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Dylan Ravenfox Obituary
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Memories and Condolences
for Dylan Ravenfox
Sponsored by Caroline Ravenfox.
Gary Bartlett
February 3, 2011
'Dylan Ravenfox' - a beautiful name, which just this evening I Googled out of sheer curiosity to see what a former student might be doing now. Only to find that he is gone.
I knew Dylan hardly at all, really. I was teaching at Haverford for just one year, my first real job, fresh out of grad school. A class on my specialization, Philosophy of Mind, wound up with only two students. Dylan was one of them.
I still have his work for the class here in my computer files. He was clever. I remember I thought he was perhaps a little lazy or complacent, because it seemed his papers were promising but never quite fulfilled their promise. Consumed as I was with the topic, it was hard for me to remember that this was a person who probably had plenty of other things in his life that were more important. I knew nothing of his pottery, his love of animals. That makes me sad now, but it's a precious reminder I intend to carry with me in his name: that all the students I see every day all have lives and stories that stretch beyond the walls of the classroom. I didn't know Dylan's story, but I wish I had.
Gary Bartlett
Assistant Professor of Philosophy
Central Washington University
Ellensburg, WA
Misty Myers
November 3, 2010
We didn't know each other for very long, but in that short time you amazed me with your intellect, sensitivity, and maturity. I wish you knew how much you are missed, and by how many people.
Aisha Loeks
November 2, 2010
I miss you. I read the poems and stories you wrote for me and I feel so sad without you here.
Chloe Levenson
September 28, 2010
I can't say I was one of Dylan's good friends, but something pierced my soul when I heard of his passing. As the years have passed after graduation I look back on my experiences at Haverford and look for Dylan because I know he was there. I see us passing one another on the paths at Haverford. He was never one to lower his head and pretend not to see me. He always said hello. I see myself at a table with Dylan and others, one of the small side tables in the dining center and Dylan told me the story of his last name, RavenFox. I see Dylan in our fiction writing class, his short stories always telling the world a deeper story than seemingly appeared on the page. Dylan, although I wish it weren't under these circumstances I thank you for making me realize how much the Haverford community has affected my life and I thank you for making me grateful for each breath I take. You were a humble, yet strong fire with so much influence and power as I can tell from the many lives you were part of.
That fire will never cease to burn.
Beth Begany
September 3, 2010
On Dylan Ravenfox
Dylan arrived at Farm Sanctuary at the beginning of June 2009, heady from just graduating from Haverford. He was young and passionate and full of promise, and he was deeply committed to changing the world for farm animals.
He was also brilliant, kind and talented. Dylan had the most incredible inner voice, which was clear in his writing, which was sometimes beautiful and sometimes dark, reflecting the true nature of the world.
The everyday evils that mark animal agriculture really impacted Dylan, because he was sensitive and kind. His old soul seemed to bear the wounds of someone who has witnessed much more than his age. I recall how he came back from a trip to the stockyard where he reached out to newborn calves slated for veal or slaughter. This strong young man leaned down and let them suckle his fingers so they would at least experience some small measure of human kindness. He told me about it later with tears in his eyes.
All summer, Dylan guided people through the sanctuary, helping them understand the reality of animal agriculture and introducing them to farm animals. He was a strong advocate, and his words were often transformative.
Dylan and I became good friends, and we often had the most wonderful conversations. He had a keen and inquisitive mind, and a quirky sense of humor. It was my privilege to laugh with him and to spend many hours in his company. He often spoke of the travels he planned and what he would do with his life.
It is nothing short of tragic that that life has been cut short, and that his voice is now silent. Our movement is the worse for having lost his compassionate spirit, his zeal, and his bright intelligence.
Dylan touched everyone he met at Farm Sanctuary, and we are so honored to have had him with us for even a short time. His legacy is the many people he inspired to live more compassionately as well as those of us who loved him and will continue this fight in his honor and memory.
