William Joel Nutttall
July 12, 1955 - January 9, 2023
You once told me you thought me closer to Deb than you. It was not so then, still not. You both found your entry into my heart and soul from the very start, and remain so now you're gone. I write from this aching heart, as YOU inspired me. It's how I have written many a blog, story and book ever since. You BOTH have guided me through the worst and best of times, and even now my eyes are shut by the tears which flood my cheeks.
I opened my eyes now, only to see that yes, I typed that entire previous paragraph without mistake. It was due to pure love, through the most intense grief. My fingers poured down my respect, despite this immense sadness, due to a man whose art was sacrosanct, just a notch below the love for his wife and children. Best man at our wedding, my Beloved Stacey and I celebrated your life as we both shed tears at your passing.
A simple man, musician, artist and loving soul fraught with self-imposed guilt for faults others forced upon him, which he fought to dispel through his lifelong kindness and devotion.
So quick to forgive, no matter the sins he mistakenly took upon himself. He simply loved us all so tenderly, Joel just cruised. He drummed. He jammed to his tunes. He loved, he forgave, he forgot as best he could. And those tender natures he so blindly exhibited endeared many to adore him.
* * * * *
Deb and I came to work at JM Typography within two weeks of another. We found Joel a lost soul. An incredible artist, drummer and wonderful man who was drowning and in need of kinship from any direction possible. Yesterday at about 12:45 pm, he left this world with more than he had ever dreamed. We are left befuddled and grief-stricken by this incredible loss. I share this horror with his wife (my fellow best friend and Joel's confidante/beloved) Debbie, and their children, both together and shared. Artie, Jodi, Drew, Matthew and Jennifer, know that your dad held great value to many more than you can count.
He left us all beyond despair. His sweet love of almost 40 years, his children, and one man who loved him more than he could have ever dreamed "back then".
Sorry. It took a minute for me to clear my tears after writing his name. One that should never be lost to time. One I have claimed so close to my soul since we first met. Joel taught me not only the intensely wondrous craft of typography, an art which was lost to the dawn of Personal Computers, but also how this artwork facilitated human communication.
I was 23 when I met Joel. My first wife and I moved to Tucson in early 1983 after spending a year in Phoenix and quickly tiring of the sprawling mess it had become since my family landed there in late 1967. After a short stint in a group home with severely handicapped souls, I could not bear that intense and soul-draining labor.
After being the sole typesetter for a design firm in Phoenix following our move from Boulder, CO where I was a typesetter for a publisher, I sought work in Tucson with a private firm called "JM Typography".
The interview with Joel was magic. He and I instantly related. Surrounded by an entirely female staff, he yearned for another male who loved typography as he did. At that point, I knew only "typesetting", for nobody had taught me more than the basics. Joel saw in me a student eager to learn, and he was oh so happy to teach. So he taught me. In earnest.
* * * * *
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| Joel with baby Jennifer, and his beloved son Artie. |
Joel's customers were a mix of print shops, graphic designers and small-to-large publishers. As word of his artistry spread, he became Tucson's premier typographer in the 1980s and '90s. At that time, few understod the art of typography except those who had been in the biz a long time. Joel's philosophy was simple: "In order for words to sound good, they must LOOK great". His artist's touch ensured it.
I was quickly entranced by Joel's artistry. He could take a scribbled piece of paper, meant to become the business card of some new entrepreneur into a work of art, just by choosing the perfect font, size and spacing of those few words. While his competitors may have simply set copy into type as instructed, Joel elevated it several steps into the realm of artistry. Down to the 1/72nd of an inch, he spaced letters with a superior flourish, tying simple code on a monitor into an orchestrated weave of perfection nobody else could match.
Joel was the BEAST of typographical art in Tucson, Arizona, and possibly the entire Southwest. As word spread, his business grew. Meanwhile, Debbie and I propelled his art through our dedication to this maTn's artistic flair. Through his drums or that gifted artist's pen, Tucson began to see the art that was his alone. Any high quality advertisements bore his signature typography, and some retain his art through their logos and ads.
As many hold many an artist to greatness from that time, it is here I must trumpet Joel's intense typographical artistry now, some 40 years later.
Typography was an art then; it has now passed into the lack of grace that has become the technological impasse into which we have all since fallen. Where artists once were, novices reign. Yet Joel's work remains legend in the annals of the typographic art form.
* * * * *
I grew to admire this man as he came to love the lass who also became one of my closest friends ever. They fell in love as I watched them interact from the beginning. Joel and Debbie became ONE as I fondly watched. Now, my tears fall more heavily for Deb's loss than my own.
Our most endearing terms for each other were borne by the time Debbie, as Joel's new Production Manager, brought galleys to be corrected into the Typography Den and found us deep in fun conversation.
Deb was never one to be toyed with. Given her temperament as a no-nonsense individual with a flair for orneriness, she stopped short as she interrupted our reparté.
"We have deadlines to meet!" she exclaimed. "Get to work, Fuckers!"
Joel and I looked at each other with matched surprise. Then, we burst into laughter as Debbie did, she perhaps in relief at being so abrupt and not being immediately fired. Until then, we both thought Joel was too straightlaced to even consider such a jest. Joel and I were instantaneously bonded to this straight-talking, bold and extremely confident dynamo.
From there on, we came to call each other "Fucker". It became an instant term of endearment which lasts to this day. Some of my son Zakary's first words were calling his dad "fooker" to my dismay and Deb/Joel's great hilarity.
