David Duvall, May You Fly With the Angels

We were supposed to have a mango smoothie last Saturday at noon. He canceled pretty much at the last minute, apologizing that he was recovering from passing a kidney stone and needed to rest. He was chipper, and his last words were, “Enjoy your sister!” with a big heart. David Duvall died 72 hours later.

When I think of his passing, another loss, another thing in MY life I won’t get to experience like his fascinating Composer Series, which premiered ten days ago at the Arte Vallarta Theatre. Music drove David Duvall’s life; he loved the old guys with reverence, which made him dig deeply into their lives to discover why the Gershwins wrote music one way and Burt Bacharach another. Out of that curiosity came his Composer Series.

I was taken with how well David wrote and invited him to become a weekly contributor to the Vallarta Mirror; I have one long unpublished column in the archives that I will split up over the next couple of weeks.

He lamented often about the ethereal quality of music in the arts – a book can be held and reread, a painting can be looked at or not, but it’s there. If music is not played and listened to, it dies. It was David’s purpose in life to see that never happened.

David was his wife Penny’s sole caregiver. She cannot live alone; I am sure their children will arrive soon to help her manage the difficult details that have to follow.

Take care of one another and make sure your affairs are in order. I will let Bob Bruneau, a dear mutual friend, and Piano Man who will miss an impending dinner date with David and Penny, have the last say. “David, may you fly with the angels, make beautiful music on the other side, and find eternal rest.”