Remembering David Stein

Cover photo: David being arrested while protesting Reagan administration policies at the White House in 1981.

David Stein, a longtime Catholic Worker known for his humor, creativity, and deep sense of community, passed away suddenly on January 2, 2025, at the age of 67, according to his longtime friend Lucky Marlovitz. He died of natural causes related to organic cardiovascular disease while visiting an art gallery in Chicago—an activity he greatly enjoyed—accompanied by his close friend, Dawn.

Originally from New York, David’s journey with the Catholic Worker began on the East Coast as part of the Community for Creative Nonviolence in Washington, D.C. He later moved to the Midwest in the 1980s, joining Catholic Worker houses in Des Moines, Iowa, and Rock Island, Illinois, before settling at St. Francis House in Chicago, where he was a dedicated member until his “retirement” in 2021.

David was well-known for his wit and his way of bringing levity to difficult moments. Friends recall his musings in the Catholic Worker newsletter At the Door, his beautifully crafted woodcarvings, and his joy in simple pleasures—whether sharing meals, walking outdoors, or observing nature.

The community is invited to celebrate David’s life at an event later this year. Details will be shared on the St. Francis House Catholic Worker website, francishousechicago.org, by March 1. To be included in a contact list announcing the celebration of life event, email sfh.chicagocw@gmail.com and note “David Stein Celebration of Life” in the subject line.

Cards, notes, and letters of condolence can be sent to:

St. Francis Catholic Worker
4652 N. Kenmore Ave.
Chicago, IL 60640

Following are some words shared by longtime friends of David’s:

Loved by too many to count

Lucky Marlovitz was a longtime friend of David’s from St. Francis Catholic Worker:

Dear David Stein passed suddenly and unexpectedly Thursday afternoon, January 2, 2025 from natural causes, organic cardiovascular disease.  

He was doing something he loved when he passed: visiting an art gallery here in Chicago, looking at art, and he was with his very good friend Dawn.  Heartfelt thanks to Dawn and the staff at the art gallery for all they did for David in his last moments.

He was 67 years old and would have turned 68 in early April.

David, in his humorous way of making heavy things light, let me know on more than one occasion that he was ready for when the time would come.

May we all find comfort
as we recall a conversation with him,
as we laugh about something funny he said,
as we read a past issue of At the Door that contained some of his musings,
as we look at and admire and hold one of his woodcarvings,
as we remember a shared meal,
as we take a walk,
as we communicate with a bird, squirrel or cat,
as we reread one of his letters
  and so on and so forth…

Lucky Marlovitz wrote the following piece for the summer 2024 issue of At the Door:

Thanks, Gratitude & Congrats to David Stein

Hello Francis House Friends,

It’s been a long time since I have written for At the Door. Sometimes feelings compel us, so here I am.

David came to Francis House sometime in the ’80s, I believe, and lived on and off (mostly on) at the house until 2021, when he moved into senior housing—very nice digs, I might add. Thirty-plus years, more or less, at and in service to Francis House—but who is counting? David, for sure, is not counting. I recall his At the Door piece advocating for no NUMBers. Conversely, I lived at Francis House for 10.5 years to be exact, from 2000 to 2011. I thought that was a long time, but 30-plus years? I take my hat off to David.

He stayed through thick and thin, at times when community presence was very lean. While several of us workers would leave for extended periods of time, David would be there to keep the house safely chugging along. And that, my friends, is no small feat.

With gratefulness, I want to acknowledge and honor David’s major contribution to the life and continuation of the Francis House Catholic Worker community over a vast portion of its soon-to-be 50th anniversary. From educating me on the revolutionary nature of the Catholic Worker movement to his lifelong woodcarving artistry, to his skillful editing and publishing of many editions of At the Door, to his creation of the long-standing Reading Amoeba, to his correspondence with supporters—David’s unique perspective, commitment to his values, and his dedication to Francis House profoundly inspired me.

