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A Farewell
a year ago
Everybody knew him as Taral. It wasn’t his real name.
It was a nom de guerre.
His real name was Wayne MacDonald.
He did not hate his real name, no.
He just felt it was too mundane, that’s all.
So, he came up with Taral.
Taral is from a language he invented called Siroihin.
Siroihin was spoken by the Kjola, an extraterrestrial race he created.
The Kjola were humanoids with silver fur and blue tinged arms and legs.
They had pointed, almost squirrel-like ears, short muzzles instead of protruding human noses, and were so technologically advanced that their science seemed like sorcery.
Saara Mar was their representative on Earth.
Saara Mar was young, slim, and honestly cute. Her mane was cut into a page boy bob. She wore a short simple sliver tunic, and walked barefoot. She could work miracles.
She was Taral’s alter-ego.
He often talked about doing comics or a graphic novel featuring her.
He never did. I think she meant too much to him to expose her to readers that way.
She was a personal thing to him, a very personal thing.
She was part of a World he’d built for himself, one that he’d share, but only a very few were ever invited in for an intimate visit.
I was one of those few.
Taral drew Saara Mar as mischievous, mysterious, sometimes painfully down-to-earth, but always elegant.
She was elegant, but everything Taral drew was elegant, even his cartooning.
He was an exceptional draftsman, and was a professional illustrator, though not in the Science Fiction field.
We all thought he’d be drawing for Analog, or Isaac Asimov's, but it didn’t happen.
He drew fanzine fillos, instead.
He should’ve gotten the fan art Hugo. He was nominated several times but never won.
He did get the Rotsler, though, back in 2008. That was his accolade, science fiction fandom acknowledging his talent.
Given his exceptional drawing skill, I’d sometimes wondered why he liked my cartooning.
He thought my drawings were unique- Funny, personal, eccentric. and sometimes with a sharp, stinging edge to them.
Kinda like myself as a person.
Kinda like him, too.
We met at the Phoenix Worldcon back in 1978, the first Worldcon I ever attended.
There’s a story about that I’ll tell you later.
Taral and I hit it off and became fast friends.
How do you define a friendship like ours?
In a way we were an odd couple.
An oddball couple.
I was bumptious, he was quiet.
I was a clown, he was a wit- sometimes.
I was uncertain, he was sure.
We had our ups and downs as friends.
I was cheerful, he was cranky.
I was cranky, he was cheerful.
We got on each others nerves,
but we always enjoyed each others company.
We were opposites that somehow got along.
And maybe more importantly...
...He stood by me when I went out of my head.
I stood by him when his life went through a rough patch.
To each other, we were the loyal brothers we both never had.
It was that kind of relationship.
We lived thousands of miles apart, but distance wasn’t a problem.
If we weren’t writing to each other, we were talking on the phone long distance.
It was a regular thing with us.
And we saw a lot of each other, too.
He’d fly out here to see me and attend cons, mostly furry ones.
He was a founding father- well, maybe founding uncle- of so-called Furry Fandom.
I’d go visit him in Toronto.
Sometimes I’d drive, sometimes I’d fly, and once I took the bus.
In Canada, we took long walking tours here and there. I got to experience a lot of Toronto thanks to him, and saw why he loved his hometown. Once, when I had my car with me, we toured Ontario, going as far as our money would let us. We enjoyed it, and I’ll always regret not being able to see more of Canada, but thankful I did get to see and enjoy what I did.
When he was down here, we’d go all over California, driving around Hollywood where he met Jay Ward, going to Yosemite, hiking up Whitney Portals trying to reach the summit of Mount Whitney only to have the thin mountain air send us gasping back down to where we could easily breath; seeing Death Valley, touring Bodie, my state’s best preserved ghost town, going up to the Gold Rush Country, taking in San Francisco, and, the last time I’d see Taral, driving up to the Reno Worldcon in Nevada in 2011.
We’d have long conversations about everything. Our talk was eclectic. He was an autodidact in some ways, and he always had something interesting to say.
I’d introduce him to my friends.
Sometimes he came across as cold or arrogant.
That was a shy man’s defense. Sometimes meeting strangers overwhelmed him. He wasn’t certain what to do or say.
Mostly he was diffident.
But once he was sure of himself and the situation, he warmed up and was friendly. People liked him.
He was a good guy.
Sadly, he didn’t take care of himself.
