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I found some detail about David but no obituary. He was born 31 August 1953 in Boise ID, the son of James and Rosalie (Stringfellow) Sorrels. He died 13 July 1976 (just over a month shy of his 23rd birthday) in Marin CA. The picture below is of David with his younger sister, Leslie Coral Sorrels, who died Aug 2016 in Reno NV. — Phil DeLaMare, EHS'71, 10/14/2017
 
Does anyone have an actual copy of his obituary or additional details? If so, please email to: airesq_53 at yahoo.com. Thanks so much.
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Scott Williams
Rest in peace David.
The tribute below was posted in 2008 by David's friend Steve Nelson at http://backyardsteve.blogspot.com/2008/04/david-sorrels.html
David Sorrels was a scrawny, long haired, denim clad, guitar picking clown. David's mother, Rosalie Sorrels, is a songwriter's songwriter, from the tradition of Rambling Jack Elliot, Woody Guthrie and Utah Phillips.
Their kitchen became my second home - a place where one could drink Rosalie's homemade sangria, & be a fly on the wall, entertained by the likes of Jerry Jeff Walker, and Arlo Guthrie as they joined the ongoing parade of visitors through that home.
David & I had a penchant for sharing - whether it was George Dickle #8 whiskey, a new tune, or even each others' girlfriends (not simultaneously...) . David & I shared riotous times as we made weekly runs in his old Dodge split rimmed stake truck (Hezekiah) to the Russian River & Mendocino county. There we would cut firewood, felling dense overgrowths of oak, eucalyptus, & fir. We fancied ourselves as lumberjacks & drunkards - in all the best traditions of those two closely related avocations. Usually far too hung over to safely handle chainsaws & splitting malls, we would none-the-less tackle our work with mirth & prankishness, hauling back several cords of wood for sale, which would usually go to fund the next week's drinking.
David had a pensive & moody side - which was entirely unspoken. He was closed mouthed about his troubles, even among his closest friends. One night, while I was away during a year spent working in Santa Cruz, He went to another friend's house & borrowed a roll of electrical tape and a hose.
It was my late friend, Doly, who found him pulled off in his truck into a thick patch of brush alongside Mesa Road, the following day. He had gone to this spot, & quietly finished his quart of George Dickle, as he taped the borrowed hose to his exhaust pipe & then gassed himself at the wheel of Hezakiah. His death tormented me for many years, as I never had the chance to mend a very minor broken fence that had stood between us at the time. David was 23.