount Rainier. I used the parody as my sig until Peegs asked me to take it down. (boobs may have been too large). I’m not aware of Kref ever turning anybody down.

As Kref and I both had free time, we burned up phone lines night and day. If my wife heard me laughing and saw me on the phone, she’d mouth “Kref?” and I’d nod. She liked Kref too; she loved his cartoons.

Shortly before his death, under Aruss’ guidance, Kref, Club Jockey and I started a serial mystery we planned to post on the OTF. We actually wrote and posted several chapters, with Club Jockey and me alternating chapters, and Kref editing.

I told Kref that if he couldn’t come up and see us, I’d come down and see him. I set up some book store signings around Indianapolis and gave Kref the dates. I’d been invited as a guest of honor at St. Paul’s Italian Festival, and Kref and I decided to meet there, over some good pasta. But he dropped in to see me at the bookstore earlier in the day, and what I saw shocked me.

Kref was a dying man. Rail thin, his pallor was gray. I’d seen the walking dead before — in 80s San Francisco. I know the face of the Reaper.

Almost too weak to stand, there was no way Kref would survive St. Paul’s. So I sent him home, to rest, hopefully to sleep.

Shortly after that, my wife and I moved to Arizona. Kref and I stayed in touch, even though his OTF activities had fallen off. On every call, Mike would complain about how tired he was and how difficult caring for his ninety-nine year old father had become. Mike’s sleep was becoming erratic, and he feared caring for his father would kill him. But he would not see a doctor.

We’d only been in Arizona a month when Eric, Kref’s son, called me with the bad news. Kref had passed away. I think it was cancer, but if Kref knew he had cancer, he’d never mentioned it to me.

With Kref’s passing, I lost interest in my daily OTF activities. I rarely post now, preferring to lurk. Also about the same time, Club Jockey disappeared. I don’t know if Kref’s passing played any role in Jim’s decision to leave or not. I haven’t asked him. But for me, every time I look at the AOTF now, there are two big holes. One is Andy; the other is Kref.
That was really lovely, trover. Good to see you around here.
 
Some opinions are so pure they need no back up.
Like universal truth, they shine through the cosmos undiluted.
And undetected by the unwashed....

Why, thank you for the compliment, MTIOTF. I never expected it from a lily-livered peckerwood like you. :)
 
ADVERTISEMENT