I’ve written many remembrances of beloved friends over the years, but none has been harder than this one. Words can’t reach the passionate heart and brilliant intellect of Saul Landau, a man who made the world a more vibrant place every single minute that he breathed.

Last month we lost that rare individual to whom the word “authentic” well and truly applies. Everyone who knew him mourns his loss. I know I will for the rest of my life. An elegant guy in a second hand wardrobe, he was very sexy. Very.

Saul Landau was the complete king of the risqué Jewish joke, and almost every phone call, dinner, rendezvous, interview, and meeting I shared with him began with a joke worthy of the Borscht Belt. What a pleasure to watch him unleash his punchlines! It was his way of greeting the world, making us all feel like insiders and immediate friends. Jokes aside, Saul spent his life, as he often told me, committed to “love and work.”  What else mattered? he would ask.

The work was work for social justice, equality, freedom from hunger and oppression—freedom from hypocrisy and unnecessary shopping! And it took the form of a non-stop body of journalism, political commentary, filmmaking, writing, lecturing, travel, and personal outreach. He never stopped hassling corrupt politicians, imperialist stooges, and the incurably stupid. A champion of human rights, the dignity of the oppressed and especially his beloved Cuba and Latin America, Saul gave and gave of his superb political instincts, his wit, and his robust analysis. Surely, we all thought, those fiery Progreso editorials he churned out, even when gravely ill, would continue on forever. Somewhere—in the heaven in which he claimed not to believe—Saul must still be brandishing his political expertise. (And admonishing past popes for hoarding the spoils of the Crusades!)

Saul was a graceful and gifted athlete—he loved to boast that he played a killer game of racket ball with his grandson no less—into his 70s. He did the Wharf to Wharf for at least 20 years, showing off his great legs in the process. A champion of those with little to call their own, Saul was a magnificent teacher and held a chair at Cal Poly until he left to complete what would be his final film on covert US interference with Cuban activists. He was on close personal terms with Shakespeare, Beethoven, Woody Allen, and Fidel Castro, and wrote insightful film reviews, as well as creating unforgettable documentary films such as his Emmy awardwinning Paul Jacobs and the Nuclear Gang. He was a terrific cook and could turn the contents of anyone’s refrigerator into a tasty trek through latin cuisine. Saul’s knowledge of Chinese food was encyclopedic.

He was smitten with his children, and invariably his conversation brought you up-to-date on what triumph a son or daughter had wrought lately, and what new grandchild had shown serious artistic gifts. But mostly Saul Landau left us the great gift of his own unwavering example—he walked every mile of his personal philosophical beliefs. He encouraged us all—and while kvetching over the worst, he truly believed in the best.

Utterly irreplaceable, Saul Landau showed me what being fully alive could look like. I cannot express my sadness over his passing, and the aching wound his absence leaves in our hearts.

Hasta!