This is a picture of me, very small and nervous, and my uncle, Mark Costich. I probably saw Mark less than ten times when I was a kid. After he died in 2004 my family went to his house to sort through everything left in his absence. It was a lot more than they had expected. My uncle 'bought and sold used furniture' which really meant that he bought used furniture and sold pot for money. Over the course of his adulthood in Boston he slowly and systematically filled a 15-room house with things, every room packed wall-to-wall and ceiling-to-floor. My mom was struck with a strange kind of sadness over the experience of going through an impossible mountain of his stuff. Obviously, her sadness was invoked because he was her brother, but also because it seemed to her that his consumption and accumulation was an empty attempt to fill other vacancies in his life. One room in Mark's house was filled with used books, still in the paper/plastic sacks they were once purchased in. The intention to read/learn/invest/embetter was there, but it had never been realized. The idea of an empty life occuring inside of an overwhelmingly full house is contradicting and compelling. The story of Mark's house initiated my own dialogues and considerations over how ownership, collection and evidence play a part in my own mortality, identity and memory. Tomorrow is Dia de los Muertos, a holiday which, since his death, has always seemed the most appropriate way to celebrate my uncle's tragic, darkly comical and eccentric life. My mom wrote this list for me three years ago while I was working on my thesis in Connecticut:
Mark Costich’s Obsessions-Possessions List
[All items found in vast quantities in his house in East Boston]
1. Bags: tote bags (most from bookstores), duffel bags, gym bags
2. U-Haul rental company packing boxes
3. Bookshelves
4. BOOKS (10-15,000)
5. Dunkin’ Donuts cardboard carrying trays
6. DD.s Styrofoam coffee cups
7. Chinese food carry-out containers
8. Zip-lock bags: all sizes
9. Steamer trunks: the bigger, the better
10. Basis soap
11. Black umbrellas
12. Black jeans
13. Black Gap cotton crew socks
14. Men’s XL cotton turtlenecks (black or navy)
15. Ceramic statues: the uglier, the better, all sizes—animal motif prevalent
16. Keys and key chains
17. Knives: all sizes, shapes, degrees of potential danger
18. Tools: hammers, screwdrivers, saws, wrenches, sets of tools power tools
19. Toolboxes: most of them not containing the many tools that were found throughout the house
20. Workgloves (mostly brand new and unused)
21. Phones with answering machines
22. Junk mail
23. Lumber
24. Homemade wooden tables (practically big enough to perform surgery on an elephant)
25. Furniture: assorted, no matching sets, odd pieces
26. Matchbooks
27. cars
28. Tweed jackets
29. Framed and unframed prints, mostly of historical theme or owls or human females
30. Iron doorstops, reproductions
5 comments:
I knew Mark back in the mid-70s to early 80s when he lived in Wash, DC. When he moved to Boston I lost touch with him.
When I knew him he was always a bit eccentric which is a role, I think, he enjoyed.
Even then he was a collector of stuff, usually books. I'm not sure he ever read them but I remember having to help him move them once or twice...not fun. In fact I was emptying a bookcase and came across a book Mark had given me which is why I found this blog. I wondered what had happened to him.
It seemed clear to me that something was missing in his life and it looks like he never found it.
He was a good person.
I meet Mark in the mid-80s. When I was tending bar in Harvard Sq. in the late 80's Mark and I spent a great deal of time together. He would sometimes come into the bar I worked at, Club Casablanca, usually with 3 to 5 books. I asked him once how he was able to read so many books. Mark told me that although he may not have time to read them all, he knew what was written in them and why they were important to have in a collection.
Mark did read a great deal, might be history in the morning and philosophy in the evening. Mark was very intelligent and could carry on a conversation on any topic. We spent many late nights in different waterholes around Cambridge, Somerville and the Boston area talking to the early hours. Usually over a single malt scotch, Mark's favorite and he got me started drinking them.
Mark helped me out when I was very down on my luck in early '90s. I was living in my car, sleeping on friends couches and scraping by for food money each day. Mark hired me at $5 an hour (was good money then) to organize his books (seems it didn't last), run errands for him (Mark didn't drive, but had a car) and whatever little things he needed done. I knew what Mark did for a living, he asked me if I wanted in and I said no, not my thing. So he kept that apart from what I did for him. I worked for Mark for 4 months, was able to get a regular job, an apartment and start graduate school. I wouldn't have been able to do that without Marks help.
Another time, a man came to see Mark and Mark asked me to get some coffee then disappear for a couple of hours. I came back just as the man was leaving. Mark said later that the guy was going to prison for 3-4 years for selling weed to a Maine State Trooper and he had asked Mark to help out his wife and kids while he was doing his time. Mark helped out them also.
I last saw Mark at a benefit for a mutual friend who was fighting cancer in late '92. Mark was there donating to help this guy along who needed help then. I told Mark that I had was taking a job in law enforcement, Mark said that we really couldn't go out drinking anymore if that was the case. We had a great last night together as friends and over the years I have thought of him often.
I recently retired from police work and went looking for Mark. I was very sad to find out my old friend had passed away so many years ago. Mark had always talked about wanting to retire on a lake in New York, read a stack of books that was next to his chair and watch the sun set each day. I guess he never got to do that.
Mark was a good and generous man.
He was my friend.
Hello-a friend of mine who introduced me to Mark told me he found your blog. I met Mark in the early 90’s in Cambridge. He was a delight, intelligent, charming, and a sweetheart. Every time we visited he asked for coffee from DD but despised the styrofoam, always pouring it into a mug. Strange that you found so many of them in his fascinating Eastie home. I do remember his bird statues, and his glass sculptures. Please tell your mom I send condolences. Sad to hear he’s gone, but happy to have solved the mystery of where he went.
I knew Mark fairly well! I miss him very much.
did Mark write any books or diaries to be found? I know he was writing them. He was a very special person to me.
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