In Memoriam: DYLAN GRANT CASEY 13 July 1978 – 5 November 2015 I regret to inform you of the death of Dylan Casey, Solomon House, 1996.
Some lives are lived in the present. It is hard for me to think of someone, anyone, who more embraced the present. We were walking out from our final assembly, Mr Schroder understood occasion better than most and delivered a perfect end to our lives at PBHS.
Solomon House in the early nineties had few joys. There were some friends, there were some cheering masters, the rest seemed bleak. Elwyn van den Aardweg, Paul EwartPhipps, Dave van Suilichem and Andries van Wyk were great Solomon masters, amongst others, they took their charge as their own. It was a time when masters assumed the role of parent, and interestingly, disciplined accordingly. Casey, what we’ll call him from here on out, thought Elwyn the best man alive. Fully twenty years later he was still astounded by him. He was an inspired housemaster of Solomon, and even if you did not always agree with him, at the very least, you admired him.
Casey was a naughty shit. The best way to describe him. When he was not causing some he was taking pleasure in what someone else had caused. He was better at poker than what he was at cricket. He was an entertaining rugby player and a stalwart of the 5th and 6th side. But most of all he was your average citizen, middling academically, middling sportingly, and culturally not terribly inspired. Yet he squeezed every drop of experience from the school and formed in his friends real relationships.
We were walking out beneath the stone memorial, ‘To the glory of God…’, final assembly done. I mustered some courage and looked about for a mate to hug. There stood Casey, the only dried eyed boy – there may have been a hundred others – looking at me. ‘I wish I could cry.’ He said it in passing but hugged me. The emotional stuff done, he insisted that we stay in contact.
For the next couple of years a lively correspondence erupted. We wrote letters to each other, long hand, and I followed his exploits around the world. The UK, Canada and Turkey where a tryst ensued, probably his first. These things shared in letters evoke an image of a world that seems to have all but dissipated, the thought of taking the time to write to someone in longhand, such a treasure now.
You see something had happened in the smithy of our souls. In Solomon House, in the belly of PBHS, we had bonded. That bond bound us, and many others, together for what remained of our lives.
When Casey returned from abroad he set himself to work on a Bcom degree at what was then RAU. A university degree was more a union ticket to life than anything else. He could not see himself learning from anything other than the real experience of life. Other than an interest in running, he spent little time in the wings of RAU, and rather set to work on ideas that may send him into the stratosphere.
Casey did not single mindedly pursue wealth. It was perfection of almost every sort. He would refine ideas to the point where they would dissipate. One week it would be DVDs delivered by bike, the next it would be single cigarette vending machines – he actually had twenty placed at a point, and then as so often happens in this sort of situation, legislation changed.
Then there was the property scheme, strings of it have survived him, the list goes on and on. The one that stuck was online retail. Dylan was really only ever formally employed for a couple of years after school. Reebok needed an online strategy and he took a proposal to the boss and did a deal. The rest, as it were, was history.
In its wake would follow a series of online deals that varied in success. by 2008 he had formed a company, Etailer, and sold anything from air rifles to books, from running shoes to drill bits, you name it at one point or another he sold it. Gradually, however, he refined the model and arrived at something he thought could work. As always Casey was all in.
In the spring of 2003 he met Anel, they got married in 2012, and he was set for life. There was no looking back. She embodied everything that he looked for in a partner. She was forgiving and understanding. The fact that she is a trained educational psychologist and specialised in young children seemed to help. Life was one big adventure, and the two of them moved to Cape Town eventually setting up to live in Camps Bay. It is hard to think of a more perfect setting for them. They took to an outdoor life and when Casey was not running he was swimming. Many fell victim to his, ‘let’s climb Lion’s Head’, or better, meet you at the beach for a run. Cycling followed trail running, the list was endless… It was swimming in the tidal pool that he liked most. Many would become a victim of ‘it’s not that cold.’ Life had come to resemble what he’d always wanted. It was diverse and interesting, there were challenges, but it was sweet. Most of all, though, he shared it with a woman he loved completely.
On the morning of Thursday the 5th of November 2015 Casey met a friend for a run. He arrived home after and said that he was hot, he was going for a swim. It was his last. A week later there was a memorial for him, held just down the road, at the Twelve Apostles. Over a hundred people turned up and many spoke. What was astounding was how Dylan has forged friendships and lasting relationships in every conceivable way. He was a builder, not just of things, but of people, and took a real personal interest in everything and everyone. He had no time for the negative, it was always progress, it was always the next thing. Dylan Casey has left a hole in the lives of so many.
He is survived by Anel, his wife, and Achilles, his cat. We know that he loved Anel more.
Eugene Ashton, Solomon House, 1996