Mark Patrick Costello Jr

I am so sorry to read this. My dad, Bob Best, was friends with Mark since kindergarten. He and I kept in contact since my dad´s passing until Mark moved. Sending love and prayers to the Costello family.

In a golden summer of the early 1950s, Mark, Dan Collins, Tom Gallenbach, I, and an assortment of unmotivated young laborers rip-rapped the shoreline of Lake Decatur. A cold brew at the Villa Nova on East Wood ennobled our efforts. Fast forward the years and celebrate Jesuit Father Dan Collins' lifelong calling to Japan, Father Gallenbach's commitment as an Air Force chaplain while I defined mediocrity in art instruction at Millikin University in Decatur. On April 10,1991, Mark gave a...

There were 3 writing teachers who taught me to love writing, one in grade school, one in high school and one at the university ... who I just discovered passed away last month. This was the U of I writing teacher who taught me to search for meaning in ordinary, everyday events through reflecting and writing about them. He believed in me as a writer and recommended me for my first writing job as a full-time reporter for the Champaign-Urbana New-Gazette. Certain teachers' voices, i.e., their...

I am one of the many writers whose life was transformed by Mark Costello. Everything I've done as an author, I owe to that semester, my only creative writing instruction, beginning when I was just 16. When I teach, I use the techniques he taught us to such great effect. I was lucky enough to have one great teacher. It was enough.

Mark was my first creative writing teacher and a friend for years after. He was smart, funny, humble, and a wonderful writer. His encouragement changed my life. I carry you in my heart, Mark. Always will.

I have so many fond memories of Mark. He called me his succubus...I had to look that one up. He was charming and a lot of fun. I know he will be missed by many. Memories are our best gift.

To the Costello kids--a memory: What I remember most fondly of my marriage with your dad was his disarming sense of humor. One morning he returned from a run with the usual runner's high while I was still angry with him for --who knows what--and we were both aware of the tension.He said to me, "Tess, when I die, I don't want the university to build any monuments to me." He waited a very long while, as I stared at him in confusion and disbelief. Then he added, "I just want you to ask the...