My deep trust in David’s capabilities enabled me to consider even going on travels that lasted months. I am so glad to have worked and deliberated and toiled and gardened and laughed and cleaned and cried and argued and shared and cooked and cared alongside community mate David.

Not to mention hours of conversing, going to neighborhood meetings together, and singing a song with goofy lyrics penned by David to the tune of “Everything’s Coming Up Roses”:

“I’m a PIP, you’re a PIP, and together we are two big PIPS.”*

All of this—and more—were ways to keep our wits and a sense of humor while living this both trying and joyful lifestyle.

Deep gratitude to David for being himself, for caring so much, and for not abandoning Francis House and the worker community in its many hours of need during all those years. Please join me in congratulating my dear friend David on his well-deserved retirement!

Long live woodcarving, dumpstered bagels, and rare birds!

* Previously Identified Problem

From “Voices from the Catholic Worker”

Rosalie Riegle interviewed David in the late 1980s for her book Voices from the Catholic Worker; here’s an excerpt she shared on Facebook:

I came from New York City, lived there until I was in my early twenties. Then I started hitchhiking around the country and doing a lot of searching and just sort of ended up in Chicago. Nothing in particular made me choose Chicago. I’ve lived in Des Moines, Iowa, and Winnipeg, Manitoba, and they were just places where I ended up, too.

I was just so lost, and I didn’t fit in anywhere. I had this idea that by means of geographical travel, I would find something, but I never did. Maybe some people do. I’ve lost my wanderlust, finally. At some point I came to the decision that the way to make your life mean something is to simply make your stand somewhere. To say, okay, here I am. I’m going to build something here. Chicago happened to be where I was when I arrived at that understanding, so Chicago it’s been. (Not that I think Chicago is such great shakes, but it’s as good a place as any. I’m attracted to big cities, even though I hate what the city is.)

This concentration of power and wealth, it’s… if you go downtown to where all the skyscrapers are, there’s just this unbelievable crushing oppression and despair and crassness and greed. If you have any sensitivity, you see that all around you. I hate that. I think I stay in the city because it’s my adversary. I get up in the morning and I do battle with it. And to leave would be like retreating from the field. I feel like if you want to change things–and I do want to change the state of affairs that concentrates all this power and wealth and technology in the cities and transforms them into places of such surpassing ugliness and decadence–if you want to fight that, you go where it is.

For more remembrances of David, see Brian Terrell’s post on the Catholic Worker Movement Facebook group.

David the Millionaire

David is going to be missed imensely in this world. He and I met, I believe in the summer of 1981 at the Des Moines Catholic Worker. We never lost touch and I visited him every time I went to Chicago, stayed with him at St. Francis CW house. He came to visit me in Iowa City in the 90’s and got me into carving spoons, a hobby I have carried on since.  We always had a lot of conversations and sarcastically tried to solve at least half of the world problems. Last year I visited him for the first time in his retirement. Was lucky to repeat the same along with my wife, staying the entire weekend two weeks before he died. There was a certain energy about life that only our dear friend was capable of emanating. His intelligence, his great sense of humor, his simplicity and his humility. One could go on and on. There was only one David and there will never be another one. David was very special to all who were fortunate to know him.

I wish he had written more to continue inspiring us and the world that so desperately could use his philosophy of simplicity, honesty, humbleness and so much more. I always jokingly told him of when he lived in the streets for a year and a half: “you should write a book. You would not only be famous, but also make a bundle of money”. Of course, we laughed it off.

Yeah, David the millionaire. In so many ways he was. And we who knew him were so much more enriched in life because of him. David moved on from carving spoons to carving abstracts. Every time we met, I purchased something from him. Bellow are a few samples of his beautiful work. “David, if there is a heaven, and I make it there, you will be one of the first people I want to hang out with. I will bring the beer”

Mauro Heck

If you have a note of remembrance you’d like to add to this post, send it to: info@catholicworker.org with the subject line, “Remembering David Stein.” We’ll post it here.