John Gordon Farrell

John Farrell, a brilliant writer and scholar who revered great literature, art, music, the beauty of nature, and the wonders of the world, died at the age of 81. His family and friends are bereft without him.

“As is a tale, so is a life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.” ~ Seneca

John was born May 12, 1943, in Detroit, Michigan, of Irish and Italian descent – to Gordon Farrell and Evelyn (Arnold) Farrell. His father was a Professor of Spanish at the University of Detroit and instilled in John a deep love of the Latin American world. When John was only two, the family moved to Córdoba, Argentina, where Professor Farrell was a cultural affairs officer for the State Department after WWII. John’s first language was Spanish, and he remained fluently bilingual through his lifetime. The adult Farrells socialized with the prominent Guevara family in Córdoba, including their teenage son. In an unpublished memoir, John wrote: “Despite the fact that we met several times, given our fifteen years difference in age, Ernesto and I were never really close. Still, we met in an ambience of easy familiarity. I recall that he would pat me on the head and tousle my hair…” Further on, without tongue in cheek, he wrote, “Most of what I learned from him came later and proved to be the sort of knowledge that suffuses a soul deeply.”

When the family returned to Detroit, John received a rigorous Catholic education, including at the Jesuit University of Detroit High School. He learned Latin and Greek, and throughout his life would carry around books by the ancient thinkers, including one of his favorites, Seneca. He subscribed to the Jesuit dictum mens sana in corpore sano, “a healthy mind in a healthy body,” and was a talented high school basketball player. He went on to the University of Michigan, where he received his undergraduate degree in English Literature and also had a lively social life as a member of Psi Upsilon. Later – much later – he returned to the academic life and received two master’s degrees and a doctorate in History from UCLA – the latter when he was 72 years old. His dissertation, Southern Exposure: Latin Americans View The United States (1783-1900), tackled an enormous subject that allowed him to do original research in Argentina (as a Fulbright Scholar), Chile, Brazil, Cuba, and Mexico. He never stopped learning, and never stopped teaching others what he knew. Though he loved UCLA, he cherished his identity as an alum of the U of M and was a rabid football fan; the Wolverines’ 2023 championship season was a very happy one for John.

As a young man in 1968, the world beckoned. He thought he might have a political future but first wanted to experience life beyond Michigan. In part inspired by the 1952 motorcycle adventures of Che Guevara, John, along with his first wife, Kipp Franklin (Stone), bought a sturdy BMW motorcycle, mapped out an audacious overland trip around the world, and departed from Detroit. As was more possible then, they traveled on a tiny budget, funded in part by articles they wrote along the way for newspapers. Often, they depended on the kindness of strangers in foreign lands. The three-year record-breaking trip took them through Mexico, Central and South America, much of Africa, Europe, Iran, and Afghanistan. It was exhausting and difficult in an era of no computers, few telephones, and primitive roads in much of the world. But it also laid the groundwork for the rest of his life, exploring, connecting with people, and always open to big, progressive ideas.

John had an intense curiosity about the roads less – or never – traveled, and that curiosity took him to many remote corners, during the motorcycle trip and afterwards. He traveled in 46 countries, quite a few more than once: Afghanistan, Argentina, Austria, Belgium, Bolivia, Brazil, Canada, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, Dahomey (Benin), Ecuador, El Salvador, England, France, French Polynesia, Germany, Ghana, Greece, Guatemala, Honduras, India, Iran, Ireland, Italy, Ivory Coast, Kenya, Liberia, Mali, Mexico, Nicaragua, Pakistan, Panama, Peru, Portugal, Scotland, Senegal, Spain, Tanzania, Togo, Turkey, Uganda, Uruguay, Venezuela, and the former Yugoslavia. He wore his adventurer’s badge proudly.

“I discovered to my joy that it is life, not death, that has no limits.” ~ Gabriel García Márquez

John had loved California since 1959, when his family came to San Francisco for his father’s summer teaching job. After the round-the-world motorcycle trip, it was California that became John’s home and remained so for the rest of his life. He continued to travel, and loved Spain, Mexico, and France (especially Paris), but the country with which he fell most in love was Italy, a love he shared through his lifetime with his wife Anne.

The city that called to them both was Florence – home to the Renaissance and emblematic of all that John valued: intellect, beauty, art, literature, and architecture not to mention fine foods, wine, and a beautiful landscape. Thirty years ago, he began conceiving a sweeping historic novel of the life of one of his heroes, architect Filippo Brunelleschi. Within the last few months, he completed that work.

