My trio has become a quartet.

A legend has joined my elite trio.

On Saturday 11th January at 22h48 my father-in-law, Dov Fedler, finally laid down his pens and brushes and joined family and friends waiting to welcome him.

Given his obsession with time and dates, he might have been peeved that he missed his 85th birthday by 10 days!

As an aside, he was still wearing his watch when I left him for the final time on Saturday afternoon. He always made certain that his watch was accurate to the second and I could not help but notice that at 16h00 his watch was showing 22h45…almost the time of his death! Was that some sort of sign that I missed?

When he died I was at home and had to drive the 30 minutes to where he spent his last 3 months. It was only as I approached Golden Acres that I realized that the music playing on my car radio (so not my choice) was an instrumental version of  “Stairway to Heaven”. Another sign?

And as I drove into the grounds I remembered that we had shared a comment several years ago about there being a “Stairway to Heaven” but there was a “Highway to Hell”.

I do know which path he took on his final journey.

For over 50 years, he was a towering presence at The Star newspaper, and South Africans and fans worldwide admired his work. Dov didn’t just draw cartoons; he sketched the soul of a nation, one sharp, witty stroke at a time.

I’ve been lucky to know him not just as a man whose work I have admired since 1979, but as someone who has been part of my life for the past two decades.

First, as the father of my then girlfriend—his eldest daughter—and when Carolyn and I married in 2007, my father-in-law.

I met him in April of 2004 and my Dad died in October of that same year, so I suppose unknowingly he slid into that role for me.

Our conversations were never boring—how could they be when Dov was involved? Whether we were discussing art, life, or the punchlines to the same jokes we both knew by heart, he brought colour, humour, and insight into every exchange.

Dov was larger than life in every sense. His legacy is etched not just in ink but in the hearts of everyone he touched through his cartoons, his books, and his incredible spirit. He had a knack for finding the humour in the mundane and the profound in the ridiculous.

I’ll always remember our shared jokes—he’d start, I’d finish, or vice versa, and we’d still laugh like it was the first time we’d told them.

“Rabbi who?” will never be the same without him to deliver that punchline.

Dov, you’ve left physically, however, you will live on in your art, your stories, the laughter you inspired and your wisdom, wit, and warmth.

This Woody Allen quote was one of his favourites…

“I’m not afraid of death; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”

Of all my mentors, it has been Dov who has taught me the most about the process of dying.

In all the other cases, I was there after they had died.

My Dad died suddenly and unexpectedly at 01h00 in a hospital in Port Elizabeth (I was in Johannesburg)

I read about Mervyn’s death in the obituary column of a local newspaper while I was on air presenting a radio show. (My controller had to cut to an ad break and several minutes of music while I composed myself)

And I got a call from John’s wife after the mortuary van had been and gone. Also an unexpected death.

But with Dov it was different.

I sat by his bed in the final 3 weeks of his life, either holding his hand or gently stroking his arm and watched as he cycled in and out of slipping away. There were good days and less good days, but we all knew what the inevitable outcome would be…

So what did I learn?

I learned that the dying process is a profound and inevitable part of the human experience. Those final weeks were filled with deep emotions and reflections that were often difficult to comprehend. I kept having to ask myself  “Whose need is this”? when I had a question that I thought might require an answer.

Life and death are two sides of the same coin. Just as birth is celebrated and revered, death too needs to be acknowledged as a natural and intrinsic part of the life cycle of every sentient being. And while the former is seen as joyous, the latter, for some reason, is seen as frightening.

One of the most crucial lessons I learned was to respect the dying process by preserving Dov’s dignity and autonomy. It was essential to honour his end-of-life wishes whatever those were. Medical interventions or pain management had to be decided by qualified medical personnel and not by those who were emotionally invested.

I believe that this respect for his choices upheld his sense of identity and control, even as his physical condition deteriorated.

The one characteristic of his that was with him to the end was his sense of humour.

Although his speech had become difficult to understand he said quite clearly at one point “Before you bury me”… I leaned in and asked him what he wanted me to do. “Get me some water, a coke, coffee and jelly with custard” was the retort said with a slight smile.

That was a good afternoon…

He was also capable of letting us know when we were talking too much or he wanted music or just to be quiet. And we respected those requests as best we could.

By embracing a respectful approach to his dying I believe it ensured that the final chapter of his life was as dignified, meaningful, and compassionate as possible.

I ended all my visits with “I love you” and a gentle kiss on his forehead. I will remember and cherish those moments.

Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your final journey. It was a privilege.

It would be remiss of me not to pay tribute to his carers who were with him at the very end. Nomusa, Bridget and Caroline. Bless you all for being in his life.

 

 

 

This was Dov’s final cartoon… Drawn in July 2024.

When I asked him to sign it for me, he questioned why I was making a fuss about him and his work.

I don’t believe that he fully comprehended the effect his work had on me over the years, even before I joined the Fedler family.

