A friend for years, a fine poet in his own “write” wrote me yesterday asking if the David Bishop noted in the State Journal-Register obituaries September 7 was the same one he remembered as being a major player, a major asset to a group of Springfield, Illinois poets about 10 year ago. My friend Joe included a link to the S J-R obit, and I’ll wager anyone reading this post can find it was well at www.sj-r.com.
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David Bishop and I have not crossed paths in about 10 years. We met in the early 90s when he was working with Melissa Sullivan of Petersburg, Illinois, producing a poetry and essay/short story anthology Sounds of the Sangamon that was the best publication of its kind I had seen . . . . . update: have seen. It included the works of many fine writers from central Illinois, and the following year’s production included some of the Springfield set, including me. Bob Bartel was president of Poets & Writers Literary Forum (of Springfield) at the time.
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Dave Bishop and I became friends fast. He was a farmer from Atlanta, Illinois and used to fly airplanes for a living, particularly Colonial Skimmers, later produced as Lake Buccaneers. He wrote exceedingly well of the nature around his farm and the village of Atlanta. His photographs taken in that area were as revealing as his prose and exquisitely crafted poems. One of his first books, The Red Buffalo, a folktale of pioneer life in central Illinois was a prose tome about the land. I purchased it and every other book he published during the years I called him friend.
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When I was invited to appear on the taping of a locally produced TV show about poetry hosted by Peg Knoepfle, I was also invited to invite a second poet. Peg would tape two 1/2 hour programs at the University of Illinois Springfield Access 4 studios. She promised copies to both of us after the shows aired.
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After the tapings, Peg, her husband John, David and I had dinner at Gabatoni’s by the tracks in Springfield. It was a festive occasion: the show had gone well, and I’d be celebrating my birthday the next day. Peg promised to send us tapes of the show, and though mine arrived in due course, the convivial host told me what she sent to David came back as undeliverable.
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When David and I met again, I gave him my tapes, which he said he would copy and return. Despite a few attempts to bring about return of those tapes in following months, it did not happen, and we have not communicated since, to the chagrin and disappointment of yours truly and his sister Jennifer Bishop-Jenkins who remains a cherished friend to this day. As I write this post, Jennifer is in South Korea, speaking to a humanitarian conference about universal banishment of the death penalty. That — as we say in rural Illinois — “is a whole nuther story!” I applaud her effort!
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My friend Joe noted the David Bishop who died recently in Taylorville was 70 years old. The age didn’t ring right with me, and after further looking back on my friend David Bishop, realized it was highly unlikely Atlanta David would ever have become a Taylorville David.
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Besides, the fellow with the obit of a few short lines was David E. Bishop. My 
friend was David A. Bishop.
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Live long . . . . . . . . . and proper.
