10,000 things: Andrew Hensel lives (on Twitter)
Andrew Hensel was an extraordinary human being.
We were graduate students together at The University of Waterloo in Canada in 1986-88. I met him on my first day there and we spent many hours together on a daily basis over the next 2.5 years. I don’t want to try to say too much about him now. It occurred to me a few days ago that I might post a few stories here. We did lots of crazy things. At one point I had wanted to write something titled “100 things to a Hensel” and I made a bunch of notes, but it went no further.
I wrote about him in my Ph.D. acknowledgments in 1995:
Andrew Hensel, with whom I shared so much of my two and a half years at Waterloo, was the most original and creative person I have ever known well. Together, we dismantled the world and rebuilt it on our own crazy terms. We lived life at a million miles an hour and there was nothing like it. Five years ago, Andrew killed himself. There have been few days since then that I have not thought of him and the time we spent together.
I still think about him frequently. Today I was remembering one of his many, many oddball projects (most of which went unfinished), which he called “10,000 things”. It was to be a list of 10,000 things that he thought of. By the time he started sending them to me we had both dropped out of Waterloo. He was back in Australia and I was in Munich.
He only sent me 300 of the to-be 10,000. Of course I still have them. They’re all very short. At the risk of being thought macabre I’ve decided to bring Andrew back a very little and post them to Twitter, chosen at random, one a day. You can follow adhensel to get just a glimpse of his mind. The first tweet, people being planted into earth, is already up.
There are at least half a dozen twitterers who knew Andrew, including one who knew him probably better than anybody. Once in a while I get email from someone who finds my online mentions of him. Invariably they also found him extraordinary.
What would Andrew have made of Twitter? I have no doubt at all that he’d have immediately dismissed it as “weak”. That was one of his favorite adjectives. Almost everything was weak. It’s a small miracle to me to partly bring him back to life 18 years after he died, by posting just some of his 10,000 things to Twitter.
And… my apologies to anyone who knew Andrew and who finds this upsetting.
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April 15th, 2011 at 5:04 pm
Thank you Terry for bringing a little bit of the existential miracle that is Andrew Hensel in his memory. I was blessed by the gods to have known Andrew from 1st year high school through to his last days. My heart always fills with amazement & longing when I think of Andy. Anyone that knew him half well would say the same. The world is a richer place filled with unique spices due to his wonder. I too think of him often & hope one day will collide into his cosmic dust & be touched again by his creative presence. We will never forget the JOY Andy gave life, for he extracted it so brilliantly. ps Richard or Keith if you read this, tweet me at “petersm3” … Peter ‘Mozzie’
August 2nd, 2011 at 4:43 pm
I grew up with Andrew as our families lived on the same street. We went to the same primary and high school, made 8mm films, did performances and pranks ect. with Nigel Grummet, James Mayfield and David Peters. A sly, musical, smart, funny man.
August 2nd, 2011 at 4:48 pm
Hi Matthew – nice to meet you!
August 2nd, 2011 at 4:49 pm
Hi Peter – I’m really sorry for such a slow reply. I’m pretty sure I remember Andrew talking about you (often) when we were at Waterloo. Nice to meet you too.
September 20th, 2011 at 4:41 pm
Hi, Nigel Grummet here.
An ocean of time has passed since the days of school lunch-time bands like “The Concrete Frisbees”. Andy, Jamie, Matthew, Tom Turner, myself and intermittant ring-ins were “The Rejects” at high school – you know, that bunch of folks left over after all the standard teenage demographics have been filled. We found our bond in NOT being like everyone else, and it’s why I still recall Andy once in a while with a fondness reserved for few, and aspire to live the fullness of my life remaining staunch in my resolve to think, feel and experience in a way that is not even remotely aligned with “the norm”.
January 9th, 2013 at 5:38 pm
Only just came across the comments here.
Not sure anyone is reading this any more, but thought I’d comment anyway.
Andy made a big impression on me, just like he did with other people. He was a good friend and is still (decades later) sorely missed.
My brother said the other day, ‘You were lucky at school — you had that Andrew Hensel guy to keep you in order’. Actually, I feel like I was mostly just tagging along in his slipstream: imitating Andy’s immaculate/unique handwriting, memorising Pi, climbing trees, attempting astral travel in the chapel… He was so rigorous, always a brilliant bullshit detector.