When I first met Taral, he was suffering from kidney stones.
Over the long years he suffered minor heath problems.
Middle age hit him hard.
He stopped walking regularly.
He didn’t watch his diet.
He got flabby.
He became inactive.
In 2011, he had a stroke.
At the time, I was calling him regularly to talk.
My phone service gave me unlimited long distance.
His speech was slow, and sometimes he slurred his words, but he was still mentally sharp, and would joke about his infliction.
Sometimes we’d talk about our mortality.
He would tease me bout dying, about what would happen to his estate after he died.
I was concerned his creative life would end up in a landfill. He chuckled about that. If he was dead, he wouldn’t care about it, so why would anyone else?
Thankfully, a lot of his friends did care.
Taral did not die lonely and forgotten.
He had friends and family.
They were looking out for him.
He had no written will, but told his sister that he wanted her to get his estate.
He was active until the unexpected end.
It came like the cliche thief in the night.
Sixteen days ago, a heart attack claimed him.
It was probably quick and painless.
He was cremated and niched with his mother’s ashes.
Because Taral had lived under the Ontario Housing Authority, his apartment had to be immediately vacated. It was on a waiting list.
He lived in the Toronto version of The Projects.
His friends pitched in and moved everything out asap.
His life did not end up piled on the sidewalk awaiting the garbage truck.
It was saved. All of it.
His books, cds, comics, toys, etc, will probably be sold and the money given to his sister. His furniture and clothes will go to charity. And his personal items his sister will collect.
His fanzine collection, artwork, writing, and correspondence will probably be donated to the Merril Collection, a science fiction archive at, I believe, the University of Ontario, Toronto, established by writer Judith Merril.
Taral was an important science fiction fan- A BNF (Big Name Fan), and the University would be interested in his personal files. Lord knows, his fanzine collection alone would've been enough to pique their attention- Unless he sold them off, he had rare fanzines going as far back as the 1930s. I remember him showing them to me, and I was impressed. He had complete sets of famous fanzines, both sci fi and furry, and they should be made available for research.
That should be his legacy.
And there should be memorial books published of his artwork and writing.
Taral was an excellent writer, and a collection of his essays would be enjoyable to read.
Maybe a memorial website will be established for him, displaying his talents.
Our creativity is our immortality.
Maybe the only immortality.
Where does Mister Grim send us to in the end?
Paradise?
Punishment?
Oblivion?
I don’t know.
And I’m not eager to find out, either.
Anyway-
I have no idea what Taral's friend’s are going to do.
I’m out of the loop, thousands of miles away.
I can only suggest things and hope for the best.
So...
Taral’s gone.
There’s a hole in my life.
There’s a hole in his sister and friend’s lives, too.
Damn...
Well, Walt Kelly once said that you only keep something for a while, then you give it back.
How long that while is depends on Fate.
I was lucky to have Taral’s friendship for as long as I did.
Lucky and grateful that I had it.
Fare thee well, good buddy, Fare Thee Well.
As for us, the still living-
Treasure your friendships
and seize the day
against that unavoidable appointment
with lurking Mister Grim.
---Schirm, August 16th, 2024
It was a nom de guerre.
His real name was Wayne MacDonald.
He did not hate his real name, no.
He just felt it was too mundane, that’s all.
So, he came up with Taral.
Taral is from a language he invented called Siroihin.
Siroihin was spoken by the Kjola, an extraterrestrial race he created.
The Kjola were humanoids with silver fur and blue tinged arms and legs.
They had pointed, almost squirrel-like ears, short muzzles instead of protruding human noses, and were so technologically advanced that their science seemed like sorcery.
Saara Mar was their representative on Earth.
Saara Mar was young, slim, and honestly cute. Her mane was cut into a page boy bob. She wore a short simple sliver tunic, and walked barefoot. She could work miracles.
She was Taral’s alter-ego.
He often talked about doing comics or a graphic novel featuring her.
He never did. I think she meant too much to him to expose her to readers that way.
She was a personal thing to him, a very personal thing.
She was part of a World he’d built for himself, one that he’d share, but only a very few were ever invited in for an intimate visit.
I was one of those few.
Taral drew Saara Mar as mischievous, mysterious, sometimes painfully down-to-earth, but always elegant.
She was elegant, but everything Taral drew was elegant, even his cartooning.
He was an exceptional draftsman, and was a professional illustrator, though not in the Science Fiction field.
We all thought he’d be drawing for Analog, or Isaac Asimov's, but it didn’t happen.
He drew fanzine fillos, instead.
He should’ve gotten the fan art Hugo. He was nominated several times but never won.
He did get the Rotsler, though, back in 2008. That was his accolade, science fiction fandom acknowledging his talent.
Given his exceptional drawing skill, I’d sometimes wondered why he liked my cartooning.
He thought my drawings were unique- Funny, personal, eccentric. and sometimes with a sharp, stinging edge to them.
Kinda like myself as a person.
Kinda like him, too.
We met at the Phoenix Worldcon back in 1978, the first Worldcon I ever attended.
There’s a story about that I’ll tell you later.
Taral and I hit it off and became fast friends.
How do you define a friendship like ours?
In a way we were an odd couple.
An oddball couple.
I was bumptious, he was quiet.
I was a clown, he was a wit- sometimes.
I was uncertain, he was sure.
We had our ups and downs as friends.
I was cheerful, he was cranky.
I was cranky, he was cheerful.
We got on each others nerves,
but we always enjoyed each others company.
We were opposites that somehow got along.
And maybe more importantly...
...He stood by me when I went out of my head.
I stood by him when his life went through a rough patch.
To each other, we were the loyal brothers we both never had.
It was that kind of relationship.
We lived thousands of miles apart, but distance wasn’t a problem.
If we weren’t writing to each other, we were talking on the phone long distance.
It was a regular thing with us.
And we saw a lot of each other, too.
He’d fly out here to see me and attend cons, mostly furry ones.
He was a founding father- well, maybe founding uncle- of so-called Furry Fandom.
I’d go visit him in Toronto.
Sometimes I’d drive, sometimes I’d fly, and once I took the bus.
In Canada, we took long walking tours here and there. I got to experience a lot of Toronto thanks to him, and saw why he loved his hometown. Once, when I had my car with me, we toured Ontario, going as far as our money would let us. We enjoyed it, and I’ll always regret not being able to see more of Canada, but thankful I did get to see and enjoy what I did.
When he was down here, we’d go all over California, driving around Hollywood where he met Jay Ward, going to Yosemite, hiking up Whitney Portals trying to reach the summit of Mount Whitney only to have the thin mountain air send us gasping back down to where we could easily breath; seeing Death Valley, touring Bodie, my state’s best preserved ghost town, going up to the Gold Rush Country, taking in San Francisco, and, the last time I’d see Taral, driving up to the Reno Worldcon in Nevada in 2011.
We’d have long conversations about everything. Our talk was eclectic. He was an autodidact in some ways, and he always had something interesting to say.
I’d introduce him to my friends.
Sometimes he came across as cold or arrogant.
That was a shy man’s defense. Sometimes meeting strangers overwhelmed him. He wasn’t certain what to do or say.
Mostly he was diffident.
But once he was sure of himself and the situation, he warmed up and was friendly. People liked him.
He was a good guy.
Sadly, he didn’t take care of himself.
When I first met Taral, he was suffering from kidney stones.
Over the long years he suffered minor heath problems.
Middle age hit him hard.
He stopped walking regularly.
He didn’t watch his diet.
He got flabby.
He became inactive.
In 2011, he had a stroke.
At the time, I was calling him regularly to talk.
My phone service gave me unlimited long distance.
His speech was slow, and sometimes he slurred his words, but he was still mentally sharp, and would joke about his infliction.
Sometimes we’d talk about our mortality.
He would tease me bout dying, about what would happen to his estate after he died.
I was concerned his creative life would end up in a landfill. He chuckled about that. If he was dead, he wouldn’t care about it, so why would anyone else?
Thankfully, a lot of his friends did care.
Taral did not die lonely and forgotten.
He had friends and family.
They were looking out for him.
He had no written will, but told his sister that he wanted her to get his estate.
He was active until the unexpected end.
It came like the cliche thief in the night.
Sixteen days ago, a heart attack claimed him.
It was probably quick and painless.
He was cremated and niched with his mother’s ashes.
Because Taral had lived under the Ontario Housing Authority, his apartment had to be immediately vacated. It was on a waiting list.
He lived in the Toronto version of The Projects.
His friends pitched in and moved everything out asap.
His life did not end up piled on the sidewalk awaiting the garbage truck.
It was saved. All of it.
