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Today's Featured Biography

David Krival

About six months after I graduated, I joined my father in Nairobi, Kenya, where he was directing a teacher training radio-correspondence course for the Ministry of Education and U.S.A.I.D. from his base on the campus of the University of Kenya. With my parents and siblings, I travelled all over East Africa: the game parks; the ancient cities of the Swahili Coast. I also played both African popular music and the blues in the seedier nightclubs of Nairobi and Mombasa and took classes in English and Modern African Literature at the University of Kenya. Just before I left Kenya, I married a Kikuyu girl, who gave birth to my son, after my visa expired and I had to leave the country. 45 years later, I am still working hard to become his friend.

I returned to Madison and re-enrolled at the UW, but didn't quite graduate due to a bad case of the same disease that afflicted Edgar Allen Poe. I spent two years in upstate WI in treatment for that disease, then became the manager of a halfway house in Oshkosh.

In 1976, I decided to head west with nothing in particular in mind, other than I had to find a warmer place to live. An unfortunate disagreement with the sheriff of Auburn County, CA led to my incarceration in a CA prison for almost 2 years, where I ran the track, got an X-Ray Tech's license and worked on my tan and left the place a virgin, all praises to whoever runs the Universe.

Upon release in November, 1978, I moved to the Beach Cities of LA County, where I met a bunch of wonderfully crazy people, who took this poor lost boy in hand and, while they were about it, saved my life. I spent 22 happy, creative and productive years playing semi-pro baseball and the blues, editing a magazine, spearfishing and travelling to Baja, whenever I got antsy, which was often.

In 2001, the fates decided that I had had things too easy for far too long. I awoke after a diving trip to the Channel Islands in more pain than I had ever experienced. The doctors wanted to operate on my cervical spine, but I knew better. I delayed the operation while I finished writing a book called Diving in Southern CA & the Channel Islands for Lonely Planet. By the time I had the operation, I was strung out like a big dog. For the next seven years my disease, slowly and methodically, burned my life to the ground.

In 2007, I found myself in the ashes of my life, homeless on the streets of Ventura and Oxnard, CA with nothing in the world beyond what would fit in my backpack. I do not recommend it. I thought things over carefully and killed myself. But Fate had other ideas and the paramedics revived me.

I've spent the last few years writing novels and stories that no one wants to publish. I have no idea whether my work is any good, but it doesn't really matter because, once again, I am strong and healthy and relatively sane and happy. I guess I just take a lot of killing.

I live in a tiny apartment in the heroin capital of the West Coast: Oxnard, CA. Unlike 99% of my neighbors, I don't use that shit anymore. Instead, I've decided to find out what the rest of my life has in store for me. I only pray that it won't be too boring.

If you were once a friend of mine, call me at: 805-216-2123. Especially, if you know how my first love, Karin Collins (married name Bradshaw), died so young at 57. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever known, also the most brilliant. Why is she gone?

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