If anyone here is ever in London, give me a shout and I’ll buy you a beer.
Best wishes to Andy’s family, if anyone here is in touch with them.
Sam
January 9th, 2013 at 5:44 pm
Hi Sam – I’m still reading :-) And I recently moved to Cambridge, so I’m just up the road…. Terry
January 10th, 2013 at 5:29 pm
Ha! Just in time for the floods! If you fancy it, come and have lunch chez Google if you’re in London. I’m samdutton@gmail.com.
January 10th, 2013 at 5:33 pm
Sounds great, I’ve eaten at G in several cities, but never in London :-) I’m terry@jon.es Thanks!
August 8th, 2013 at 12:46 am
Just came across this, will it still notify you? Maybe my favourite person ever. Would always challenge my beliefs and assumptions, usually when I least expected it – not to tear them down, but to suggest something infinitely more interesting.
Below: Andrew with me in a locked, abandoned mine with rocks on our heads. Andrew (or possibly Rick) hanging from the Adelaide Uni bridge while pedestrians pass overhead unaware. Andrew after challenging a host whom he’d just met to push him into his pool.
August 27th, 2013 at 9:52 am
Hi Bill!
It didn’t notify me, but I just happened to be here and I saw your photos…. wow, they’re great. I saw you followed the Twitter account 2 or 3 weeks ago. I should make it active again – my script broke when they changed to require OAuth.
August 27th, 2013 at 9:55 am
Here’s one for you, taken at the University of Waterloo in 1986 or 7.
October 21st, 2017 at 6:28 pm
Well, is 8 years later too late ? It’s hard to be coherent about Hensel, memories of him are diamonds amongst the dying neurons. My head on a stick, humiliation, then good friends. I deserved it, I never defended him from being egged in Indonesian class. Mrs McC was purrdy according to us, we regretted disappointing her and choosing physics instead. Up all night, the Cure – Siamese Twins, then somehow delivering newspapers and dodging truck death on waterfall gully road. The Rubik’s cube he modified and graphited for the world record and general public amazement. He skydived so I had to also, 13 times, otherwise I’d be weak. Just about shat myself every time, he didn’t care. Saw him nearly die from falling 3 times, sliding down a mossy cliff face next to me “f……..k”, boing into air, thump. Spiralling and falling from the sky like a top – he had a Mal, nice howdya-do to start a day of falling at Lower Light – after working the Eagle on the Hill servo all night and no sleep from fear and excitement. Then climbing the Adelaide Uni library at night, in the rain, where the f…k are you Hensel ? “slipping”…then an (almost) Bladerunner moment, gripping his wrist, luckily the crazy bastard only weighed about 50kg. We liked Clive – which was code for the pretty blond who struggled to comprehend wtf we were on, as would any sane person. And the Torrens bridge – the rule became only to ever travel under it, through the girders like gibbon moles. Then dangle. Then there was that clear headed year of academic excellence and normalcy with the beautiful Maggie, good on him ! He carved interlocking wooden rings for her. Where is she now ? Before leaving for my own Odyssey I disturbed them – get dressed and let’s join the homeless fridge in the back of the Dodge ute on a last freaky ride up and down the Gully. Final memory is of his slanted eyes and big smile into the wind in the rear view mirror, glad to be doing something a bit insane. After that I wrongly thought we’d grow old and sensible.
It has been both comforting and disturbing to read the twitter feed – a voice stretched across 30 years but clear as yesterday. So thanks Andy for the creative impulse and the utter differentness which persists in all who knew him well, it’s so strong I’ve passed it onto my own sons and my wife remains perplexed. And thanks Terry for the brilliant web based necromancy, a forerunner of the mind backups to come. Cheers also to the better organised old mates who made it here years earlier, maybe we need a reunion and a Ouija board for our departed buddy. I also apologise to anyone offended by this.
October 21st, 2017 at 9:29 pm
Hey Andrew :-) No, you’re definitely not too late! And that all sounds very familiar. We also climbed onto many buildings, and one was very slippery, we could only stay on by sitting and lying down so our clothes stopped us sliding. It had an odd little fence around the edge of the roof. We asked someone about that the next day and they said a student had died climbing that building, by sliding off it. We climbed every building on campus in Waterloo, except for a couple that were basically impossible. Perplexed – I understand…
October 23rd, 2017 at 7:02 am
Yeah, That’s Hentertainment….