His books, cds, comics, toys, etc, will probably be sold and the money given to his sister. His furniture and clothes will go to charity. And his personal items his sister will collect.
His fanzine collection, artwork, writing, and correspondence will probably be donated to the Merril Collection, a science fiction archive at, I believe, the University of Ontario, Toronto, established by writer Judith Merril.
Taral was an important science fiction fan- A BNF (Big Name Fan), and the University would be interested in his personal files. Lord knows, his fanzine collection alone would've been enough to pique their attention- Unless he sold them off, he had rare fanzines going as far back as the 1930s. I remember him showing them to me, and I was impressed. He had complete sets of famous fanzines, both sci fi and furry, and they should be made available for research.
That should be his legacy.
And there should be memorial books published of his artwork and writing.
Taral was an excellent writer, and a collection of his essays would be enjoyable to read.
Maybe a memorial website will be established for him, displaying his talents.
Our creativity is our immortality.
Maybe the only immortality.
Where does Mister Grim send us to in the end?
Paradise?
Punishment?
Oblivion?
I don’t know.
And I’m not eager to find out, either.
Anyway-
I have no idea what Taral's friend’s are going to do.
I’m out of the loop, thousands of miles away.
I can only suggest things and hope for the best.
So...
Taral’s gone.
There’s a hole in my life.
There’s a hole in his sister and friend’s lives, too.
Damn...
Well, Walt Kelly once said that you only keep something for a while, then you give it back.
How long that while is depends on Fate.
I was lucky to have Taral’s friendship for as long as I did.
Lucky and grateful that I had it.
Fare thee well, good buddy, Fare Thee Well.
As for us, the still living-
Treasure your friendships
and seize the day
against that unavoidable appointment
with lurking Mister Grim.
---Schirm, August 16th, 2024
And outstanding remembrance Schirm. Thanks.
Thank you for writing this down, Schirm. Thank you for being there for him. My condolences.
Seize the day. Indeed. Quite a wake call.
The question is what we take with us from this. Yes, pain is one thing. But also a warmth that they have been there. And me personally? I have neglected my FA account for too long due to RL sucking off energy. Same goes for doodling for fun. Not many folks keep that 90ies style drawing spirit alive these days. This is what I meant with wake call. The fandom is still here. Why haven't I animated in years? Such thoughts came up more pressing ever since Dragoneer and now Taral passed.
Thank you for holding on, even though I can imagine it being hard. And again, thank you for the farewell words above.
He was nominated for the Hugo Award for Best Fan Artist eleven times, from 1987 to 2012. I don't know if they grant posthumous awards, but he's certainly earned one if they do.
I'm very relieved to hear that some of his friends were able to help his sister with emptying out his apartment. I was worried about that. His archives are unique, and definitely deserve to be somewhere accessible to those interested.
I didn't really know him, but we communicated a number of times in the last few years, and he was definitely a really nice guy. I'll miss him, and always be glad for the little that we were able to share.
Didn't know the origin, though. Thanks.
I remember (many) years ago, I complimented Taral on his artwork, noting its simplicity, saying "You make it look easy" or something similar to that. He seemed to take it as a slight or insult, telling me how much he worked and reworked his drawings. I apologized & tried to clarify my admiration of his work & style was for its apparent elegance and economy, with little to no wasted lines. We didn't communicate often, but I think (hope) there was a mutual respect there. I believe Taral might have thought I leaned too heavily on the fanservice and NSFW stuff, as well as my own pop culture interests, which I can't really fault. :)
I only met Taral once, at your place. He seemed like a good sort to me. I liked his art.
My condolences on the loss of your friend.
He could finally do the Saara Mar movie.
Take a while, he and his plastic pal who's fun to be with would eventually heck it out.
Now it cant happen.
Another rock on my mountain of regrets.
I can't think of much else to say, except, "Via con Dios," and dream that his spirit, along with Saara Maar are now standing on the edge of a distant world, looking out to a new, exciting and promising universe.
I hear that his sister wants to dispose of his original art, and I did make tentative overtures via her FB page in the hopes of acquiring a piece or two, but so far no reply... do you think the phrase "limited budget" might have put her off?! Oh, well.
His passing has left a huge hole in my life as well, which is no less real for being virtual. There'll be no more of his art, so we must savour what there is of it. The ripples he made in the world won't fade away for quite some time yet.
Anyway, let me just finish by saying: nice tribute, Schirm.