If there is a heaven, it is a place of compassion, and our beloved Dylan is there among the other gentle souls for whom he worked so tirelessly.
John Muse
August 26, 2010
• My name is John Muse and I worked with Dylan at Haverford College in the fall of 2008 and spring of 2009.
• First, I want to thank Caroline Ravenfox for her hospitality. For not only welcoming me to her home and into this lovely place and into this gathering of family and friends—I want to thank her also for allowing me to speak, not just for myself, but on behalf of Haverford College, of its communities, academic and other, communities that loved Dylan and continue to love him.
o Gina Delvac…, class of 2009
o I have with me too a brief statement by Kim Benston, Professor of English from Haverford, mentor to Dylan, friend as well.
• Now, the obvious things need to be said even though they’re obvious:
o Dylan was kind, sensitive, insistent, careful, warm, and empathetic.
o And yet he was also impatient, impatient for justice, impatient for understanding, impatient for compassion. He was easily flustered, and cute when flustered and flailing, and terrible in his disappointed. I’ve never felt more humbled, more distressed and weak than when I could detect his disappointment in me, in something I’ve said or done.
o I’ve given you lots of adjectives. But adjectives and descriptions pile up too late, always on top of something mysterious, rich, unfathomable. All these words strain to qualify something unqualifiable: a life, a gift, time. That we shared some time together. That is both what and how I want to remember, how I want to remember him. We shared time and still share it. It’s now ours to care for and cherish.
• Students come and go.
• They mostly go.
• They mostly leave, a few stay in touch, fewer visit. Cards occasionally, less often now, some email, requests for letters of recommendation and professional advice—ok, these happen with regularity.
o But Dylan didn’t leave. We talked, worked together, argued, projected his various futures: graduate school, installation projects, possible publications.
o He didn’t leave.
o And then he did.
o For me, all of a sudden. For Kim Benston all of a sudden. For most of us, all of a sudden.
o Which may be simple ignorance or even an alibi.
o I think to myself, “I let him down. I let everyone down,” and so I pour over his papers and our substantial correspondence, compulsively, not so much looking for the telling utterance—and they’re there, easily seen in retrospect—things I missed, but rather to measure the lapses: what I didn’t say, what he didn’t say, silences, and hesitations.
o But even as I think, “I let him down, I didn’t attend carefully enough to his calls,” I also hear another tense here, another inflection: “Am I letting him down? Am I now in my life and work and teaching, am I now attending carefully enough to his calls, to what he demands of me, still?”
o Dylan Ravenfox isn’t gone—impossible even to say this without putting his name, his lovely name, back into the world. He isn’t gone; he is now the-one-who-will-not-answer. I write; he doesn’t respond. I speak; he doesn’t answer. I want to show him something; he will not see it.
o But into that silence something of him comes nonetheless. I must take his silence and his stillness not for signs of absence at all but for his way of being-present, with me. The burden shifts. It’s with me now. With all of us. I owe him this survival.
• In December he and I and a number of Haverford students worked on a large video installation project together: a one night event in the campus gallery. Afterwards he and I sat at a table, handing a video camera back and forth, recording our thoughts, interviewing one another about the work and the process, playfully and seriously—he did that often, another quality. He was hesitant, somewhat at a loss for words. At one point I saw a few of the other students leaving. The camera jostles as I, holding it, leap up to frame the departing ones. I briefly chat with them, saying goodbye, recording their goodbyes. When I return to the table, now Dylan large in the frame, he smiles and looks into the lens saying, “now that you left, I feel I have so much to tell you.” I said, too quickly, “you missed me.”
o He’s left and now we have so much to say to him. We have so much to say. And we will say it and should say.
Kathryn Montalbano
August 23, 2010
Dylan and I had several classes together throughout our time at Haverford and, as a result, I was fortunate to see him grow rapidly in his intellectual and personal development. Consistently pensive and thoughtful, when Dylan spoke, the entire room listened: every word conveyed passion, brilliance, and deep moral regard to the larger world at hand--a mindset which I think he applied to everything he did. I always admired Dylan for his innate ability to redirect esoteric jargon and ideas to the political and ethical spheres (particularly in the realm of animal rights), thereby constructing a functional bridge to aid those who, lacking human speech, were unable to aid themselves. We should all be so lucky to possess such a selfless and fruitful philosophy of life.
