By Charlie Huyck
Few have the honor, the guts, the threshold for pain, or the responsibility of living as deeply as Virginia Visker. I knew her best from the clothing shop she opened in the Hall Mall in the early ’80s. Her door was always open to angst-ridden junior high and high school kids searching for authenticity in the vacant ’80s. Prices were subject to her arbitrary whim and assessment of credibility. All on her terms, always.
After school, there’d be a few of us riding her thought process as well as we could. Tiptoeing tenderly, as not to inflame. Compassionate, sarcastic, hilarious, loving, she expanded our minds inversely proportional to the rigor with which she had taken her medication. We would sit with the sage, 20 years our senior, and contemplate the living poetry as we rode the waves of her passions and tribulations. She also listened, but was never one to shy away from a good tongue lashing. She loved the entirety of the world as instinctively as she would declare, “Fuck it! Burn it to the ground!”
She was the perfect dystopian street queen for the labyrinth of cold Iowa deflection. Thanks for all that, Virginia, you caustic sweetheart.
By Paula Miller
I first met Virginia at her clothing shop in the Hall Mall in Iowa City in 1987, and we bonded over a shared love of the music of Patty Smith and Throbbing Gristle as well as the live music scene at Gabe’s Oasis and the Unitarian church basement. I left Iowa City for 15 years, then came back to attend graduate school and raise two young kids. I reconnected with Virginia over a shared love of the live music experience and the wonderful art given to her by her godchildren. Since she shunned social media, I had the joy of serving as her event planner and personal chauffeur to make sure she had safe transport to whatever doom metal noise bash I could find.
While it’s been wonderful to read the heartfelt tributes online, I can’t also help but think about how Virginia wanted little to do with social media and managed to avoid using a computer or smart phone… or even texting for that matter. She prided herself on being a bit of a relic from an era when music came from LPs, cassette tapes, or the radio. Communication with distant friends was conducted by postcard, letter, package, and phone call — and often a personally delivered band flyer (thanks, Pete!). Those who knew her took time for personal visits since that direct human connection was essential to support mental and emotional stability.
Keeping this in mind, I would urge all her close friends and comrades to make an effort to keep that direct personal communication a priority, particularly with people who grew up at a time when the convenience of cell phones, email, and social media wasn’t an option. Keep writing those letters, sending those packages, making those mix-tapes… and, of course, please try to visit in person those people for whom direct personal communication may be lacking.
I also want to extend my gratitude to the Iowa City Hospice team that honored her wishes to stay at home for as long as possible and IMPACT, her outstanding mental health provider for many years. Virginia was lucky that she had great support from both her mental health team AND family and friends. Too many people are hurting who lack that type of balanced support. Even just short visits or phone calls can make a huge difference in the life of someone with limited access to social activity.
By Aaron Sinift
Hey Virginia, a little late for a letter not for the last time I’m sure ~ it’s good holding you in my mind ~ how many people seem so unphased by their death ~ I was with Tim Wehrle tonight talking about Possum Sac & you & Josh Doster and David Hagadorn ~ playing in that haunted closet ~ what it meant how it meant ~ “I don’t wanna talk about Jesus I just want to see his face.”
Tim made curry from scratch, said you visited, I know you know. He said something I liked, that “Death was a long message that takes a moment to deliver.” He said you are free now, take any door you want… I know we’ll meet again in whatever form that takes. So few people dared to be free like you did.
What a gift it was to meet someone so fearless and be in your orbit ~ I’d test gravity by bringing myself & others close to you to see how it landed ~ and your instincts never seemed wrong ~ never untruthful ~ succinct to land in places within myself I’d never guessed at ~ a friend like that is to be valued, & feared if truth isn’t what you’re looking for.
Killing a summer day at noon on your porch with PBR behind the Foxhead were some of the best days, aimless, purposeless, free. Taking the time we were born with back for ourselves. Nothing forced, nothing needed we couldn’t do for ourselves. Pirates radioing transmissions into nothing. Pouring milk into milk, falling in love, enduring tragedies together ~ goodbyes and new strangers. Let’s take a drink to the salt of the Earth.
Read more memories of Visker in the Facebook group Virginia Visker Appreciation Society
