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matthew ebert

In memorium. Caleb 'Shooter' Schaber.
Photo credit Matthew Ebert AKA Metric.
sent in by Kamikaze Kelly

Listening to Pink Floyd's 'Wish You Were Here' coupled with my current cover photo memorial for a friend from childhood has me in a place to write about Shooter. A 'Frenemy' first met on the Burning Man work ranch. It's been a few years since Caleb blew his neck off with a shotgun in Gerlach, Nevada and many, many mourn him in many, many ways.
Some good. Some bad. But not forgotten.
I remember clashing 02. I was the new guy, you were a rock star who had been there, done that. While in awe and envy, I was still me. We clashed. Dog Run defined us as much as Chupacabra Policia. I could not swear an oath to the Gerlach Sheriff that they fired rounds AT us, just...near us.
You always had a dark side, as we all do, but were fucking brilliant. Once, after sweet talking reputable newspapers in Nevada into credentialing you as a Journalist, you wrote words from Afghanistan. Some stories were damn good, but I will never forget the haunting sense of where you were really at writing a piece that involved living in the only bar in Kabul seeing a three legged midget on crutches and later that night throwing up bad chicken in a ditch. In Kabul. In a war zone. Living in the only bar in Afghanistan.
You ran for Mayor of a major city in the NorthWest. Broke your back jumping off a bridge on a dare or a bet. Worked for Burning Man back in the day when it truly was the wild, wild west and lived to die.
You are not forgotten, Frenemy.

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