Dylan's beautiful, genuine soul inspired those around him and will continue to do so indefinitely.
God bless you, Dylan, and may you rest in peace.
Kim Benston
August 22, 2010
Dear Friends,
It is one of Dylan’s defining gifts that I can presume to embrace you all as friends on this achingly sorrowful occasion, for his gentle, loving spirit enriched and linked everyone fortunate enough to have been touched by his all-too-brief life. Each of us, I know, has been uplifted by Dylan’s extraordinary creativity and sparkling intelligence, his moral courage and sympathetic imagination, his sly but always compassionate humor … and, certainly, by his wonderful, omnipresent smile, a smile that glowed with an aura both ardent and tender.
I first felt the quickening force of Dylan’s smile several years ago on the first day of my course on Animals in Western Culture, when, early through the opening discussion, a young man suddenly offered a series of breathtaking insights on matters essential to our whole semester’s exploration. I was impressed, but also thrown a bit off balance, as this student––Dylan, of course––was already expressing key ideas that, according to my carefully designed syllabus, were supposed to emerge at the 10-week mark of our collective work. But he spoke with such unassuming eloquence, set off by that self-effacing and winning smile, that I quickly just plunged into the rare delight of knowing that our class had been graced with a magnificently articulate and wise presence, and that I, for one, had met a true intellectual and ethical soul-mate.
Thereafter, our comradeship grew ever stronger through a variety of shared experiences, as did my recognition of Dylan’s astounding breadth of talent and passion. Admiring his brilliant performance in courses; watching him fashion his dazzling senior thesis on language, law, and the expression of pain in human and nonhuman animals; reading and responding to his exquisite poetry and fiction; seeing him emerge as an inventive conceptual artist; and working with him thereafter on collaborative writing projects, I grew close to a man whose ever-growing powers as a thinker, scholar, and artist inspired unlimited hopes for his future, and thus for ours. For suffusing all of Dylan’s intellectual and creative gifts was something far more precious: a keenly penetrating ethical sensibility that, I am convinced, motivated his every undertaking and guided his remarkable, sometimes difficult, passage through the world. That ethical sensitivity expressed itself in myriad ways, but at its core was a true belief in the singular value of every creature, and a complete investment in the liberation of all living beings from the shackles of oppression and the afflictions of conflict and pain.
Such ethical attunement meant that Dylan looked upon the world with a complexity of vision that matched the world’s own often baffling mixture of beauty and confusion. Seeing the world thus is a rigorous and costly discipline. To cite George Eliot, a novelist whom Dylan instinctively adored: “If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.” Dylan, in his soulful empathy, heard that roar, which doubtless hurt him deeply.
But I turn again to that bracing glow of Dylan’s smile, which I’ll remember in so many fetching moments, but none more heartbreakingly precious than when he greeted Sue and me as we arrived to visit him last summer at Farm Sanctuary. The day was already nearly spent, but Dylan, with the quiet enthusiasm that so often leapt within him, was eager to show us all the stations of the farm, at which he seemed to know each and every animal in his or her affecting singularity. Among them, I’ll perhaps remember best the sheep, Dylan’s sheep. I call them “Dylan’s sheep” because, just as these creatures are storied for their ability to recall one another’s faces for years on end, so Dylan knew the sheep with an intimacy as warm as that which he bestowed on us. He recounted each one’s story of travail and transcendence, and also told us—pridefully and, dare I say, a bit sheepishly—about his nights lying among them, which brought him great joy and solace. So I’ll always remember our Dylan, our own wounded and wonderful lamb, sleeping on that peaceful farmland hillside, nestled with his loving creatures, whom he loved so dearly and so well.
