R.I.P., Gene
My good friend Gene has passed on. He was 76 and in poor health, so it was not unexpected, but that doesn't lessen the loss. As another friend stated last night at his wake/memorial, he has left many pairs of shoes to fill.
For me, Gene was on the border between capital F and small f friends. He wasn't someone I'd call at random and say, "Hey, wanna hang out?" but we were together at many events, and I was drawn to him. He wasn't an easy person to get to know, and I didn't like him at first. But as I used to joke, he grew on me, like a fungus.
He was a genius, and like many geniuses, he was socially awkward. He seemed to be living on a different plane from the rest of us. But if your IQ was even the tiniest bit above average, and you slowed down and listened, there was a wealth of knowledge, wit and kindness at your disposal.
My fondest memory of Gene was at a GottaGetGon three years ago. I was teaching at the Adirondack School at the time, and when the festival ended, I would be starting an intensive weeklong literature session with four eighth-grade boys on the subject of Edgar Allan Poe. Gene and I brought up the sunrise talking about Poe and his work.
My second fondest memory is late at night at the most recent Old Songs, at Jake's campsite. He stumbled. I caught him. He thanked me. He was a proud man not inclined to reach out for help, so it meant a great deal to me that he took and appreciated mine.
I don't think anyone saw me grin last night at the prayer service, but when we were singing "Dona Nobis Pacem," and between the size of the room and some people's attempts to sing it as a round, notes were coming in a half-step or so late.
That was our Gene. A half-step behind musically, but several measures ahead intellectually and otherwise.
R.I.P., my friend. I shall miss you.
For me, Gene was on the border between capital F and small f friends. He wasn't someone I'd call at random and say, "Hey, wanna hang out?" but we were together at many events, and I was drawn to him. He wasn't an easy person to get to know, and I didn't like him at first. But as I used to joke, he grew on me, like a fungus.
He was a genius, and like many geniuses, he was socially awkward. He seemed to be living on a different plane from the rest of us. But if your IQ was even the tiniest bit above average, and you slowed down and listened, there was a wealth of knowledge, wit and kindness at your disposal.
My fondest memory of Gene was at a GottaGetGon three years ago. I was teaching at the Adirondack School at the time, and when the festival ended, I would be starting an intensive weeklong literature session with four eighth-grade boys on the subject of Edgar Allan Poe. Gene and I brought up the sunrise talking about Poe and his work.
My second fondest memory is late at night at the most recent Old Songs, at Jake's campsite. He stumbled. I caught him. He thanked me. He was a proud man not inclined to reach out for help, so it meant a great deal to me that he took and appreciated mine.
I don't think anyone saw me grin last night at the prayer service, but when we were singing "Dona Nobis Pacem," and between the size of the room and some people's attempts to sing it as a round, notes were coming in a half-step or so late.
That was our Gene. A half-step behind musically, but several measures ahead intellectually and otherwise.
R.I.P., my friend. I shall miss you.