I didn’t know Max Chiswick especially well—in all, we had interacted perhaps less than twenty times. However, what I did know is that he was an absolute fucking legend. I mean, come on—being a legendary poker player, running
poker.camp, going to
76 countries (while somehow managing to avoid Virginia), and coming up with the
rotisserie ride?? Honestly, every time I learned something new about Max, it was inevitably crazy, delightful, and made me appreciate him a little bit more. Thanks to the beauty of the internet, you can learn a lot about him through the various artifacts he’s left—I especially love
An amazing bike in Malawi.jpg.
But one thing that you can’t see through his Wikimedia Commons uploads is how phenomenal of a person Max was. He exuded a sense of limitless kindness, something that’s hard to describe in words. I remember, when I would go to various events in SF, I’d often be somewhat worried—will I know anyone here? does anyone secretly hate me?—and then, somewhere among the crowd I’d see Max Chiswick, and all my worries would disappear. He had some genuinely magical ability of transforming the room around him into one full of friendlier, more ambitious, more loving people. And he had great takes on Wisconsin.
After I’d left SF for Wisconsin, I realized: Max had this truly incredible quality of making you feel that he was, genuinely, rooting for you. That no matter where you were, no matter what you were up to, somewhere out there was Max Chiswick, who had no doubt that you would succeed.
We had planned to meet up several times—in Chicago, during my cross-country drive; in Wisconsin, during Max’s planned visit to the Amazon factory; in New York, “next time I was there”. None of these planned meetings ended up happening, due to me not seeing a message, Max canceling his trip in order “to be responsible”, and timing not working out. But god damn it, I’ll miss randomly seeing Max at Taco Tuesdays, or sitting on a couch at Lighthaven whipping up some crazy yet incredible project, arguing with Simon over whether a .lol domain is worth the price.
Max and I had interacted less than twenty times. I certainly would not have called him a close friend. But with Max, I had this unshakeable feeling that, maybe if we ended up in the same city, or even if I just left Wisconsin and hung out in Berkeley/NY more often, he’d somehow—through a collaboration, or a bike adventure, or a stupid project—end up playing a larger role in my life. And it’s absolutely fucking devastating that he won’t.
Max Chiswick (the name is, for whatever reason, stored as the full name in my head)—you were one of the most wonderful people the world has ever known.