Oh, Dylan, sweet, beautiful lad: we love you, and miss you desperately. May the peace you fought to bring others be with you now, and forever.
August 22, 2010
I got to know Dylan when I went to Haverford as a visiting professor in 2006. He was a student in the very first class I taught, and he was the last person I said goodbye to when I went elsewhere in the summer of 2008. In fact, we took a long cross-country drive together as he made his way home after his junior year and I moved on to other things.
When I first encountered Dylan as a student, what immediately struck me was his restless energy, his probing intelligence, and his unblinking eye for the larger picture and the questions that really mattered. Although he was mild and at times almost self-deprecating, he was always full of questions; and he politely but firmly refused to be satisfied with half-answers, or with the convenient slogans by which we in the academic world retreat comfortably into our disciplinary boundaries and thereby conceal the limits of our knowledge. In those early days, I sometimes chastised Dylan gently with what I perceived as his neglect to cultivate a single methodology. As I would pedantically tell him, discipline brings focus and an eventual ability to ask even deeper questions. Little did I know at the time how widely accomplished he already was in so many areas, and how much his restlessness was the product not of dilettantism but of sheer personal intensity and of an intellectual energy that never abated. Much to my later amusement, I gradually came to realize that to different people Dylan was in fact expert in quite different things—an accomplished potter, an instinctive philosopher, a talented poet, and on and on.
It is only with some effort that I can now isolate my initial impressions of him as a student. The reason is not, of course, that his gifts were unmemorable. It is that our relationship quickly left the realm of a simple teacher-student bond. After only a short time, Dylan became my good friend. What I then came to see in him were the qualities that endeared him to all who knew him: his generosity of spirit; his sly sense of humor; his untiring enthusiasm for fresh experiences and new perspectives; his warmth for other people and for all sentient beings; the limitless depth of his passions; and his quiet capacity to see through fakery of any sort. Dylan and I talked for hours about all sorts of things—about relationships, music, intellectual history, and animal welfare. Eventually, our differences of age and of circumstance mattered not at all. I came to see him as a spiritual and an intellectual compatriot, as a confidant, and as family.
In fact, we became so close that he stepped in and helped me through an enormously difficult time in my life – not with admonition and advice but, as was always his way, with gentle compassion, with inexhaustible patience, and with the unwavering presentness of his concern. A long gaze from Dylan, followed by one of his hugs, meant more than a thousand words from anyone else. I desperately wish I could have been there in his times of difficulty as he was there in mine. Most of all, I wish I could simply tell Dylan how much he means to me, and how he’ll be with me throughout my life.
Ravi Sharma
Associate Professor
Department of Philosophy
Clark University
Worcester, MA 01610
August 22, 2010
Caroline Ravenfox
August 19, 2010
I want to tell you that many people came together to make the celebration
> of Dylan's life very beautiful. Friends of his from Haverford and before
> flew in from many parts of the country. It was held at the Randall Davey
> Audubon Center, a bird sanctuary in the hills just as the mountains start,
> in an orchard garden. We had many photos of Dylan's life, from birth
> through Haverford and Farm Sanctuary and on. Dylan's brother Rees opened
> with a story of being with ten year old Dylan on a flat sea off of the
> Carolina coast on surfboards and being surrounded by
> dolphins- and of being beaten in chess by him on the same trip. John Muse
> spoke and read what Kim Benston sent, then Zachary Freeman also spoke and
> read Wallace Steven's "Of Mere Being." I read something Dylan's friend
> Ravi Sharma (professor of Philosophy in 06) wrote for Dylan, Zach read
> Dylan's poem "Vision," 03 and definitely early, but still very right for
> the time. I then spoke only a little, and asked the people who had come
> to honor Dylan to take a moment to experience three things that I
> distinctly felt him tell me were necessary: forgiveness, gratitude, and
> then love. The love in the air was so very palpable. Through it all an
> electric blue dragonfly flew around the people and between the people and
> the podium. I read a very short poem I wrote for Dylan about ten years
> ago. Just as all was done and people were rising from their chairs and
> beginning to speak to one another a stream of wind went roiling through
> us, coming down the hill and
> rising
> up again off the edge, with currents and eddies all through it, playful
> but so intensely powerful it lifted up some of the tethered shade
> umbrellas and moved them. I can't help but feel it was Dylan making his
> presence known in the space we had created for him.
