A Tribute to Barbara Koski Maxwell

R.I.P. Barbara Koski Maxwell. I found out a few days ago that my illustrator and dear friend had passed away from COVID in April of 2020 at the age of 94. Barbara was one of the most interesting and warmest people I have ever known. She illustrated for Highlights magazine before becoming a renowned court reporter who covered the Ted Bundy trial. She told me that the hair on her arms stood up whenever she met his gaze in the courtroom.

At the end of 2013, I had completed the verbiage for an early reader, a story about a dog looking for love. Based on a real dog we had lived next to in our first rental home in 1992, I envisioned her on the pages with my words. She lived in her small back yard with a doghouse to sleep in. Rarely did I see any interaction with her family: a couple, their son and a grandfather. She was a large dog, had longish black fur, and a lolling red tongue. One day, I was out in the yard when she jumped the fence and wiggled her way over to me, smiling and  wanting attention. I petted her and we played together. Eventually she tired and jumped back into her yard. This happened more than once, but soon we moved away. I never knew her name, never spoke to her family who kept to themselves. I thought about her after we moved. One day I sat down with a yellow legal pad and began a story. I named her Ethel. I wrote about her life in the yard. Then I stuck the pad away and forgot about it.

In 2013 I was going through old boxes when I ran across the yellow legal pad and became entranced with her story again. I had to finish it. I gave her an adventure that would finally bring her the love and attention she wanted. A happy ending. The illustrations danced in my head but having no artistic talent, I had to find someone to bring them to life. I had decided to self-publish because I wanted the book to fit my vision exactly. Coincidentally, I soon ran across a regional magazine article about Barbara, with examples of her work surrounding her photo. Everything clicked. In the article I found out that she volunteered at the Lake County Museum of Art. I popped in on a Saturday afternoon, hoping she would be there. The director told me that Barbara was at a local festival that day, just down the street at the lakefront park.

She was in the midst of drawing someone when I found her. I watched her quick and sure hand movements with a graphite pencil as she recreated a perfect likeness. My heart began to thump. In a rush of words, I told her my needs and that I thought she may be perfect. She looked at me for a beat and then said “Sure. I’d love to give it a try.” We made plans to meet in the conference room at the museum the upcoming week; I would bring my words and she would do a preliminary sketch of Ethel. We met, everything clicked, we agreed on a price and “the rest is history.”  Ethel’s personality comes across on every page. Ethel the Backyard Dog published in 2014, and won a Royal Palm Literary award. The next year we worked together on a book about my rascally dog Sam, called Sammy the Lucky Dog.

Over the course of two years we offered readings at local schools, libraries, and literary events. While I read, she drew sketches of the entranced children and handed it to them at the end of the reading. She was the rock star, always. My words took a backseat to her amazing sketches. I lost touch with her when her dementia became too much for her to live alone and she moved in with her daughter. I so enjoyed my time with her; she was optimistic and had the most wonderful stories from her life, a life well-lived.

What Barbara taught me:

1. Every day is an adventure; act accordingly, with eyes wide open and a big smile.
2. Kindness is inherent; allow it to flourish.
3. Eat slowly and savor every taste. It’s okay to close your eyes while making little noises.
4. Try new things with relish. Dress with fun in mind and wear a stylish beret.
5. Share memories and tell great stories.
6. Always be calm.
7. Always be confident.
8. Pace yourself and delight in each moment.
9. Say sure a lot. And mean it.
10. Each person’s face is interesting and will light up when they see a drawing of themselves.

I will so miss her.