* * * * *
Joel taught me how lowercase letters necessitated the gentle coaxing of the uppercase T, Y, W and V over the protective wings of their accompanying vowels. I had never appreciated type as an art form before. I didn't realize typing words into a computer, using commands to tweak a simple letter, existed as an art form. Yet, that's how Joel lived it. This was not just a job to him, it was dedication to art. He was accomplished not only as a drummer but could also create images which touched the toughest of souls.
Joel taught me how the presentation of words defined their power. I began to see an assignment submitted as a challenge, rather than a simple type job. Our task was to make our customers look good to their base. As I grew into the art, I corrected spelling errors and introduced subtle tweaks the customer hadn't called for. These artistic discoveries led to my quest to spread my wings as a typographical artist. When my parents expressed an interest in opening a family type shop, Joel surprised me by not only encouraging but also giving me pointers as to how to avoid the pitfalls he encountered opening his own shop. I could not have split from him without such an expression of love and support as he offered me.
At that point, I was about to become a father for the first time. Joel and Debbie had found themselves desperately in love with each other. They married as my business began. Our friendship not only continued, it flourished. We had agreed to support each other and not court mutual customers. Both our businesses blossomed, and my daughter became their adopted nephew/niece amidst it all.
Back then, we all came together. No matter our political affiliation or religious beliefs. We were close, bonded by life's struggles and realization that the harder we worked, the better for all of us. Celebrations melded into friendships, losses brought us even closer together. While sometimes life's twists were often searing, it was an incredible moment in time. That type of bond is rarely found, yet fully appreciated today. It was this brief moment where Joel, Deb and I found ourselves woven together in a mixture of extreme love and mutual respect. We fed each other when times were tough and diapers became expensive. One of us found a way to afford either beer or beef, but we always found a way to eat and have fun.
First, my daughter Anna was born. Shortly thereafter, I was suddenly divorced and all on my own for the first time. Then, Joel and Deb welcomed their son Matthew. We reveled in our babies as life unfolded, often cruelly, amidst our lives. They helped guide me through the deepest of my darkest times having lost she who I believed was the ONE love of my life, and further through her horrible attempts to paint me extremely opposite of who I have always been. Their shoulders absorbed gallons of my tears, their support guided me through the closure of the family business while they welcomed me back to their own.
We changed diapers of each other's kids. I babysat for Matthew, and then their new addition, the still and always beautiful apple of Joel's eye, Baby Jennifer. They watched Anna too. She taught their son to read. I read baby stories to each as they nodded to sleep whilst their daddy drummed magic with bands whose music we swayed to. We partied together, sometimes but not often argued, but never split. We listened to one another's woes, shared family sins and basically rolled right through the worst of times. Together. How? Just because those moments, as we knew them, were the best of times. We had each others' backs. We were the Tres Amigos, Fuckers Forever.
Finally, I met the lass who would save me from my darkest suffering I feared would never end. She was so much younger than I was, Deb was extremely skeptical Stacey was much more than a passing fancy. As we became quickly close, Deb and Joel embraced her no matter their misgivings, because they quicky saw I was finally in love. Again. When we married a year later with baby Zakary soon to follow, Joel was my immediate choice as Best Man. He has remained so, ever since.
* * * * *
Today I suffered mostly for Deb's sake. And Drew, Matthew, Jennifer, Artie and Jodie. Their kids, who will no longer hold their grandfather close. I've known and loved and suffered with this family since 1982. We have been as tight a threefold friendship as anyone could ever imagine. When Stacey and I moved to Oregon in 2002, it was nearly as agonizing leaving them as I felt watching my daughter Anna and Stacey's parents waving farewell.
So yeah, Joel. I saw you last when I raced to Arizona last May in hopes of catching a few hours with you one last, magical time. You showed me your "man cave", where several mementos of our time at JM Typography and Intertype grace those walls. You cranked up the tunes out there of several of our mutually favorite tunes revisited our favorite times together. I barely maintained my composure, knowing it was the last time I'd see you alive. I wanted to hug you closer than I did when we parted, because it was vital you know how much I have loved you for so long. All we endured together and as a tres-amigo unit assail me now as tears are once again pouring down my face.
Joel's loss is closely equal to that of losing both parents and my baby brother. He has been so closely-intwined with my adult life as anyone could. Where your parents leave off, friends take the lead helping us grow wiser. Joel nurtured me along a young man's roughest roads and was there where I emerged.
Thank you, Nuttallski. You taught me more than your endearingly modest self could ever admit. I owe you more than my artfully wandering soul could ever know. You grounded me, guiding me through the darkest moments of my life. When I considered ending it all in my deepest despair, you reminded me my Anna Bear needed me more than any horror awaiting my self-demise. You held me up when I couldn't do it myself. Now you're gone, it's up to me to pay back, to take up where you left off.
Thanks to you, Joel, I'm up to the task. I've lost both parents and my baby brother, but it's you who have taught me the strength necessary to show love where your own need it now. I'm here for you, where you cannot, from here on. Deb, Matthew, Jennifer, Artie and Jodie, it's okay to lean on me now. Your husband/dad has passed his loving torch to his surviving "Fucker". And damnit, I promised him. I'm here, guys. And I love you, too... 40 years worth.
RIP, Nuttall. Thanks for being you throughout it all. I'll honor that until my time here is done. Love you, buddy.
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