Jack Slater, 1946-2006: "I don't want to be missed. I'd rather be celebrated"

In all the years he was sick, Jack Slater had plenty of time to wonder why.

He could have gotten stuck on the question, first as he was waiting for the liver transplant, and later as he was living with the results.

But early on, Mr. Slater came to a conclusion.

"The answer is there is no answer," he wrote in The Seattle Times. "Just suffering and, if you are lucky, meaningful work, good friends, a few opportunities to love, and time to plant tomatoes."

Mr. Slater, a teacher, actor, writer, artist and Ballard resident who led Times readers through the story of his liver transplant in a series called "Life on the Waiting List," died Friday, a year and a half after the operation. He was 59.

He was surrounded by friends and family at the University of Washington Medical Center. By Mr. Slater's side was his wife, Deborah Swets, whom he once described as his dream.

Mr. Slater died of complications from hepatitis C, the blood-borne virus that destroyed his liver, then attacked the liver he received in a September 2004 transplant operation.

For two years, Mr. Slater brought wit and wisdom to the story of his sickness, his wait for a liver transplant and his life after the operation.

Hundreds of readers e-mailed after his first installment, subtitled "Diary of a Transplant," ran in October 2003. Some said they put him in their prayers. One woman offered her own liver. Another wrote just two words: thank you.

"Sure all of this makes me feel exposed," Mr. Slater later wrote. "But it also makes me feel a little less alone."

There was another advantage to writing: Mr. Slater loved the stage. The articles gave him another forum to say what he saw in the world now that he was sick.

He handled it with humor and honesty. He laid his anger bare, along with his fear. He talked about sickness the way other people talk about the weather.

Mr. Slater was thankful for the work. "It gave him meaning and purpose," said Swets, 57.

John Slater Jr. was born Sept. 10, 1946, in Chicago but grew up in Lake Worth, Fla., the first of three children born to John and Delle Slater. He made friends wherever he went.

Polio at age 5 left Slater with a slight limp, but he played sports anyway. Baseball was his favorite. He wrote in The Times that he wanted to be laid in a hammock when he died, his hands folded behind his head, a ball game on the radio.

He always held originality in high esteem. "If someone else did it, or said it, he wasn't going to repeat it," said his brother, Stephen Slater of Hawaii. Mr. Slater painted animals and other scenes onto plywood. He published a volume of poetry. He let his creativity loose in the garden. A friend gave him 100 daffodil bulbs two years ago. Mr. Slater planted them all around the house. They are in bloom now.

A graduate of Calvin College in Michigan, Mr. Slater worked as a community activist and teacher before turning to acting. He spent about 20 years, mostly in Los Angeles, working on movies, commercials and television shows. He also wrote and produced plays.

Mr. Slater was involved in rallies against the Vietnam War and against American involvement in Nicaragua. He always rooted for the underdog.

In 1991, he moved to Seattle to be with Swets. He taught at the King County Jail, and later at Franklin High School.

In 1997, during a routine physical, Mr. Slater discovered he had hepatitis C. Five years passed before the symptoms — exhaustion, weight loss, muscles losing their power — really hit. Mr. Slater went on medical leave from Franklin High in 2002.

The Times approached Mr. Slater about writing about waiting for a liver transplant, and what followed was a mix of practical advice and inspiration, laced with humor.

At one point, Mr. Slater joked about the things conspiring against his getting a liver: a drop in gang violence, lower speed limits in Montana, people mellowing out through meditation and yoga, automobile air bags and the Department of Homeland Security.

He wrote that laughter kept him sane. "I laugh at this rotten disease and curse it, rip out its throat and kick it down the stairs," he wrote. "And then I laugh some more."

Mr. Slater did much of the laughing with his wife. She was the woman, he wrote, who saved his life every day, in a hundred ways. She was his note-taker during doctor's visits, his helper at home, his face full of optimism when life looked so grim.

Mr. Slater got a new liver Sept. 21, 2004, in an operation that lasted 7-½ hours and was considered a success. He was soon sneaking ice cubes behind the nurse's back, sharing a naughty joke and saying he felt "like a million bucks."

But it was a tough recovery. Significant complications set in after three months.

Mr. Slater tried to balance the bad with work on a book, "Hepatitis C, Blah Blah Blah." On good days, Swets said, he would play with the neighborhood children, wearing a red clown's nose and trying to spray water on them.

"Being almost sick, or almost better, is my new normal," Mr. Slater wrote in October.

In recent months, the virus seriously damaged his new liver. This week, his kidneys shut down, and fluid in his belly became infected. Thursday, he told his brother he was ready to die.

Dozens of visitors came to the hospital this week, people who had supported Mr. Slater and Swets all these years, paying parts of their insurance premiums, bringing them homemade meals. One friend placed a red clown's nose over Mr. Slater's oxygen mask. Another played the viola for him, everything from Bach to Simon and Garfunkel.

From his bed, in a lucid moment, Slater made a request.

"Play something humorous," he said.

In addition to his wife and brother, Mr. Slater is survived by his parents of Lake Worth, Fla. A sister, Jane Slater of Bellingham, died in 2004.

Cara Solomon: 206-464-2024 or csolomon@seattletimes.com