IN MEMORIAM

‘CONTRIBUTOR’ VENDOR ERIC HUDSON DIES AT 45

BY SUSAN ADCOCK

On the day Eric Hudson died he texted me at 5:44 a.m. A sleepy green cartoon character with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. He wrote: “Good Morning.”

At 8:02 a.m. I text back: “Good Morning to you.”

Within seconds he texted back again: “Welcome to Friday.”

I remember seeing it as I left for work and thinking what a sweetheart he was, dropping random thoughts onto my phone for no reason beyond the genuine love he felt for those around him. Eric was always a giver. When we first met he slept in Centennial Park where he ran daily errands for people; watched their dogs. He was the guy you always knew would bring you back both the thing you asked for and the change. It was hard, though, and physically exhausting. One day he looked at me and said: “Can you get me out of here please?”

Eventually we managed to get him his own apartment, but not before a couple of seasons of what I liked to call Warming Shelter Carpool Karaoke. These were some of the most memorable and fun car rides of my life. Eric and his friends sang enthusiastically even when they didn’t know the words, from West End Avenue all the way to Shelby Park.

We laughed, we sang, we hid beer in the back of my car; we learned about real friendships and now we grieve for the gentle spirit that was and always will be Eric Hudson.