Barry Bard

I hardly know what to say about Barry's passing.
We've all known he was ill with pancreatic cancer since LepreCon.
He shared a room with Greg Brown and I at TusCon last year - when he knew things were not right but had not yet been diagnosed.
Barry was one of the first people I met in fandom here in Arizona, and there were times when he and I were pretty close because we were both book dealers. He did a lot to show me the ropes, to introduce me around, to help me get involved with fandom.
We had really met for the first time at CopperCon 6 in 1986.
I remember going to Universe 87 at the LA Airport Hilton and having a dealers table right in front of Barry's - back in the days when his mother attended the conventions with him.
As most of you may know, I am neither shy nor reticent. But the first panel I ever did at a convention was a panel on collecting books, and my fellow panelists were Barry Bard and Bruce Farr. I remember it very well because it was a panel on which I could not get a word in edgewise.
Through all the years I owned Adam's Bookstore, first on Cave Creek Road, and then down at Tower Plaza Mall, Barry was one of my key book suppliers.
But, in fairness, Barry was not an especially close friend - any more or less than he was the friend of thousands of other people in fandom.
We didn't call each other when we had flat tires. We didn't go out to bars together. We didn't double date.
Barry couldn't have spent that kind of time with me.
Barry had a lot of friends, and he spent a bit of time with all of us.
But I always enjoyed Barry. I identified with Barry. I was always pleased to see him and to have a moment to talk with him. But even when we had a little time to just sit and chat, his mind was busy with a thousand other tasks.
Barry had cornered the market on energy. The man was a dynamo, a brash, humorous, caring, responsible, intelligent bundle of everything good in fandom.
I will never - for the rest of my days - attend a convention without thinking fondly of Barry. And conventions in general - let alone our local conventions - will be less rich, less memorable without him.

I know that there are those who will step in to fill the gap - to try to honor his memory by helping to fill the empty place and do what they can. The task is a big one.
When I look around my house, I see little reminders of Barry everywhere - a pin, a button, a ballcap, a tee shirt, a gigaw promoting something or other.
I collect original art and books, so the one thing I didn't ever have much interest in was movie posters - not that they aren't cool, but because there is no wall space in my house. But I don't think I will ever see a movie poster without thinking of Barry. I shudder to think of how many tons of oversized paper the man hauled across the country.
Locals who did not know him well probably have no idea how his passing impacts conventions from coast to coast. He was, it seemed, everywhere - from DragonCon to World Fantasy to World Horror to ComicCon. He was not just our procurer - he was The Procurer.
I called him right after LepreCon when I first heard how serious his illness was.
I sat with him briefly at Breakfast at CopperCon just last month.
No matter his diagnosis, he remained Barry, coping with adversity, undaunted by seemingly hopeless odds. His only concession was admitting that CopperCon would probably be his last con actively in the dealers room.
I miss him.
I know his pain is ended.
All I can do is offer my prayer that he has graduated from this life into another challenging realm where his boundlessly energetic spirit will have worthwhile and meaningful new tasks to perform and where even angels will be impressed.
There could be only one.
Adam Niswander
Phoenix, Arizona
October 7th 2005