Friday, May 22, 2020
Instead of an obituary, I'm going to write this to you, John, because you're with me in spirit. And always will be.
I remember you well for your sense of duty and responsibility. In my mind’s eye I see an image of your sledding to work. That is, after injuring your knee one winter to the point you couldn't put weight on it, during a big snow storm, you managed—with Beth’s understanding and assistance—to get down your very steep, icy driveway, by sled! (To reach your car and drive to work). What a shame this happened before the days of YouTube! And another image of you as a junior officer in the Navy, malnourished and skeletal from severe sea-sickness. Your commanding officer hated you because you had a college degree and didn’t give a damn about your welfare. You might have been permanently injured, or worse, but for the intervention of physicians at the naval hospital at Pearl Harbor. Both anecdotes tell me about your sense of duty and responsibility. Most of us have this toward family and friends. You had this also toward your students during your teaching career. And toward your country, at the height of the Cold War.
I also recall a near accident. Elmer Gibbs asked me to take down a large, hanging tree limb at his and Margo's house in Brookside. You happened to be there. I didn’t handle the chainsaw correctly and nearly slashed your face when the saw jumped out of the groove it was cutting and swung wildly. Yours and my eyes met. To my surprise, there was no anger in yours. Which exemplified your powers of understanding and forgiving.
In recent years, I’ve been doing some amateur geology here in the Southwest, and I often think of your adventures as a professional, in Central America, mapping for the US Coast and Geodetic Survey. I guess your sole regret about the love of this field which you instilled in Tom was that his ever-growing (and expert) collection of minerals occupied most of your cellar.
You’ve inspired innumerable students, as well. One of yours went on to become the co-discoverer of the DNA double helix. You always played down your own role in his education. Your modesty about your own accomplishments was very refreshing, especially amidst the tiresome grand-standing of the insecure personalities of this world.
Needless to say, I well recall all the fun you and Beth and I shared. Painting one of your earlier homes. Holiday parties. Your inimitable Bloody Marys. My only regret is that I could never persuade you to try Bloody Marias. And I also remember the golf we enjoyed together. You are the man who introduced me to golf, in 2003. I remember bathing in the golden sunlight and deep green of Morris County Golf Course on that summer afternoon. Or laughing several years later, on a short, par four downhill hole, when I three-putted after my tee shot stopped within ten feet of the hole.
I also admired your egalitarianism. You never looked down on someone on account of his or her station in life. Another nice quality, which you shared with my Dad, and I've striven to emulate. And you were always warm and understanding to others. Until Helen’s passing, Beth and you took her into your home every Sunday for years. This was a great comfort to her, and I admire you both for your humanity. I note too that as your health has deteriorated in recent years, and your mood with it, Beth and Jen have shown their humanity and love for you in the care they have given you.
For these and many other things, I remember you well, with very warm feelings. And always will.