> with love,
> caroline
August 18, 2010
Caroline, we were so sorry to read of Dylan's death. You're in our thoughts and prayers.
Bill, Jody and Matt Thome
Dylan was so kind to animals and loved them dearly
Jennifer L.
August 17, 2010
Becca Pearson
August 16, 2010
Peace, love, healing, kindness...every warm feeling I can share with you Caroline. The animals have a new guardian angel now.
Lia Nydes
August 14, 2010
Dear Dylan,
When I think of you I see your beautiful smile that would light up the room. I love you dylan and will miss you forever. You were an amazing gift to this world. You spread your kindness and grace wherever you went. There are no words to express the sorrow I feel that you are gone. I know that your amazing light is in the most beautiful places of this universe and beyond.
Love forever your cousin,
Lia
Dylan at Farm Sanctuary
Lauren O'Laughlin
August 12, 2010
Dylan, when you walked through the door at VeganHouse last June, I hadn't the slightest idea who you were. But by the end of that summer interning at Farm Sanctuary, I was changed for the better because of you. You taught me to look at the world in a different light, and you helped me not only to be a more effective voice for the animals, but a better person as a whole. Your artistic eye and creative spirit was present in every project and campaign you undertook, and I carefully studied you to bring it into my own efforts as an activist. You will continue to impact me for years to come.
Hearing that you're gone feels unbearable, but I truly appreciate you and everything you've done for social justice movements and the animal rights movement and the number of lives you've touched. Thanks to your devotion, you have helped to change the world.
My heart goes out to Dylan's family, and I am so sorry for your loss. You are in my thoughts.
August 12, 2010
I had the good fortune of living with Dylan for a year. Every time I talked with him I was struck by his heartfelt, understated thoughtfulness. Dylan effortlessly exhibited incredible kindness on a daily basis. So often he reminded me of how I want to act. To Dylan’s family, I can’t think of good words to express, I am so sorry. It is impossible for me to imagine what you are going through but my thoughts are with you nonetheless.
Michael S
August 12, 2010
I hadn't seen Dylan in a few years, but then I saw him again a few weeks ago. I'm glad that I got to spend a little bit more time with him. I'll be thinking about you, Dylan.
Gustavus Stadler
August 12, 2010
I am another of Dylan's former English professors; I taught him his sophomore year. He was a bright, soft-spoken presence in class. Although I never taught him again, I was gratified to watch as his intellectual and political commitments intensified and drew from one another. When I served on his senior exam committee, it was evident that he had become one of our very best students, highly accomplished academically but also an immensely attuned and other-directed person. I feel so fortunate to have had a long conversation with him just a couple of months ago, at this year's graduation reception. My thoughts are with his family and friends.
August 11, 2010
He had a very memorable and beautiful presence and I am thankful that I had the opportunity to know him.
Julian
August 11, 2010
I first met Dylan during my junior year at Haverford when we both took an English class titled "Portraits in Black." I not only enjoyed his insightful and intelligent contributions to the class discussion, but also admired his love for animals and life itself. He struck me as a caring person who exhibited a sense of kindness that made him a wonderful person to talk to and learn from. I am truly saddened to hear this news, especially since he was a fellow English major who deeply loved poetry. I will never forget the bright attitude he brought to class, and will continue to remember how much he touched the lives of many others.
Chris
August 11, 2010
I'll always remember Dylan's thoughtful presence in my freshman writing seminar. I didn't know him that well, but I do know that his intelligence, friendliness and warmth were pervasive on campus. I'd like to send my most heartfelt condolences to his family.
