A tribute

A friend passed away on Thursday. Perhaps I should say ‘died’, without the softening effect of the conventional metaphor, but I do not think it a bad thing to present facts gently: gentle to all who loved my friend and those who knew him only through other people’s stories. And Joe was gentle, whether or not he would have admitted it and despite his unsparing commentary on matters political and social, delivered rapid-fire, either straightfaced or punctuated by a (very occasional) sarcastic chuckle that somehow brought you in on the knowledge of the absurdity.

I met Joe in my first year of university through my boyfriend at the time, who is now my husband. They went to school together, and they had an unusually tight group of friends who shared the usual adolescent stuff: football, quiz team, neighborhood shenanigans. They all knew each other’s families and spent a lot of time hanging out on the front porch (Joe’s porch, as it happened) and listening to Joe’s older siblings’ vinyl LPs. The group stayed in touch all the way through university and beyond, even after most had left Ohio and some of us had moved completely out of the country. We’re now in our early 60s. What started as an annual New Year’s Eve party when the friends were in junior high continued. It is resurrected most years by a core group and their partners and usually involves more conversation (and football) than dancing. But this is not about the group, its key players or its fluidity and inclusiveness. All that is just context.

Joe and I lived too far apart for too many years for me to know how his political commitments were realized in his everyday life, but I knew what they were. I didn’t need to see him regularly to know that he believed in justice, equality and the value of labor over capital – although ‘believed in’ may not have meant that he thought these ideals were being realized very often. Cynicism is a lot funnier than faith in humanity. But while that fit perfectly with Joe’s deadpan sense of humor, it was tempered by his kindness, generosity, and perceptiveness.

Joe’s most recent career was in human resources. His upbeat temperament suited him to pretty much any work involving people, from politics to customer service. He would have drawn on his own experience to help people navigate the knotty intricacies of their employer-provided ‘benefits’, including health care. I have no doubt that his approach would have made it not only more manageable but pleasant and even entertaining. Every time he happened to be in his hometown visiting relatives, he remembered to stop by and see his friends’ parents too. Taking on the task of bringing the grillables to one of our group football excursions to Cleveland Stadium, Joe remembered to get some plant-based kielbasa for the contrary vegetarians. And he was openly delighted when his friends reveled in the rituals of football and rooted raucously for the Browns even if they – er, I – had never fully understood the rules of gridiron.

A practical person is one who doesn’t waste time wishing things were otherwise and figures out (or instinctively knows) what is desirable, right, or simply the best thing to do given the particular circumstances. He takes whatever opportunities present themselves. Practical reason involves the capacity for determining the right course of action, whether for the community or for oneself. This is no small task. It requires problem-solving and getting on with what needs to be done without fuss. But it also requires – perhaps more crucially – the ability to put oneself in other people’s shoes, understand their situation, and act with care and humor, which sometimes means overlooking their gaffes. We are what we do.

Joe, you are badly missed.

Citation

Please cite as: Miller, L. Elaine, ‘A Tribute’, It Could Be Words (blog), 10 March 2024, https://it-could-be-words.com/a-tribute