Christopher Albion McCabe passed away from natural causes in his apartment in Chicago on Monday, June 5 2023 at the age of 75 years old.

He was born on December 14, 1947 to Esther and Richard Beck. His father managed the Oriental Theater in Chicago and his mother was a homemaker. He was the middle child of 3, younger brother Richard Beck & older sister Bonnie Burns. He grew up on the south side of Chicago where as he often told, there was a field in which a white horse ran close by. He graduated from St Francis De Sales High School, where he was the editor of the High School Newspaper.

From his earliest years, he developed a love for the written and spoken word. He was a voracious reader. He also appreciated & watched innumerable films. He continued to write plays, songs, poems and prose throughout his lifetime. One of his greatest disappointments was that his work had not found a place in the world. He always hoped it would after his death.

He was married in the Art Institute of Chicago on April 26, 1981 to Miriam Brav. They met in a bookstore near the Loyola El tracks. She fell in love with with his quiet intelligence through the wonderful books he recommended for her new traveling job on Amtrak.

His closest friend during many years of their marriage was the avant-garde filmmaker, Stan Brakhage. After recording one of Christopher's plays with his wife Jane, he declared him to be a consummate artist and part of the truly gifted creative tribe.

He fathered 3 children, Zarah Emry, Nate Brav-McCabe and Seth Brav-McCabe. His greatest joy was the time he spent raising them in the suburb of Highland Park. After his memorial on July 16, his ashes will be scattered in Sunset Park. There he and the children spent many joyful days and nights exploring and chasing fireflies.

He is survived by his three adult children, granddaughters Orianna, Josephine and Luna, former wife Miriam, brother Richard Beck, sister Bonnie Burns and many nieces and nephews. He will be deeply missed.

In his own words:

"THE LANTERN-KEEPER: Christmas 1859 (Prose-poem#2)"

Yes, I'll be the lantern-keeper & lamplighter while others sleep and dream in their cozy beds. I will light my old rusty lantern, pressed against a frosty windowpane, a burning beacon for the way faring stranger lost in the dark dense woods, brittle branches lashing his anguished eyes, seeking sanctuary in the gloom of the seemingly endless night.

I will lovingly restore the abandoned lighthouse's mighty beam to search for frail storm-tossed ships and their desolate citizens who will fill the air with wild supplications to the god Poseidon not to be forever lost to the merciless savage sea.

When the foreboding forsaken streets plead with me, I will awaken their sleeping lamps, as well, to shine grace's light on a safe path home for the last weary refugees & stragglers of this cold moonless winter's night.

Finally I will light my last and most precious lantern and venture out into the spiritual night of this bloody blessed world to tearfully search for & illuminate the serene already glowing faces of ten honest souls so that our dear home, the Earth, may blissfully escape the mysterious wrath of God.

Please pray for me and all other such lonely lantern-keepers, lamplighters and other brave pilgrims of the night and for all these forlorn & besieged souls who so desperately depend tonight on the lighting of our lamps.