David Kendall

My cousin David Kendall has died at the age of 68. This is such a cosmic injustice. He was one of the nicest, warmest, kindest men I have ever known. I don’t want to sound like I’m from The Manchurian Candidate but he really was such a good person.

I was not aware he was ill and I am just reeling. He has a long list of credits as a comedy writer, showrunner, director and producer—and from the outpouring of affection on social media, he was much loved.

As a kid, I remember my parents telling me, “You know, you have a cousin out in L.A., he writes Growing Pains”—and seeing his credit on the show, which was cool.

When I moved to L.A. in 1996, I looked him up, and he was so friendly and warm and inviting. I always felt like he was my model of how to live as a father and a man who was managing a showbiz life—I don’t mean to sound corny or ridiculous saying that. We had so much in common, not the least of which being we’re both Kendalls. He is technically my second cousin; our grandfathers were brothers.

In my bachelor days he would have me over to his house for Thanksgiving. We would have lunch from time to time, the last one a year or two ago, and I could always turn to him for showbiz advice.

Here he is on a fairly recent podcast:

I am just heartbroken. All my love to his immediate family. Farewell, Cousin David.