At first, I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't think hard about the news that Mark Haigh-Hutchinson died on January 15, 2008 from complications from pancreatic cancer. I had heard that he did some work in the video game industry, so I knew that the industry would be saddened by his loss. And pancreatic cancer, especially at the age of 43, is just a terrible way to go (to quote my late friend Quin, I'm shooting for something manlier, like getting hit by a bus). So while I certainly felt pity for his passing and my condolences to his family and friends, I didn't react too much to the news at first.
Then, I heard about some of the games he worked on, which read like a bunch of my friends got together and started throwing out classic video game titles. I mean, when you start off by talking about his work on Paperboy, you're already dealing with someone who has chops. He probably will be most appreciated by gamers for his work on the Metroid Prime series, although quite a few will also give him credit for doing a good job with Star Wars: Shadows of the Empire and Sam & Max Hit the Road. While I give full credit to all of those games, I was most shocked to learn that he was also one of the geniuses behind one of my favorite 16-bit games, Zombies Ate My Neighbors. Push comes to shove, this guy's resume reads like the foundation of a killer video game collection. And I didn't even know who he was until he passed away.
Naturally, my reaction after learning all this was to feel like a complete jerk. Sure, he wasn't the main director of all those series. But he had a huge part in each one; we're not talking about the coffee boy here. And I felt like an insensitive clod for two reasons. One, of course, is that it really shouldn't take a recital of a creator's curriculum vitae to make me realize that someone worth having around passed on. To some extent, I know this is just a natural human reaction – we inure ourselves to passing because to feel every death in the world deeply would paralyze someone with grief. So we limit it to that with which we feel a strong connection. Still, I feel like I owe his loved ones more grief than "sorry to hear he died" upon first note.
Of course, the other reason I felt terrible is because I really should have known his name before. I know now a bunch of games he worked on – but I still can't say much about what he did (thanks to Google News, I know he was the head engineer and responsible for the camera in the Metroid Prime games, but that's about it). For all that I've enjoyed his work, I can't tell you much about what that work is – I wish someone would point out what he did for these games so that I can at least appreciate the guy's work as a fitting memorial to him.
It feels strange for me to say, because I do know of quite a few people of note in the games industry. I'm not talking just about titans on the level of Miyamoto or Will Wright. I'm talking about guys like Michel Ancel, or how I knew Keiji Inafune back in the 90's (you can only do so many Mega Man games and not be memorable to the hardcore). But when push comes to shove, I could probably only name about forty or so creators in the industry. And this is for an industry that I follow passionately, and that I write on regularly. On the flip side, I don't know how many various Hollywood personages I could tick off, but I guarantee that I'd eventually be able to name over five times as many.
In some ways, it's something that won't be on our minds too much, because to be honest it's the kind of thing that only really comes up when someone passes on. People tend to forget until they're forced to remember – sadly, this usually means passing on. I shouldn't need to see an obituary to know there's a single thread linking the games mentioned in the second paragraph. And the thing is, it's really my own fault. I'm the one who should pay attention to the credits more. I'm the one who should be noting when someone consistently shows great work in games. I mean, if a member of the media isn't going to talk about how great someone is, who will?
I hope, in some way, we'll be able to correct this before too many creators see their lives only noticed after their death. I know that it's good and all to honor someone on their passing. But shouldn't we also honor people like Mark while they're still alive? I might not have ever known him, but I greatly appreciated all his efforts. Now, I just hope the others who have made the games I love know they get the same level of appreciation.