Aryeh Kosman
August 11, 2010
Dylan was never a student of mine, but I read several of his poems, and was moved by them, and was proud to pronounce his name at commencement. I'm sorry I didn't ask for entry to his blog so I could have read more. My condolences to family and friends.
Marcus S
August 11, 2010
I am shocked and sad to hear this. I've gotten to know him as his UCA at Haverford College. As far as I remember, he was one of the nicest and the most grateful people that I have known. I feel sorry that I did not get to know him as well as I should have. I hope he rests in peace. Send all my sympathies to Dylan's Families.
August 11, 2010
I never met Dylan, but I know the effect he has had upon those who knew him... I was a sometime member of the ceramics club at Haverford, and even from only seeing the beautiful pieces he'd thrown, and hearing stories about him from other classmates, I could tell he was something truly special and rare. My condolences and love to his family.
August 11, 2010
Carolyn, I'm very sorry to read of your loss. Its been a long time since I've seen or spoken to you, and I wish this were not the time. My heart goes out to you and all your loved ones. Pat Getz (I was your insurance agent with Ken Truse.)
Deborah Saunders
August 11, 2010
We hold Dylan's family in our thoughts, we hold you in our prayers, we hold you in hearts during this difficult time. We celebrate his life but mourn his leaving the world too soon.
Deborah A. Saunders
Office of the Mullticultural Affairs, Haverford College
Lauren D
August 11, 2010
I remember Dylan teaching me the lindy hop at the Haverford College Swing Dance Society my freshman year. It was certainly the best part of Monday nights at Haverford. Sending my deepest sympathy to all of Dylan's family and friends.
Cup thrown by Dylan, glazed by me.
Casey
August 11, 2010
I never got to know Dylan as I wanted to. I refounded the Haverford Ceramics Club and he contacted me about firing his pieces. They were so beautiful I was afraid I would ruin them somehow, so I waited until we could do it together, sparing me the guilt should something go wrong. Unfortunately we never got the chance and he graduated. I finally decided to fire his pieces and when they continued to sit on the shelves I began glazing them. I gave one to my mother for Christmas and it is beautiful sitting in our home. I'll always be evious of his talent and will be sorry we never connected as we should have.
Jon
August 10, 2010
On behalf of Vegan Outreach, an organization that Dylan volunteered with from time to time, we extend our most heartfelt condolences to the family and friends of Dylan. A champion for the animals was lost and we so greatly appreciate all that Dylan did to make the world a more compassionate and just place.
Jennifer L.
August 10, 2010
I took a pottery class with Dylan in the Spring. He had me think he was an amateur - UNTIL he started throwing GORGEOUS pieces of pottery! Haha! I will miss him VERY much. I was SO saddened to hear about his passing. He was a very beautiful person who loved poetry, reading, drawing, animals and learning about new things. My condolences to his family. I have some of his pottery throughout my house and am happy to be reminded of him everytime I look at the pieces. He will be missed by many, many people who's lives Dylan touched - including mine.
August 10, 2010
One of the sweetest, gentlest guys I've ever met. So much love to his family and friends.
August 10, 2010
I had a couple classes with Dylan in High School, he was one of the kindest and most intelligent people I have ever met. I send love to his family and friends. He was a special person and was cherished my many.
Adele Melander-Dayton
August 10, 2010
I was so sad to hear of Dylan's passing. Such a thoughtful and talented person. I went on my first "date" with Dylan at four or five years old to see White Fang at the Jean Cocteau when we were at Desert Montessori together. My deepest condolences to his family and friends. Dylan, I hope you are at peace.
August 10, 2010
Dylan made us smile. He made us think. He made us better people. He sat at the wheel and popped out an amazing number of incredibly beautiful pieces. When he was a young boy, he created stories we couldn't imagine came from such a young being. We watched him grow. We were honored to be privy to his life.
Dylan, we miss you already.
August 9, 2010
so sorry
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