Object-ives #9: The Garbage Pail Kid That Made Me Cry
A special gift from Kevin Smith
I have a small collection of Garbage Pail Kids cards—the second series—in a storage book somewhere buried in my closet. I don’t have the complete series set, but I have some of the most disturbing cards ever made: Sy Clops, Leaky Lindsay, Shrunken Ed, and several more.
My most treasured card, though, the one I have proudly displayed on a DVD case, isn’t one I collected myself. It wasn’t even one I knew existed. It’s currently worth way more than the cards I have, but I will never, ever sell it. No matter how much someone offered.
On June 20th, 2010, I met the love of my life, Evan A. Baker, who became my husband and partner in all things. We went through a master’s program together, made movies together, did everything together. We were best friends and each others’ muse.
Evan was funny in a way that surprised and delighted people daily. His wit and charm were unmatched. He was brilliant and talented and kind and compassionate. He was a helper, a giver, a friend to the friendless. He made people believe in themselves. He showed us all our true potential; how great we could be.
On November 2, 2022, he unexpectedly died after undergoing a 12-hour surgery for a thoracic aortic dissection. His aorta “split like a zipper” they said, from his heart to his groin. He was 43.
It wasn’t a total surprise, we knew he had an aneurysm and it was being monitored, but this was completely unexpected.
There was always the possibility he would drop dead, or, “drown in his own blood,” as he put it on our first date. We just lived as if he wouldn’t. I think that was for the best, and even though nearly every night I had horrible dreams of losing him, we focused on each other and our work.
Evan was a Kevin Smith fanatic. He was such a fan that he wrote, directed, and starred in (as Silent Guildenstern) a short he called, Kevin Smith’s Hamlet, which was a mashup of Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Kevin Smith’s Clerks. Yes, it’s as zany as it sounds.
He was on top of every single thing that man did and he was delighted to find out that the production and post company he worked for would need him to do some editing for a Kevin Smith project. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, but he quietly shared with a few coworkers (as well as his mother and me) his hopes of getting a chance to meet Smith and show him the short.
That dream never came to fruition, because Evan died before the project had been completed.
About a year after his death, I received a text from a friend/coworker of his asking me if they could send me a gift in honor of Evan. Of course I said yes. After several days I totally forgot about the conversation.
Then one day I got a delivery. I had no idea what it was or who it was from. It was carefully packed in Styrofoam, so I gingerly removed it from the box and opened it up to see a thick, plexiglass, magnetic card display case. In the center was a Garbage Pail Kid card with a disturbing, cartoon depiction of Kevin Smith as Silent Bob (from Clerks), signed by Smith himself; with the words, “EVAN! I MISS YOU,” scribbled across the top. The name of the card? “Keepin’ Quiet Kevin.”
My heart cracked wide open and I wept for joy, for grief, for missed opportunities, for what could never be.
Now, I know that “I miss you” is a weird thing to say to someone you’ve never met, but I think the card was ultimately meant as a gift for both of us. Thinking about how happy Evan would be to see it brings a smile to my face. Perhaps he meant to write “missed,” because he did. Kevin Smith missed his chance to meet his biggest fan.
No matter what mood I’m in, whenever I walk by that card I sigh and smile, sometimes getting choked up. It’s a reminder of Evan’s passion—his unwavering enthusiasm for the craft of filmmaking, which was so very intoxicating and inspiring. It’s unfair that he died for so many reasons, but when I see that card of Keepin’ Quiet Kevin I sometimes cry over the travesty of this missed connection.
Jennifer Cooper is a writer and filmmaker whose work explores the intersections of grief, memory, and the natural world. With a background in English, Film, and Social Justice, she creates across mediums—memoir, poetry, and visual storytelling—often weaving metaphors from wilderness and physics into intimate personal narratives. She co-founded Authenticity Production and Post with her late husband, Evan, and continues to honor their creative legacy through both solo and collaborative projects. Her current work includes a memoir in progress, experimental short films, and protest art that amplifies themes of resilience and truth.
Object-ives features flash nonfiction essays of 500-999 words on the possessions we can’t stop thinking about.
Recommended reading on possessions:
“5 Things I Always Buy Secondhand” by
, A Tiny Apt., Le Secret Club“A Home’s Hidden Sole” by
, extracurriculars“32 things I got rid of after our recent trip” by
, tuning in.“How I Learned to Love Minimizing My Possessions” by Claire Polders, Slate
“I Never Thought I’d Be A 40-Something Woman Freaking Out About A Doll But This One Is Different” by Sumitra Mattai, HuffPost Personal
What It’s Like to Grow Up With Hoarders episode of Culture Study podcast
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I am sitting here just gutted by this.
My throat got tight reading it. I remember those Garbage Pail Kids cards—the weird, gross feeling of holding them, the dumb thrill of it. But your story… it completely rewires what that memory means.
That card. "Keepin' Quiet Kevin." It’s not a card. It’s a relic. It’s the absolute joy of who Evan was and the brutal, empty silence left behind, all held in this stupid piece of cardboard.
And when I got to the part about the inscription—"EVAN! I MISS YOU"—I had to put my phone down for a second. How does something so simple feel so heavy? It’s like Kevin Smith wasn't just signing a card; he was acknowledging a life, a passion that got away from him, too. He was sharing the loss with you.
It’s crazy how the biggest, most impossible feelings get trapped in a little, physical thing. A Garbage Pail Kid card. It’s the perfect, most messed-up, beautiful container for all of it.
Thank you for telling us about Evan. I’m so sorry.
I have been able to meet and interview Kevin Smith, he is truly such a gem of a human, always appreciative and encouraging of every artist. This is a beautiful story and example of how he really felt that for one of his biggest fans!