An Empty Chair

Seated across from an empty chair, looking at a still full glass of iced tea and waiting for a blue cheese potato chip appetizer that would never arrive. In that moment it hit me, he was really gone.

We were supposed to have lunch today, Wednesday, February 20, 2019. His life ended on the 15th. Cut short by a heart attack and leaving behind a family, friends, and a community filled with grief.

I got the news in a hotel room in Memphis, while working a Magic Fest. Looking back almost 3 years to my first Grand Prix I remember running into him in the lobby of the convention center. We sat and talked a few minutes and he told me he was excited to see more women joining our community. At the time I didn’t understand some of the more toxic elements of our culture and I had no idea why he would say such a thing to me. What I did know is that I hadn’t even put on my brand new judge shirt for the first time yet, and this man was excited to welcome me. On a day where my nerves trembled as I struggled to keep up with the mountains of new things I was learning, he provided a sense of calm acceptance and a ready smile.

That was the first of a long list of event encounters where we shared a smile, a chat, or a meal. One night we went to Joe T. Garcia’s, a Mexican restaurant I had frequented in college. “Get the nachos,” he implored. At a place known for enchiladas and fajitas, I didn’t even know they had nachos. He wasn’t wrong - and I’ve ordered nachos every single time since that night.

He wrote me a review one time, for a stressful 65 player PPTQ where he was a player. He loved to write. He loved to make others better. And he was willing to invest his time in writing to make me better. Opening that review was a lovely surprise after a rough day. And now that review sits in my history as a lovely reminder of a lost friendship and the lasting impact he made on my career as a judge.

Two weeks ago he was on my deckchecks team for the Star City Open in Dallas. We enjoyed a fun day together checking decks, sorting lists, and sharing laughs. He was always a whiz at deckchecks, faster than me by far. I never understood how he could be so jovial while doing a task that tested my concentration and my patience. He seemed to know when a deck was problematic and had a knack for figuring out issues that arose. I’m so honored that I got to share the day with him on his last event working as a judge.

He often bought extra boxes of product that I brought home from events. We’d meet here, at Pluckers, to enjoy wings and make the exchange. While it started out as a way to meet up for a sale, it evolved into more of a fun meal to talk about the judge program, upcoming events, conferences, and more. Our topics often included our families, writing and editing, hopes and dreams for the future, sports, and anything else we could think of. We were never at a loss for words and the meals always ended too soon.

So here I am today, sitting alone at this table with a painful ache in my heart. His warm encouragement will be missing at future events and I’ll never get to read his latest writing project. I’ll have one less confidant to bounce conference ideas off of and I can’t ask if he’s attending. I’m sitting at one of our favorite tables, eating the wings we both adored. And while I know he’d be happy to hear that they are still delicious, they will never be the same without his company.

Jeff Zandi, you may not be here in person, but your spirit is with me today at this table. I hope to pass on your traditions of hospitality and encouragement and continue to build the community that you loved so much. Your influence is woven into the fabric of who I am as a judge and you will be with me every time I wear that mantle. I miss you, but I know that you will live on both in me and in the Magic community.