And so I bid him a fond farewell as he begins the next part of his journey, surrounded by all his family and friends that have preceded him.

And in saying farewell, I am reminded of this poem:

The Dash

by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend

He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning…to the end.

He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke the following date with tears,

but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time that they spent alive on earth.

And now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own – the cars…the house…the cash.

What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash.

So, think about this long and hard.

Are there things you’d like to change?

For you never know how much time is left that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough to consider what’s true and real,

and always try to understand the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger and show appreciation more,

and love the people in our lives like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile, remembering this special dash might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read with your life’s actions to rehash, would you be proud of the things they say about how you spent YOUR dash?

And I certainly do not doubt as to what Dov did with his dash.

Dov’s departure got me reassessing the roles that these 3 men played in my life.

I often think about them when alone on a road trip where the road is long and straight, like this stretch of road between Upington and Pofadder. And as we are all aware, life cannot be lived in a linear fashion.

And now the trio is a quartet.

 

 

 

My Dad certainly gave me a good grounding in various life lessons. Having spent 36 years with the same company he could not understand my reasons for changing jobs every couple of years! That aside he was always supportive of whatever I undertook.

I never heard my Dad swear in all of the adult years we shared. Yet once when I asked him about a particular person who featured in his business life, he used two words in a single sentence that almost caused me to crash my car (I was taking my parents back to the airport or the train station)

But that was my Dad. The epitome of a gentleman…he never used either of those words in front of me again.

He also was instrumental in making certain that my future was secure by insisting that have a “proper job” to fall back on…just in case. I am forever grateful to both my parents for insisting on that choice.

The job in question was completing an electrical apprenticeship with what used to be called the South African Railways and Harbours, between 1971-1975.

I found my letter of resignation from the SAR&H recently and it is dated the 30th of August, 1975. Almost 50 years ago!

He gave me my love of theatre…and I was glad that he got to see me performing as a stand-up comedian even though he might not have approved of all my material.

He got to see me perform in tights in a Shakespearean production at the Port Elizabeth Opera House…
I have fond memories of his laugh which in one particular instance stopped a show at the Feather Market Hall in Port Elizabeth. The actors started laughing with my Dad and had to ask him to tone down his laugh so that they could continue with their performance!

After the show, we went backstage when joviality was shared by all. And if memory serves me, my Dad stayed in contact with at least one of the cast members for many years.

My Dad dies like he lived and after suffering 2 massive strokes at 21h00 in October 2004, he diew some 4 hours later without regaining consciousness. I would like to believe that he went in a fashion where he would not be a burden to family members who would have to look after him.

I miss him every day.

This poem was recited at my his memorial. It still resonates with me almost 21 years later.

DEATH IS NOTHING AT ALL.
by Canon Henry Scott Holland.

Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped into the next room.
I am I, and you are you,
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name,
Speak to me in the easy way you always used.
Put no difference into your tone,
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as you always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me…
Pray for me.
Let my name be the household name it always was,
Let it be spoken without effect,
Without a trace of shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant,
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolutely unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of your mind, because I am out of your sight?
I am but waiting for you for an interval,
Somewhere very near…
Just around the corner.
All is well!

 

I met Mervyn when I did a Dale Carnegie course in 1982. He was the inventor(together with Beryl, his wife) of Flight hand-cleaner.

The most positive person I have EVER known, he was the living embodiment of the adage “In every crisis there is opportunity”.
No matter what the challenge he always looked for reasons to try again rather than give up.
He also taught me to draw up “For” and “Against” lists for every major decision I needed to make and then go with whatever came out on top.

Trust the process was his mantra and I have tried to do exactly that.

 

One of the very few images that I have of myself in a suit, used here as a tribute to Mervyn
who was my business mentor.
Even when he discovered he had cancer he never gave up and until his last breath, he believed that he had beaten it.
My corporate working life(short as it was) is a testament to what Mervyn taught me.

Mervyn and I also participated in Comrades Marathons, Iron Man competitions and one year we attempted the Duzi Canoe Marathon.

Neither of us finished that event, but in typical Mervyn tradition, he went back the following year and completed it. ( I never went back as my training partner emigrated to Australia and I was too lazy to try and find a new one.)

My long-time friend and the man who knowingly/unknowingly placed my feet on the career path I  found myself on for the longest time.
Our friendship started at the Opera House in Port Elizabeth in 1972 and continued when John and his family followed me to Johannesburg in the mid-70s.
I have so many stories of my time spent with John and the family that I could fill a book.
Never judgmental he was the voice of reason for me and his family home was a haven when reality got too harsh and I needed to hide and have coffee.
And he taught me to build shelves…

John was instrumental in getting me my first job as a TV floor manager
on the Miss World pageant in 1992.
John and I presented a country music radio show together on a now-defunct community radio station that became the beginning of my radio career that spanned almost 30 years.
It was John that gave me my love of country music and he was the reason that I went to Nashville, not once but twice.