2021 Memorial Day blog
The closing years of life are like the end of a masquerade party, when the masks are dropped. (Arthur Schopenhauer)
When an individual is protesting society’s refusal to acknowledge his dignity as a human being, his very act of protest confers dignity on him. (Bayard Rustin)
We are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention from the sheer idiocy of the charade. The years thunder by. The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed. (Sterling Hayden)
Celebrities
Hank Aaron, what can anyone add! And his death saved this list from beginning with Sheldon Adelson!
Sheldon Adelson, yet another reason to be glad “you can’t take it with you”!
Dennis Bender, at his death while fighting a brush fire near Fort Calhoun, this firefighter was Nebraska’s longest serving paramedic
Eric Carle, the very hungry caterpillar is now a very satisfied butterfly
Beverly Cleary, at 104, she outlasted McMurtry by two decades, Carle by one; when the others greet her, I don’t know about the kissing but there will be plenty of thanks for Huggins
Michael Collins, no more worries about friends being trapped on the moon, Michael has finished his final orbit.
(Earl) DMX, after a platinum bright rough ryde, he finally got to party up
Olympia Dukakis, if it is a familiar name, it is not because of cousin Michael! It’s because she was a moonstruck actress of stage and film.
Lawrence Ferlinghetti, the City Lights have gone out but the beat goes on
Larry Flint, hustled off to somewhere, probably nearer to Jerry Falwell than either would like
Frank Jacobs, Lincoln, Nebraska native, considered the finest of the many fine writers who once worked at MAD Magazine. What, me worry?
Vernon Jordan, one-time young head of the Urban League and no doubt one of the reasons Bill Clinton was often called the nation’s “first black president”.
Larry King, it’s not known whether the suspenders figured in his death.
Tommy LaSorda, legendary coach or the Dodgers, who said, I never tell my troubles to other people. 80% of them don’t care and the other 20% are happy I’ve got troubles.
Cloris Leachman, 70 of her 94 years were spent entertaining us and accumulating enough Emmy awards to rival Julia Louis-Dreyfus
James Levine, such a wonderful gift for directing orchestras and such a conflicted history of abuse—another human heart in conflict with itself
G. Gordon Liddy, who for all his lawlessness did not do America as much damage as the dirty tricksters with and for whom he worked
Barry Lopez, one of the finest of the human advocates for nature, wilderness, and thoughtful observation
Rush Limbaugh, huckster babbler, whose radio broadcasts played a major role in creating and widening our divisions and spreading fake news; the law school building at SEMO named for his father of the same name creates the constant need to tell visitors “not that Rush Limbaugh,” a disclaimer not so easily attached to the nation’s highest award that will forever embarrass our country. The good news is that a Lincoln lounge named for him had to go out of business for lack of business.
Bernie Madoff, a Ponzi schemer whose name you may have forgotten, gone to where, at least in Protestant theology, Ponzi schemes are a cosmic no-no.
Larry McMurtry, no doubt on the wings of the dove. Gave us the best of modern serialized westerns and broke the back of prejudice with his collaboration with Annie Proulx
Walter Mondale, who will always deserve to be remembered as the first Democrat running or President to select a female VP! He is one of the reasons Kamala is where she is!
Prince Phillip, Duke of Edinburgh, whose full name and title is as long as the nearly a century that his life spanned, an amazing amalgam of a man whose life was lived by the demands of supporting the Queen and who yet kept enough of a spark of individuality to be at time crusty, opinionated, and rude. Many people I suppose can be one or the other, few can manage the gamut.
Roger Mudd, long-time television journalist, anchor at critical moments
Christopher Plummer, and the hills not quite so alive now
George Schultz, former Secretary of State; you could spend your life in worse ways than trying to make Cold War relations better and bring peace to the Middle East; a century marked by his birth and death is over
Bob Shane, no more need be said in tribute than that he was the last living member of the Kingston Trio
Phil Spector, finally passed through the “wall of silence”
Cicely Tyson, aka Jane Pittman, a film that helped me learn how to read; even at 96 she exemplified how it was to be, in Nina Simone’s words, “young, gifted, and black”
Mary Wilson, one of the founders of the Supremes and apparently a neighbor to my friend Steve
Friends and Family
Barb Beechner-delightful companion at community and Senior College events and UNK games, wife of a prominent UNK athletic director.
Tom Baxter, cattleman and horse racer, always ready to support St. Stephen’s in anything visionary and not losing heart when visions failed, now together with Liz.
Cloyd Clark, former judge, constant advocate for our spiritual and cultural activities, raconteur, and exemplary friend, founder of the Buffalo Commons Storytelling and Music Festival.
Beth Feese, soprano in several choirs, including the choir at St. Luke’s when I was rector there and for long after, whose husband, the choir director, taught music at KSC/UNK and directed the Kearney Symphony Orchestra.
Allan Fesmire, he and Sharon were friends from many Faulkner and Hemingway conferences, his breaks from working as a pharmacist, social worker, and chaplain
Cheryl Gerdes, local friend, met first in Marriage Encounter, leading to many other later associations
Ray Grieb, when I was at St. Luke’s, Ray was priest at Cozad, and we had a reunion at Skip Miles’s funeral
M. Thomas Inge, scholar of popular culture with specialties in comics and scholarly comics, as well as popular culture and several authors, including William Faulkner
Aub Kendall, local jeweler, son of a friend of mine from long ago and father of Erika and Steve, known for being so direct with people that they often missed seeing what a caring person he is
Terry Thomas MacDonald[CP1] , whom we never met but father of Brian, the son a bright and able partner for some years in Teaching Faulkner at the Faulkner and Yoknapatawpha Conference, who mastered the use of Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom for Advanced Placement students’ tests!
Joan Northrup, Jack’s wife and so daughter-in-law to Lila and Orville, Nancy’s aunt and uncle, wonderful tutors in the art of parenting
Lois Kay Peek Race, my cousin, daughter of Dad’s next older brother; I was an acolyte at her wedding, they used to visit in Flagstaff when we all lived in Arizona
Glenn Reed, one of my best friends in graduate school and later teaching at Northern Arizona U. where Glenn helped me get my first full-time faculty position and took my money in a poker game one Friday night a month and who helped me put the 327 little screws into the play kitchen that we got for Noelle one Christmas the night George fell off their mezzanine and imprinted the floor tile pattern on his forehead.
Mary Sue Sturgeon, one of the first to be ordained when our Diocese “resuscitated” the historic order of Deacons; served at All Saints. Now if we could just get parishes to want priests to be priests first and CEOs (Rectors!) second, all four of the orders of the church would again be present, having restored the Priests and the Laity in one fell swoop!
Patty Taylor, gracious host, gracious guest—with whom we enjoyed so many meals, events, fundraisers, Holy Weeks when we lived in GI—and lovingly cared for to the end by husband Scott—so glad now we got to stop in Bartlesville and see them a couple of summers ago
Vern Thornbrugh, classmate from the McCook High class of 1960, whom I would have seen at our 60th reunion had COVID-19 not hit alums living in Florida and Arizona so hard that McCook didn’t feel like inviting a class reunion to come infect our old home town
Kitty Sue Troxel, schoolmate from McCook, majorette extraordinaire
JoAn Van Balen, met first when she moved to Nebraska as the wife of Fr. Mike Churchman; lots of times together with them when we were at St. Luke’s in Kearney and they were at St. Peter’s-in-the-Valley in Lexington; so happy now we stopped to see her and one of her daughters in Des Moines a year ago.
The June Blog looks at this point like it will be a commentary on these memorials of people close and their increasing frequency.
Kearney Nebraska
May 2021
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