He taught me to dress in anything that tested, outraged, blinded with color, a mish-mosh of decades in styles, all with the vaudeville wink of the fashion predator. Longing to dazzle, terrified of being found acceptable. He did come out but not within the boundaries of sexuality that might have endeared him to blink... he came out as a flamboyant eccentric aesthetic explosion of all that was ridiculous and fantastic in pop culture. A self-determined outsider gate-crashing into a life of scathing theatricality.
He offered the drug of completeness, however fleeing, that he never seemed to find for himself. He made you feel so intimate that when you faced the inevitable hardness, dismissal, the transparent manipulations you'd whine, am I not exempt? I thought we were closer, I thought we were special. But that gift was not for keeping, you had to share and as he consistently proved his lifelong loyalty to his many tempestuous loves, I was moved and taught anew about his cherished sense of family.
Lance opened my eyes to life. He taught me to love words, to plunge, to plunge into experience, to dare to taste, that it's okay, even required, to fall flat on your face. He taught me to expect nothing less then that true friendship is forever and to cherish family as he cherished his, the wonderful family he welcomed me into.
Kristian Hoffman was songwriter and keyboardist for the Mumps. This is an excerpt of a eulogy delivered at Lance's memorial service on January 26, 2002.
Lance Loud! A Death in An American Family is a presentation of WETA and ITVS, and was made possible
by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and the Public Broadcasting Service.