John Brizzolara passes away

Author John Brizzolara and his son. Remember that life is mostly failure.
  • Author John Brizzolara and his son. Remember that life is mostly failure.

John Brizzolara, a Reader writer from 1989 to 2013, died in his sleep at Father Joe’s Villages on October 11. He was 65. Brizzolara wrote about his struggles with alcoholism and other ailments to which he succumbed. He was the author of the novels Wirecutter and Thunder Moon and he wrote a weekly column, TGIF. To read his work, visit Brizzolara’s staff page or see samples of his essays.

There will be a blessing of John’s ashes on Wednesday, November 2, after the 12 noon All Souls Mass at Our Lady of the Rosary, State and Date streets, Little Italy, followed by 1:00 p.m. gathering of family, friends, fans at the Reader office, 2323 Broadway, San Diego, 92102.

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Rest in peace, Brizz. You had a helluva run, especially given your struggles. I will always remember finding Wirecutter in a library in Michigan, and reading it at one go.

Vaya Con Dios John. Your family loved you, even when it was hard.

Thanks for being my older brother, John -- for turning me on to reading, for supporting my acting and writing, for teaching me that rock music and lyrics can be poetry, and for showing by example that trying to create something can be hard, but can also be done with confidence, elan and fun. Mostly, though, thanks for your kindness. I never once experienced anything less from you. I love you. -- David

My dear tortured brother. If only you realized how loved you were by so many. Your demons were stronger than you and I have mourned that for so long. I treasure our good times. Playing music together and discovering the joys of each other I will always cherish. I truly hope you can rest in peace now bro. I love you.

I've missed T.G.I.F. for a while now. I've also missed those stories about handymen, derelicts and those cut from an odd sort, whose tales were told through a filter of dark flowing ooze. It was never hard to relate to your truths or to find something familiar in your toybox of words that you chose to string together. Their sharp edges delivered with blunt force ( sometimes) . Thanks John. I never met you but I was truly sad when I read that you passed; I'm turning sixty tomorrow, barely outrunning the tall man and his scythe. For whatever it's worth, people you never knew, appreciated you. It doesn't get much better than that.

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