After over half a decade of writing about local northeast Indiana artists and general cranky indignation towards the outside world at large, I regret to inform you of the passing of music writer E.A. Poorman. He passed away yesterday at the ripe old age of 6 and some odd months old. He wrote for the Fort Wayne Reader and covered many bands, both from the Fort and its surrounding areas as well as touring acts that would stop in for a show or two. He may not have been the most eloquent of writers, but he was passionate about giving bands some ink on paper so the regular joes and janes of Fort Wayne could hear about what was going on in the music and art scene they were probably unaware of.
He was from the Midwest, but exactly where no one quite knows. He lived somewhere in downtown Fort Wayne in one of the last weekly paid utility apartments in a nondescript building you probably couldn’t find if you tried. He lived off a steady diet of Corn Flakes, air-popped popcorn, and raspberry iced tea. He stopped the drinking sometime in the early 90s, but carried with him what seemed to be an eternal hangover from life in general. He abhorred all things deemed precious and couldn’t stand trends(which would explain the gaudy choice of clothes and various hats he wore.) He preferred foreign films with subtitles because he felt he didn’t read enough, and would often tear up whenever he thought of his grandparents Elwood Augustus and Dorothy Jean(Poorman.)
E.A. Poorman leaves behind no one and was preceded in death by his sole employer, the Fort Wayne Reader. The Reader closed their doors this week, and with it the only megaphone Mr. Poorman had to spread the word for those dreamers and screamers, painters and storymakers, and general creative types of our great little town called Fort Wayne. It takes ad money to run a paper. The last of the Reader’s ad money source said sayonara, so the blinds have been pulled. That’s all, folks. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. It’s last call for another print rag, and with it a crusty, beat up writer named E.A. Poorman.
I know Mr. Poorman enjoyed writing about creative types. Their excitement about creating is what fueled him. He also loved spreading the word about local art and artists. That was his purpose. That’s why he was here. As if he just appeared from out of nowhere, Poorman began writing about artists like Mark Hutchins, Dwane Ferren, Heaven’s Gateway Drugs, March On, Comrade, Shade, Omaha, Alaska, David Todoran, Pink Balloon Band, Lexi Pifer, Streetlamps for Spotlights, and so many more. If he ever talked about you, then you meant something to Mr. Poorman.
In closing, so it goes. RIP E.A. Poorman, and RIP Fort Wayne Reader.
I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you different. – Kurt Vonnegut