In May, Memphis Magazine lost one of its own and one of its finest. David Dawson joined the staff in 1981 and became one of the magazine’s longest running and most versatile writers. He had this droll sense of humor and unassuming manner that made him utterly charming. And ultimately, as Dr. Lancelot Bueno, a character he invented and nurtured, he charmed the entire city back in the late Eighties.
He arrived during the golden age of city magazines. Recalls former editor and longtime manuscripts editor, Ed Weathers, “Back then, we were doing 5,000- to 10,000-word pieces, in-depth stories on serious issues like busing and racism.” Weathers, incoming executive editor Kenneth Neill, and then-publisher Bob Towery set the bar high. Memphis was establishing a reputation for excellence.
David had a master’s in history from the U of M and had been freelancing and doing reporting for Time and Fortune. As an associate editor, his job was to produce — which sometimes meant writing two or even three pieces an issue. Between 1979 and 1989, David wrote more than 80 feature stories, ranging from the profound — “A Profile of Shelby Foote” (November 1981) — to the absurd — “Dining in Deep Waters: The Hazards of Humidity” (July 1983). He could write about anything and everything. “David was an information sponge,” says his brother, Bill Dawson, a journalist who worked at the CA and the Houston Chronicle. Says Weathers, “He was a gifted writer.”
David seemed to have an uncanny compulsion to explore things — ideas, gadgets, trends, people. He was hip, in a geeky, Eighties sort of way. Very, very smart — and generous with his knowledge. “He introduced me to Monty Python and Italo Calvino,” says David Tankersley, another creative soul and one of David’s oldest friends. “And to Mark Rothko, who I love.” In the early Eighties, David (brilliantly) advised all his friends to buy the new Apple IIe. He was in chat rooms before anyone else even knew what they were. And he had this bulky version of a cell phone between the seats of his car before … well, you get it.
What landed him on this magazine’s cover four times (this is the August 1982 issue) was his role as the mysterious Lancelot Bueno.
What made him a local icon and landed him on the magazine’s cover four times was Lancelot Bueno. In this role, he not only wrote humor columns, but produced an infamous series of Bufflehead scavenger hunts. Stories with names like “The Lost Ring of Ichabod Bueno” and “The Maltese Bufflehead” that generated frenzied searches for buried treasures and secret codes and fancy grand prizes.
Looking back, I think of him as a kind and gentle and thoughtful man. And feel lucky to have had him as a friend.
Memphis went wild. “Everyone in town was into it,” recalls Richard Banks, now host reporter of the NPR affiliate in Birmingham, who interned at the magazine during the Bueno years and later became its editor. “For me, the search wasn’t a big deal. It was picking up each issue that had Lancelot’s writing in it and diving into it,” he says, musing — “And that silly, wonderful name. Lancelot Bueno.”
In 1986, David left the magazine and joined Bob Towery as executive editor at a new venture — Towery Publishing — where they produced lush coffee-table books about U.S. cities with introductions by their favorite sons. These intros were ghostwritten by David, who interviewed the likes of Dan Rather, Gerald Ford, and Muhammad Ali. Recalls Towery, “They enjoyed the journey with this quirky Southern journalist with a twinkle in his voice who represented them with dignity and humor.”
photograph by larry kuzniewski
Dr. Lancelot Bueno making a rare public appearance as “David Dawson.”
Back before the U of M and Memphis Magazine and Towery Publishing, David worked at the public library on Peabody. That’s where he met Tankersley and a man named Arnoldo Bueno who inspired you-know-what, and, most importantly, Barbara Fargo, who became Barbara Fargo Dawson in 1982.
The beneficiary of his sense of humor for many years, she shares this story. “Once, when our high school senior called home to say she was spending the night with a friend, we found her car parked somewhere else,” she says. “David decided, rather than grounding her, we’d just ‘steal’ the car. So when she came back, it was gone!” That was one of his favorite stories. “He must have told it a hundred times,” she says.
It was obvious to anyone who knew David that the center of his universe was his family — Barbara and son Alec and daughter Rachel — and, eventually, by extension Rachel’s husband Josh Greer and the four grandchildren — Marley, Willa, and Dawson Greer, and Lavender Dawson. “He adored his grandchildren,” says Bill Dawson. Says David Tankersley: “He was really proud of his brother. And he was really proud of his family.” It seemed like home was always where David really wanted to be.
Looking back, I think of him as a kind and gentle and thoughtful man. And feel lucky to have had him as a friend. Richard Banks puts it this way: “He just had this caring approach to the people in his life.” And that was his true gift.
Susan Dynerman (then Susan Turley) and David Dawson met in the early ’80s when their tenures as associate editor at this magazine briefly overlapped.
