Dan and Hannah Say Good-bye to Big Steve

Hannah and I lost a dear friend just before Christmas.  Big Steve passed on and left a hole in the hearts of all who knew him.  (I like the verb phrase “passed on” rather than “died.”  Died seems so final when in fact the departed live on in our hearts and our actions once they have passed on.)

Driving 10 ½ hours from our home in York, Maine to Virginia, Hannah and I arrived at 11P the night before Big Steve’s service.  Seeing his wife Amelia and two sons, Brandon and Justin, we hugged and then hugged some more.  Taking us to a friend’s house where we would spend the night, Amelia asked me to give one of the eulogies.  Whoa.  I was pleased but wondered if I could do it.  I didn’t say no , but I didn’t say yes either.  I nodded in that non-committal way of the overwhelmed.

I awoke in the middle of the night thinking of what to say.  I knew I had to write it down since I am just not one who “wings it” well.  Before dawn I awoke again, went to the kitchen and wrote a first draft; a second draft immediately followed.  I then texted Amelia that I’d be honored to give a eulogy.  Here’s what I said

Good morning.  My name is Dan Rothermel.  Steve, Rich Meyer who is here today, and I were classmates and brothers at Arizona State University.  We had come to the Wild West and banded together as friends; a friendship that grew for more than 40 years.

Steve inspired me in three ways.

First, he inspired me as my friend.  There was no one who squeezed more out of life than Steve.  He was generous and loyal.  When many of us in Arizona had no car, he would loan us his if we needed it.  Even though he barely knew us, he trusted us; he had faith in us.  

I learned about friendship from Steve Kyker.

Second, he inspired me as a father.  Steve lives on in all who met him but especially in his fabulous sons, Brandon and Justin.  Those of you who know them know them as engaging, articulate, open to adventure, and family oriented young men with a great sense of humor.  It’s safe to say that they learned from a master.  Every summer Steve and Amelia hauled their trailer to our house in Maine.  They loved Acadia National Park and Bar Harbor on the Maine coast.  Thinking of their boys, they always had Brandon and Justin bring friends.  Their vacations were family celebrations.

Steve, Amelia, Brandon, Justin

Finally, he inspired me as a husband.  With his Amelia, he was thoughtful, kind, caring, loving, and playful.  I remember when Steve planned a 50^th birthday party for Amelia.  Unbeknownst to her, Steve brought my wife Hannah and me and a few other distant friends to surprise her.  As Amelia interacted with her family and local friends, we hid in a small room.  On Steve’s cue, we jumped out and yelled “Surprise!”  Amelia, being Amelia, shrieked with joy and embraced us.  She was so happy.  And yet, her happiness only equaled Steve’s joy in making Amelia, the woman of his dreams, feel so happy and so loved.

Steve inspires me to be bolder, more adventurous, more trusting, and just more playful.  The world is a better place and I am a better person for having known Steve Kyker.

Big Steve

The family was grateful and I was blessed for having the opportunity to say a few words.

A few of observations

1. I like how the Catholics said good-bye at this funeral mass.  At this church, there’s joyous music, a homily revealing the loving, good-hearted and humorous side of Big Steve; we had sufficient time to reflect and give thanks for his life.
2. I was honored to be selected as a pallbearer.
3. The graveside service was touching and a meaningful good-bye.
4. Church ladies are the best.  The home-style luncheon afterward brought us together as an extended family.  At their best, churches are the modern day villages that comfort us as a community when we experience a loss

May you rest in peace, Big Steve.

Big  and Amelia watching Brandon and Justin in kayaks

Dan and Hannah get Caught Up in the Buzz of the Marine Corps Marathon

Do you know how long it takes for toenails to grow back?  Read on oh faithful reader.

Taking the hotel shuttle to the Metro in late October, Hannah and I are ready to immerse ourselves in the buzz that is Washington, DC.  A swiped credit card gets us anywhere in the city in minutes on a clean and punctual subway.  Guided by our daughter Molly, who has lived in the area for five years, we love the idea of us, the country mice, coming to the big city.  As I sit on the Metro, I scan the walls and learn the rules for riding the subway.  Did you know that on the Metro it is unlawful to smoke, eat, drink, spit, litter or carry a radio that can be heard by others or carry any animals?  Ever obedient, I abide by their rules.

