A decade ago, John Guldaman’s brother, Jerome, leaped to his death from the top of the parking garage (five stories, I believe), at Fourteenth and Tremont Streets. The view from John’s sixth story workspace at the time–303 W. Colfax–was, yes, the parking garage at Fourteenth and Tremont.
The inevitability that John would follow his brother’s lead and take that same determinable leap to his death a decade later (this past Friday evening), was something that, if any of us had thought much about it, was likely. We, his workmates, came to know John as one traveling through life on a psychical plane quite different, quite strange, quite unsuited for the particular drudgery our little work family slogged through day after day.
And, now that I think about it, John’s twenty-year incumbency with the City and County of Denver constituted, most-likely, the sum-total of structured stability in his life. His job required what all jobs require: commitment to fulfilling the requisites of the said job for which, in return, a paycheck is exchanged. Yes, once he lost that job (caught imbibing during the workday and, consequently, refusing to accept a path to sobriety offered by the city–another structured program), all bets were off or on? as to where John’s future would lead and, of course, end.
The blog John created upon his dismissal from the city is here. This blog–if you’ve got the time and interest–details the opulent self-destruction, the self-torture, the road to ruin, as they say, for John Guldaman. My characterization of John–an attempt to communicate to him that his life did, indeed, have worth and that others were concerned with the destructive path he had chosen to take–is here. Then, of course, finally, the emotionally tinged entries I made when it was likely and certain that John had chosen to end his life.
This, then, ends my entries on John Guldaman.