This story begins at an ending. Dan Postotnik died in May, leaving an outsized void in the Shore Acres neighborhood in North Collinwood that he walked twice a day, every day, chatting with everyone he encountered.
“Dan was the town crier of Shore Acres,” said former neighborhood association president Megan Doerr, who’s known Dan since 2003. “Since his passing I can’t tell you the number of neighbors who have said to me, ‘I feel so lost without him’ or ‘I have no idea what’s going on with anyone anymore.’”
But Dan was more than a messenger. He was the first person most new residents met when they moved in. He served on the board of the Shore Acres Association for many years. He was the secretary for a while too, but “he was terrible at taking notes,” said Doerr with a chuckle. “He would sit next to me and sketch in his little notebook. But he would have insights from the neighborhood that were invaluable.”
Dan was an accomplished ceramics artist. Many of his neighbors knew little or nothing about his arts career until after he passed because he rarely talked about himself.
“I just knew him as Dan,” said Cara Romano, who lived across the street. “And then I find out he has a whole following of collectors, there’s a Facebook page about his work and he has a piece in the Cleveland Museum of Art.” (In a post on the Facebook page, the creator said that Dan “begrudgingly” granted permission to start it.)
There’s only one official mayor of Cleveland. But across town, in neighborhoods and on city blocks, there are many unofficial mayors who advocate for their neighbors, take care of their communities and stir up some good trouble. Signal Cleveland will share the stories of these folks, who they are and what they mean for our city. Want to nominate someone? Fill out the form at the bottom of this post.
‘It takes effort and commitment’
In 2008, Dan responded to the author of an essay in The New York Times about declining neighborhood cohesion. Dan bragged about Shore Acres, adding, “It takes effort and commitment to nurture and maintain such a community, but we prove it can be done, despite the broad changes in the society around us.”
The writer tried to contact Dan to interview him for the book he was working on, but Dan declined. “You talk to him,” he said to Doerr. “That’s not my thing.”
Dan’s thing was walking, talking and keeping tabs on everyone. “Not in a gossipy way,” Doerr stressed, “but in a way that kept us all connected, like the aunt who remembers everything in the family.”
He was especially kind to the older women who lived alone. He visited one every week to haul her trash to the curb, which over time expanded into cocktail hour, sipping Manhattans and chatting about old movies and music and other mutual interests.
The woman once told Doerr: “He didn’t make me feel like he was taking care of me because I was an old lady. He was my friend and wanted to hang out with me.”
During the pandemic lockdown, Dan and the woman invited everyone to cocktail hour, socially distanced in her yard. Those evenings “were a lifeline,” Doerr said.
Romano had moved to Shore Acres during the lockdown and wouldn’t have known any neighbors for a long time if not for Dan. “I feel like he kept things afloat,” she said, “until it lightened up and we could all be together again.”
‘We’re finding our way’
Most people didn’t know until after he was gone, but Dan had lived with Type 1 diabetes most of his life. He spent his final days at his sister and sister-in-law’s home, not far away but not in Shore Acres. Even as his body betrayed him, he tried to talk Doerr out of organizing a memorial for him.
They did anyway, of course, and at least 200 people showed up on a muggy July day. They wore brightly colored clothes and drank “Danhattans” and talked and laughed and cried. One neighbor played “Danny Boy” on an accordion, and a band covered some of his favorite old songs. Several longtime friends shared stories. Some people left that night with books from his library and bookmarks adorned with a photo of his smiling face.
“He would have been so mad at all the planning and everything that went into it,” said Maura Schroeder. “But he would have the best time there. After he got over himself a little bit, he would have had the best time.”
This story ends at a beginning. Shore Acres is still grappling with life without Dan and all the ways he held the community together.
“We’re finding our way,” said Doerr. “We still feel this profound loss, and we’re trying to figure out the like 17 people that are going to need to do different things in order to fill the shoes of that one missing resident.”
Dan’s daily walks had started years ago with his beloved Jack Russell terrier, Moxie. After Moxie died, Dan asked Schroeder if he could walk with her and her husband and their German shepherd. That continued for about 12 years.
“He got to know all of the dogs, and they were always so happy to see him because he would keep treats in his pocket,” Schroeder recalled. “And it’s funny, because I’ve started carrying treats with me. For Dan.”
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