Pizza for Casey

Yesterday was my brother Casey's birthday. He died in a train accident in India on Halloween. I bought this pizza in his honor: black olives and fresh garlic on whole wheat from Conan's Pizza in Austin, Texas. It was exactly as Casey would have ordered it in the days when I moved home to study creative writing in grad school. He and I would stay up late eating pizza and watching access television. I realize it's the last period where he and I spent a lot of time together. I ordered the pizza uncut as Casey would have (a vegetarian doesn't cotton to meat-covered knives), but right before opening the box I said out loud, "it would really be appropriate if they'd forgotten and cut it." Of course, they had.

Take a look at the Dear Photograph I created in Casey's honor right after his death. It has since traveled around the world, and I think he'd get a kick out of that.

Saying goodbye to my brother Casey

I created the photo above by taking an older photo of my brother Casey and shooting it in the same spot in what was my late father's house this past week. In a sense it allows Casey to come home one last time. Casey died this past week in India when he fell from a train platform. The photo is featured on the web site Dearphotograph.com.

My sister Clare and I wrote the following obituary for Casey, which appeared in the Austin American-Statesman.



Casey John O'Connell died in an accident at a train station in Kerala, India, on Oct. 31.

He was born in Austin on June 11, 1956, to William Robert O'Connell and Wylma Louise “Cassie” O'Connell Ruelke, who both preceded him in death.

Casey graduated from Austin High School where his great joy was acting in plays as part of the Red Dragons. He later appeared in local productions, including at Zachary Scott Theatre, and was an occasional movie extra. He taught himself to juggle and ride a unicycle, and he rode his bicycle everywhere, including a cross-country trip with his oldest brother Wroc.

He received his LVN degree from Austin Community College and took great joy in working with newborn babies at Seton Hospital. He went back to school to earn a degree in chemistry and physics from Southwest Texas State University where he worked in the chemistry lab. Early on he commuted to campus by bicycle from Austin and liked to tell of his collision with a house (it was on wheels and being transported down I-35).

He had lived for many years in India, where he taught math and science and met his wife Magali.

Casey could fall asleep sitting up while doing a crossword puzzle and still have a semi-coherent conversation with you (though he wouldn't remember it later). He liked to play card games into the night or until he started winning. He was a vegetarian who could eat endless amounts of food and never gain weight. He remained as limber as a teenager. He liked to talk and talk and talk. He was a kind and gentle soul who truly cared about people and always had a smile. He was mischievous, funny and could tell a great joke, but only a mathematician would get the punch line. He somehow managed to keep alive the joy in life that fades for most of us with our first gray hairs, and what was left of Casey's hair was solid white. Most of all he was a great brother to five siblings who will forever feel his absence.

He is survived by his wife, Magali O'Connell; sisters, Mary Ann O'Connell and Clare O'Connell of Austin; brothers, William Robert “Wroc” and Lorie O'Connell of North Carolina, Daniel Pius O'Connell and wife Tarla, and Joseph Matthew O'Connell and wife Tiffany of Taylor; a niece, Shanthi O'Connell; and nephews, Russell Harvey, Will Harvey and Nicholas O'Connell.

Memorials can be made to the Zachary Scott Theatre at Zachtheatre.org.

Me in East Texas; my mother at peace

A Tiara-wearing member of the Pulpwood Queens.


A photo I took in Grand Cane, Louisiana.

What an odd last few days. I've been at the Pulpwood Queen's Girlfriend Weekend talking about my novel-in-stories Evacuation Plan (read my Austin Chronicle blogs about it here), and also visiting the area that spawned my mother. Today I went to Grand Cane and ate chicken and dumplings in the tiny town's lone cafe. It was once a grocery store, and its customers certainly included my mother's father's people--the Castleberrys.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet, my mother's best friend and my two brothers today scattered my mom's ashes in the Pampa River in far South India. Somehow there's nice symmetry to this.