More About Daniel
A friend once described Daniel as the gayest person he ever met. He was dramatic and fierce. He grew up in Grass Valley. His dad owned Arch’s Automotive, an auto repair shop. When he asked Daniel to take over the business, Daniel yelled at him: “Dad! I can’t do it! Look at my hands!”.
His talent as a singer was recognized early. As a teenager he was a member of the Nevada Union high school choir and was later awarded a stipend for advanced voice training. He awoke something in the community that resonated with the love he radiated. One time some kids barged into a choir practice and taunted Daniel. They were quickly chased off by the other choir boys. He loved telling this story as if recognizing for the first time how rooted and supported he was in the community.
Daniel especially loved and adored all women and women adored him back. If a boy made fun of Daniel about his flamboyance there was a good chance the girlfriend would not make time for him the next weekend. You can’t be mean to Daniel – that was the rule.
He loved to make women look good. Eventually Daniel would take over a clothing store on Mill Street in Grass Valley. When tragedy struck and two of his teenage nephews were killed, a sea of flowers built up at the entrance to his store.
As a young man, he found his soulmate, Stewart, a medical doctor considerably his senior. They were together for many years until Stewart passed in 2001. Stewart had significantly built out the emergency room services at Sierra Nevada Memorial Hospital in Grass Valley – which made Daniel as his partner a well-known, well-liked and respected figure with the first responders in the community – another shield of protection and safety. Once Daniel was stopped for speeding in a neighboring community. Daniel rolled down his window and exclaimed: “Officer, can I just tell you how good-looking you are in this uniform!” He was sent off without ticket or warning, just a simple “Oh, get out of here.”
He loved Japanese culture and developed his own line of Kimono-style robes for men which he liked to also wear at home or outings to the river. This love of Japanese culture led him to origami, the art of paper folding. He folded trees, intricate kimonos, sometimes created visual themes like cities, landscapes or movie sets and included accessories like miniature garden chairs. But his trademark figures were cranes in various formations – elegant, sharp and exact. Many of his pieces he gave away as gifts but he also sold them at various venues, including a prominent street fair in Palm Springs. Later he added his line of origami postcards.
He continued to practice his music, produced two CDs and hosted two solo concerts at Peace Lutheran Church in Grass Valley, accompanied on the piano by Ken Hardin, musical director of InConcert Sierra. When our transgender friend Christy Smith passed — known as ‘handy mam’, her own twist on handyman after her transition —Daniel performed Bette Midler’s The Rose at her memorial service. During practice he stopped and did his famous ‘fake cry’: “Hu, hu, I don’t think I can do it!” He wasn’t talking about forgetting the lyrics or sounding flat. He wondered if he could hold it together between true grief and performance. He unified both and taught us the meaning of heartfelt.
His music was beautiful and passionate, his origami art profound, his sense for fashion, style and design impeccable. For his fiftieth birthday party in 2011 he invited fifty of his best girlfriends to celebrate with him. But after Stewart had passed and after the loss of his nephews devastated some of the family ties, these losses eventually took their toll. In time he also acknowledged that the power of his singing voice was diminishing.
It had been Stewart’s job to make money and Daniel’s job to spend it. With Stewart gone the numbers no longer added up. He eventually found a new partner and kept enjoying the company of his many friends but – as he had once ominously confided during one of his beloved hot tub sessions: “I feel like an old soul but may not have a long life.”
Danny ended his life in 2017. Danny’s license plate read ’A HAPPY ❤.’ Making us happy brought him joy; his eyes lit up when he watched us unwrap the gifts he brought. When he left, it hurt – and still does. But he left us with the memory of his authentic and abundant love. His gift was ours to borrow…