“Virtues are acquired through endeavor, Which rests wholly upon yourself. So, to praise others for their virtues can but encourage one’s own efforts.”
— Thomas Paine
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| Jean Rabe, 1957–2026 |
I don’t recall when I first met Jean, though it was probably at one convention or another during my time at West End Games in the mid 1990s. Hers was always a generous, friendly, and positive presence. During one infamous con outside of Chicago — poorly managed and disastrous on numerous levels — she stopped by our booth to chat...and give us personal introductions to her friend Bill Mumy, whose numerous media credits include Will Robinson on Lost in Space and the Minbari aide Lennier in Babylon 5 (several stars from that show appeared at this particular convention). Where ever you found her, she always made introductions to the folks in her conversational circle, making everyone feel welcome and relevant.
At GenCon we were both so busy we barely had much time to chat; but at some point we connected and she submitted some short stories to the Star Wars Adventure Journal, which I was editing at the time. Dealing with her — by post and phone at the time — and working with her articles was a welcome pleasure. Her appearance in the Journal widened its appeal to her already large following of fans from her earlier work, both in fiction and gaming. Jean’s contributions came later in the Journal’s run; had the publication somehow survived past West End’s financial demise, she no doubt would have continued contributing game-related short fiction. With J. Allan Fawcett she published “The Farrimmer Cafe,” an adventure in Journal #11. Her Weequay treasure hunt story “Day of the Sepulchral Night” released in Journal #13. “The Breath of Gelgelar” appeared in Journal #14, an exploration of nascent Force powers set on a planet and using elements found in my Platt’s Starport Guide. The days and years after West End Games went bankrupt the summer of 1998 were extremely difficult financially and emotionally. Jean helped me out when I needed it most. That first GenCon in August 1998 was painfully awkward. I attended with my tin cup in hand, so to speak, seeking whatever freelance jobs I could get to pay the bills in the wake of West End’s collapse. Nothing demonstrated my demoralized state more than running into Wizards of the Coast CEO Pete Adkisson — with whom we’d had an uncomfortable meeting months before in New York City as West End management tried desperately to salvage company finances — who wondered why I was on line for general attendee admission instead of the dealers line. In those days Jean hosted a GenCon Sunday morning breakfast in the restaurant off the lobby of the Milwaukee Hyatt Regency Hotel. It was ironic, almost embarrassing, that only a few years earlier I’d hosted a huge dinner in the revolving restaurant atop the hotel for Star Wars Adventure Journal contributors which I vaguely recall Jean attended. Jean invited writers, editors, and publishers to gather around a long table for breakfast and networking. Ultimately Jean put me in touch with editors working for short story publisher Martin H. Greenberg. The contact helped me publish several short stories in DAW anthologies during the subsequent years. Those paychecks and the encouragement seeing my short fiction in print — and ultimately in bookstores — helped me manage through my “Desperate Freelancing Years.”I’d not kept in touch with Jean over the past two decades, with my own life taking me in different directions and having not attended GenCon since 2004. But Jean’s presence in my life, at a tumultuous time of professional highs and lows, kept my flagging spirits afloat and helped me feel like I mattered. I still think of her every time I read or update my personal bibliography of published work. Back in the early 2000s, when personal websites were new promotional territory, Jean’s own site, sporting her even-then vast bibliography, inspired me to make sure any website promoting my work included a lengthy list of my published projects (though nowhere near as long as Jean’s).
Clear skies, Jean. Your generous, friendly, and positive spirit continues to shine in those whose lives you touched.
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
— Soren Kierkegaard
The Time We Have Left
This is the second remembrance I’ve published here in the past 12 months, the first being for Ace of Aces and Lost Worlds designer Al Leonardi in July. In January 2024 I reflected on the passing of Jennell Jaquays and her inspiring work on the map of Mos Eisley that accompanied West End Games Tatooine Manhunt adventure. I even shared my thoughts at the passing of West End Games owner Scott Palter in 2020.
We are all getting older. Over the years the tabletop gaming community has regrettably lost several influential creatives. Certainly major players like Gary Gygax, Dave Arneson, and Greg Stafford...as well as many, many others who made their own contributions to varying degrees touching their fans in different yet significant ways. I don’t always hear about those few I admired or knew personally; only recently have I begun to share my memories of immersing myself in their product or having fleeting interactions with them at conventions.
Tabletop game industry creatives rarely make massive fortunes from their efforts; more often they eke away a modest existence, if even that. And though they don’t pay the bills, a compliment or engaging exchange can lift our spirits and remind us how our work can have a positive effect on someone’s life, however small, however seemingly inconsequential as “games” and “fun.” A kind word goes a long way. I’ve found rewarding online interactions when folks contact me telling how much my past work affected them...and by uplifting others when praise is due for work that inspires me.
Thank someone who did something to make a positive difference in your life. They don’t have to be a celebrity, or even a once-famous game designer...just someone who enriched your life in some small way. We don’t do it enough; and many people, especially in these trying times, need a boost. Thank them in person. Send them a postcard. Connect online. The internet gives us such an enormous reach, a means of contacting people in friendly, casual ways: old classmates, lost relatives found, people we admire, creators of our favorite pastimes. We can reach out, and if folks wish, they can reply and seek a more fulfilling degree of engagement and connection. It doesn’t take much to let someone know how much they’ve meant to us. Go ahead. Do it. Frequently. Before it’s too late. Before we are lost.
“The salvation of this human world lies nowhere else than in the human heart, in the human power to reflect, in human meekness and human responsibility.”
— Vaclav Havel



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