It is with much sadness that I announce the loss of one of my closet friends and a great pulp fan and collector. Jack Hunter Daves, Jr. died on August 22. Some of you may have known Jack by his ebay ID "spookvalley-ranch" or you may have met him at the 2002 or 2003 Windy City Pulp Shows (Jack was the big guy from Tennessee in overalls and in a wheelchair.)

Jack was one of the funniest, most talented people it's ever been my privilege to know, and he had a heart even bigger than his body. An example of this is that because of his health and limited income, Jack only made a few trips per year, and he looked forward to the Windy City Pulp Convention all year long. However, Jack did not attend this year, because just two days before we were due to leave, the father of one of his best friends passed away. Even though Jack had been planning for the trip to Windy City for months, he felt he needed to be there for a friend even more than he wanted to buy pulps.

In addition to being a collector, Jack was also a published writer, and a fabulous songwriter and musician. For more information about Jack here's link to a special tribute that appeared in the "Nashville Scene."

Article in Nashville Scene

"All fled, all done,
So lift me on the pyre.
The feast is over,
And the lamps expire."

So long, Jack.

Randy Fox

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I'm glad you wrote this, Randy. When I first heard the news of Jack's death a few days ago I started to write something here about him but hesitated when I wondered if anyone here would know him besides me. I should have known that Jack had cut a bigger swath through the world than I'd realised.

He was my friend too, even though I only met him on two occassions and then lost track of him so throughly that I just wasn't able to find him again. And now I realise that all I had to do was to mention his name here two years ago! The late Lynn Hickman introduced Jack and me at a Chattacon about 1990. Lynn called me from his room after I'd retired for the evening on the Friday night of that con and said, "C'mon back down here, Curt. There's a fellow here you have to meet." I hauled myself out of bed, dressed quickly and went on down to meet Jack Daves. Big fellow. Maybe 300 pounds of faux-hillbilly wildman in coveralls with one of the sharpest intellects I've ever met. We hit it off instantly and it was close to dawn before I went back to bed that night. The next evening, a small party consisting of me, Jack, Toni Weiskopff, and a couple of other fans explored the nightlife of Chattanooga and thanks largely to Jack, made an impact on Chattanooga that still amazes me. It was just one of those nights.

Saw Jack again at another con where we mostly talked about pulp magazines and old western movies, one of his other passions. He had a think for cowboy actor Buck Jones (who was killed in the diasterous Coconut Grove nightclub fire when he ran back into the flames to save others.) Not long after that I mailed Jack a pulp that I knew he wanted and got back thank you note that somehow seemed to imply that he was embarassed that he had nothing to send me in return. That wasn't important to me, but I realised later that it must have been important to Jack. I never heard from him again. All I have are some imporbable memories, a single letter, and a file of letters and stories that he sent to Lynn Hickman and which I inherited after Lynn's death in 1996. At that time I tried as best I could to find Jack again. No response to any of my letters, and the operator wasn't able to find a Daves in that area (Fayettville, TN?) who knew Jack. So I let it go. I wish now I'd mentioned him before. You might have been able to put me in contact with him again.

Jack was elemental. He was thunder and lightning crackling over a mountain lake on a spring morning. He was a rip-snortin, fire-breathing, larger than life man. He was lashed to the mast of a pirate ship as it sailed grandly into a typhoon with all guns blazing. He was my friend, and I barely knew him.

Curt Phillips

Posted September 10, 2004