What Don Said

June 6, 2010
Dear Jerry…

You are indeed a man of many contrasts.

Your rugged, craggy face and solid appearance would lead many to overlook the kind and giving nature of your heart and the gentleness of your soul. Your lone arrival on my doorstep when you had learned of my father’s death still touches me, as I recall you saying, “I just wanted to be here”. … (as we, today, just want to be here.)

I have delighted in your fondness for, and your stories about, wandering the more isolated blue highways and back roads, seeking contemporary history in the coffee shops of rural towns. Certainly, you have allowed your many students to see the world through your keen observations of both our culture and our history. Your curiosity about people and life was indeed a gift to be shared, perhaps by living the moment with others or by conveying the discoveries in your lesson plans at Niles West or in your ISU consultations with less experienced teachers.

The losses you experienced after retiring from Niles West and later being physically unable to continue consulting for ISU were not nearly as abysmal as suffering the loss of Eileen a year and a half ago. The pain of grief and some of the physical pain you endured over these last years were now abating. Hope for sharing more of your life with your children and grandchild was now becoming a reality.

Whenever we have talked with each other recently, you have indicated in some fashion the great love you felt for your family and their many significant abilities and achievements. You shared your joy in, and respect for, David’s intellect and humor. You shared the delight you felt in the astute sensitivity Marissa possesses and in being part of David’s life. Often, you spoke of the tears of joy, love, and awe that you shed at Jessica’s performances, and of your trust and confidence in, and deep appreciation for Matt as a son-in-law, husband, and father. You frequently admired the “can-do” abilities and intelligence of all your children. Just a month ago, when Jess and Easton visited you, you glowed with delight and pride, experiencing Easton as a continuation of the love you and Eileen shared.

My fond memories of you drift to the evening we observed the myriad pastel hues of an Ellison Bay WI sunset, both of us appreciating the Artist’s gift, as the sky and horizon were filled with reflections of soft colors in the water. Later, was it months or years later, we shared fearsome sailing while being overtaken by a raging, squall line with gale winds in Death’s Door (the literal name and the figurative description). The windless, blue waters were rapidly and relentlessly roiled and tossed into a turbulent, white line extending across the Door. Not only were green clouds directly above the white, but also purple and black clouds layered upon the green, followed by howling winds and torrential downpour. The gentle artist of the sunset had become, in this noon hour, a raging vanGogh. Both seascapes were exquisite, one peacefully calming and the other unforgettably terrifying. You appreciated both, the pastel sunsets and the raging water. Months later you spoke of being intent upon returning to Death’s Door to see if the crossing could be made with less awesome fury and, hopefully, with elation.

You opened Death’s Door in your own way, in your lush garden, filled with hostas, ostrich ferns, vegetables, birdhouses and perhaps the promise of eternal spring .

You are indeed a rarity: a man who appreciated peacefulness, yet found excitement in living on the edge; a man who enjoyed aloneness, yet sought companionship. Perhaps I have lost a brother. Thanks for having been here with me, and with us all.

With love and respect,

Don