John admired many writers and was an avid reader – Hemingway and Fitzgerald were early inspirations, but he had a wide-ranging and international taste in books, from Donna Leon mysteries to Garcia Márquez to the classical and ancient philosophers – and so many more.

John himself was a gifted and poetic writer, although his career never took a predictable path. He wrote a number of books not yet published, starting with a memoir of the motorcycle trip, and including other novels; he also published many nonfiction works, magazine articles, museum catalogues, and more. For a time, he lived in Los Angeles and wrote screenplays and episodic television scripts. Other than writing, the work he most enjoyed was teaching, for which he had a great gift. He did so at UCLA, Santa Monica College, Cal State Los Angeles, Cal State Northridge, and San Diego community colleges.

But he truly only had one preferred professional identity: writer.

In August 2006, he suddenly took very ill while in Pátzcuaro, Mexico, and the diagnosis was an aortic dissection. Through sheer willpower and the help of many friends and doctors in Mexico, he was able to get back to San Diego. His aorta was surgically repaired, and he knew then he was one of the luckiest men ever. The doctors at Scripps Health in San Diego gave him 18 “bonus” years of life. But the shadow always followed him and ultimately it was a second aortic dissection that so suddenly took his life on October 5, 2024, in Washington DC, where he had been visiting his sister Susan.

Happily, though, for the two weeks prior, he had been in Florence on a wonderful trip, helping his and Anne’s friend Paola Vojnovic guide a tour that was focused on the lives of Brunelleschi, Donatello, and Michelangelo. He was in the city he loved the most, teaching about a subject that fascinated him, and walking those ancient cobblestone streets. His wife Anne, the inspiration for his love of Florence, could not be there this time as she was recovering from surgery. Her presence is the only thing that would have made his final two weeks perfect. But she was always with him in spirit. As a sign of how much they both are loved in Florence, there will be a Mass in Suffrage for John on October 23, 2024, at the High Altar of the Basilica of Santa Croce, offered by the clergy to guide John’s soul on his journey to heaven. This is an extraordinary honor.

It is hard to describe John Farrell without resorting to well-meaning or gratuitous clichés or excessive adjectives. As a writer who valued words and the economy of language, he would eschew that. But in truth, John was brave, adventurous, heroic, restless, generous, sentimental, funny, intellectually curious, peripatetic, occasionally cantankerous, stubborn, hard-working, witty, exuberant, and always kind-hearted. He had an infectious smile, sparkling blue eyes, and a vitality that lit up every room he entered. He was an aficionado of martinis – always straight up and very, very dry. His friends often called on him to craft his specialty, the “Vesper,” made famous by James Bond in the 1953 book, Casino Royale.

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal. Love leaves a memory no one can steal.” ~ Irish Proverb

John is survived by his wife, Anne Bomeisler Farrell, with whom he shared life and a profound, transcendental love for nearly 51 years. They lived in Santa Monica, Santa Barbara, and finally settled in Del Mar, California in 1986. Predeceased by his parents, he leaves behind his beloved family: sisters Susan Farrell and Carla Farrell, nephew James Frazier, brother-in-law Brian Bomeisler, nieces Sophie Bahari Bomeisler and Francesca Bahari Bomeisler, their mother Roya Bahari, and the author Betty Edwards, Anne’s mother, who John so loved and admired. He also leaves a legion of friends and admirers all over the world. Joseph Gawler’s Sons in Washington DC provided services. A celebration of his life will be held in California at a later date.

Please, no flowers. But for those remembering John and wanting to honor him, do this, first and foremost: VOTE on November 5th for Kamala Harris and other candidates on your ballot who will ensure democracy can endure in the United States.

John had many charitable causes he supported. Some favorites were Amnesty International (https://www.amnesty.org/en/), the Committee to Protect Journalists (https://cpj.org/), and World Central Kitchen (https://wck.org/), as well as Opera di Santa Croce - Giotto Restoration (https://www.every.org/giving-for-giotto-it), Friends of Florence (https://www.friendsofflorence.org/), and the California State University - International Program in Florence / Scholarships (https://interland3.donorperfect.net/weblink/WebLink.aspx?name=E331368&id=9). Or, in his honor, make a gift to any charity of your choice and with your own philanthropy spread John Farrell’s joyous, generous spirit far and wide.

“He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry