Burt Schlatter
Artist, Designer, Humorist, Husband, Son, Brother and Lover of Life. Burt performed all tasks with a zeal untainted by technological know-how.
Burt had been an important part of WFMU since 1987. He was the art director of LCD until three issues ago. He designed much of our web site, including the home page and the other top level pages. He designed scores of our program schedules and our annual calendars. He donated tons of money and computers to WFMU over the years, and Burt and his wife lent the station part of the money we needed to buy our building in Jersey City. He also maintained Dorian and Rex's web pages.
Burt was a terrific person with a great sense of humor and intense creative energy. We will miss him, and the station has lost someone who had provided vision and inspiration for the last 15 years.
In Lieu of flowers, donations to the North Shore Animal League:
North Shore Animal League
25 Davis Avenue
Port Washington, NY 11050
(516) 883-7575
Here is a music set that Burt's friend Ken Freedman played for him on his January 24th radio show (Realaudio file).
The following is the eulogy Burt's friend Ben Jackson delivered at Burt's memorial service.
We met in the first grade, and were fast friends, and partners in crime. Recesses were spent sitting in a certain tree in front of school talking and joking while everyone else played football. We were inseparable, all the way to the principal's office. After fourth grade, Burt and Renee had to go to a different school, but we stayed in touch. When we visited each others 92 houses we created legacies of mayhem and destruction that I have yet to live down. After sixth grade, my family moved from New Jersey, and the phone calls and letters dwindled and we fell out of touch. We had one phone call during high school, but we had such different interests and tastes that we were probably equally repelled from each other and no further contact was made during high school.
In late December 1983, I visited another friend in New Jersey while on vacation. At the time I was not going to school, I was working a dead-end job in a computer plant north of Boston and not knowing what to do next. I made a surprise call to Burt one evening, and I drove over. The rather slight wild-eyed kid I left in 1976 was now a strapping six-foot 19 year-old wild-eyed kid in a King Crimson T-shirt and long hair. We clicked immediately. I was excited by his energy, style, creativity and talent, as well as his pursuits at the School of Visual Arts. On new years day I gave him a lift from Randolph to Hoboken, and he showed me his apartment and some of his work. Later that year I applied to SVA, moved into a new apartment with him in July. If it weren't for Burt, I may never have moved to the New York area to do what I really enjoy. He really created the possibility for me.
Over the next decade, Burt and I were again notoriously tight. We collaborated on artwork and comics, we stood by through several girlfriends and would-be girlfriends, We rode and maintained motorcycles together, we went on trips together, we supported, consoled, berated, and laughed at one another. Among other difficulties in life, he had difficulty staying in touch with people. It's no secret that he was trying to work through some difficulties, but the saddest thing is that his life was cut short before he overcame them.
I know that Burt and I once had a conversation about what we'd want for our funerals, but I can't for the life of me remember what he said he wanted. I hope that this isn't too far astray of that. Not that he wasn't comfortable with being the center of attention, but I know that in life, he certainly would have been uncomfortable to have such a diverse group of people gather together to pay tribute to and express their love for him. But here we are. We were all drawn to him for his energy, his intelligence, his talent, and his sense of humor. Sometimes we were exasperated by his hyperactivity, his naked honesty and his irreverence. He was absolutely unique, an acquired taste for some, but he really became an important part of so many of us.
The last thing that I want to say is that in addition to being an exceptional person, he attracted exceptional people. When I look at us as a group, I see a big painful hole in the very center. So let's promise each other to stay in touch with each other and support one another.
Ben Jackson
1/24/2001
Here is a remembrance of Burt by his friend Scott Buckner:
A tribute to a departed friend.
Burt and I met on Monday, November 11, 1974, in Miss Horvath's 5th grade. classroom at Center Grove Elementary School. It was my first day of school in Randolph, and Burt was the first classmate to introduce himself. We sat beside, or opposite, each other in nearly class we attended there.
As boys we spent many hours drawing fantastic creatures and spaceships, and perfecting our signatures. On summer nights we would skygaze, lying on our backs in the dew-covered grass, and using a flashlight to illuminate our glow-in-the-dark constellation dials.
Burt learned at an early age how to embarrass me in public for amusement. Unforgettable are the impertinent remarks during tests, belching in the library, or asking the science teacher whether flatulence was combustible. Burt paid the price for these moments, for example having to, in the 7th grade, write a nonsense sound 250 times on the blackboard after school, and arguing with the teacher about how to spell it. As adults, he would heckle at my musical performances. Once he questioned me before the ticket agents at JFK International Airport whether I had remembered to pack the explosives in the luggage I was about to check in.
In high school, Burt was regarded as a misfit by the classmates, and I turned away from him, in the wishful search for popularity. It wasn't until after high school graduation that we renewed our friendship. In so doing, Burt also saved my life. In the summer of 1984, I had become darkly despairing of my future, and had begun devising the means for my own demise. Burt remained my companion, and during the course of a weekend camping excursion at Sunfish Pond, he rescued me from what seemed an irreversible decline. I will be forever grateful for these acts of loyalty and companionship, and the constant, unconditional support of Ralph, Lee and Renee.
Burt and I were roommates in Hoboken from 1986 to 1993. Our apartment was a canvas for expression, lively and ironic, and a meeting place for our circle of friends. We held life-drawing classes, listened to obscure music, and tossed leftover turkey from the fire escape to the cats who lived in the courtyard below. Burt brewed the finest coffee, and his laughter was as unique as fingerprints.
It would be dishonest to suggest that the familiarity of daily life at 1012 Park Avenue, Apt. 6, did not engender mutual contempt between two young barnstorming, leonine men with provocative attitudes about the world and strong opinions about each other. When we did agree on an issue, we would argue for sport. As much as we may have criticized each other's faults and foolishness, Burt understood me. He recognized the blind spots in my character, and pointed them out with humor and candor.
I have missed Burt since the day we were no longer roommates. The nature of our friendship changed as Burt and I each sought our aims in life. It seemed as if the subtle private vocabulary we once shared was gradually forgotten, and we began to feel uncomfortable finding ourselves in each other=92s environments and circumstances. I last saw Burt on his wedding day, when I was privileged to serve as his best man.
I have a richness of memories of our friendship to cherish. In my grief over Burt=92s death, they compete for my attention, as if I were trying to watch twenty movies at once. I confess it will be difficult for me to avoid feeling angry for not being able to see him one last time, and to tell him I will always regard our friendship as unique and special.
I am a witness to all Burt was, and could be...
Sincerely, Scott Buckner
24 January 2001
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