Stepping out of the Metro near the National Mall (the wide lawn that stretches from the US Capitol to the Washington Monument and then on by the Reflecting Pool to the Lincoln Memorial), we immediately face a mass of marathon runners.  

Still in good spirits two hours after their near freezing 8A start, they beam as if they are a part of twenty-six point two mile block party.  If you are not a runner, let me tell you there’s nothing like the energy of running with others.  Hannah and I ran our first 10K in Phoenix, AZ with 4000 others.  From our position back in the pack, we watched the bobbing heads of the runners ahead of us as if we were all moving on swells in the middle of the ocean.

What’s not to love about the Marine Corps Marathon!   You don’t need a qualifying time to enter as you do for the Boston Marathon.   The 35,000 places in the race are filled within an hour of the opening of registration.  There are no prizes for winners; it’s all about the finishing.  As much as running 26.2 miles can be a celebration, this marathon brings out the joy in the participants.

Ever notice that marathoning is a white person’s sport, except for the elite Kenyans and Ethiopians?  The few American-Africans and few American-Orientals in the race stand out.  (Thank you Denny McLoughlin for influencing my thinking on that designation.  Citizens of this country are Americans first.  Using “American” first focuses on our commonality.) Of course, as one time American-European marathon runners, our daughter Molly and I, fit the dominant demographic.

In 2007, our daughter Molly (in purple) ran in the premier marathon in this country, the Boston Marathon.  On a cold nasty day, she ran into a steady 15 mph headwind for four hours!  A cool thing she did was have her name on the front of her shirt so people could call out “Molly” to encourage her along the way.  After the race she had two black toenails - one on each foot - second toe in from the big toe - to this day, the toenail is not the same.  Below her brother Will carries Molly up the stairs after her four hours of non-stop running.

Why did she run 26.2 miles?  To raise $6K for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and to accomplish this challenge.  She certainly has something commendable to add to her resume: Boston Marathon finisher.

In December of 1981, I ran my one and only marathon, the Fiesta Bowl Marathon in Arizona.  Why?  Not as laudable as Molly; I just thought it would be cool to say I did it.  It’s like that it’s cool that I can say I juggle.   Going from Paradise Valley to Scottsdale, I was ever so slightly running downhill, which caused my toes to be pushed into the front of my running shoes, which was the reason I lost the two toenails.  The answer to my lead question: It took nine months for them to grow back.   Cruising through the first 17 miles, I struggled for the final nine point two.  Surviving the run is the most accurate word to describe my efforts.  My legs hurt so bad that a mere sheet on top of them in bed was painful for days.  Walking downstairs was a halting, hobbling, and grimacing affair for a week.  Even so, I now am a full-fledged member of the I’ve-run-a-marathon club; how cool is that!

After 30 years of running, five years ago Hannah and I found our knees were creaking each morning as we got out of bed.   We gave up running that day for hiking, biking, and walking.  But the running bug bit us after seeing The Tillman Story  about Army Ranger and fellow Arizona State (the Harvard of the West) grad Pat Tillman who gave up a $3 million contract with the professional football Arizona Cardinals to join the Army.  He was killed by friendly fire and the details were covered up by the Bush Administration.   His mother Mary Tillman fought for years to get the truth out.  The Pat Tillman Foundation organizes a race called Pat’s Run to raise money to invest in military veterans and their spouses through educational scholarships; building a diverse community of leaders committed to service to others.  Hannah and I will be rocking in Pat's run this April in Tempe, Arizona, where we lived for ten years.  

It’s just 4.2 miles but it’s our 2012 marathon.

Dan and Hannah visit an American Hero in Washington, DC

Emerging from the Metro (Washington’s subway) on to the National Mall, Hannah and I join the crowd watching some of the 30,000 marathoners who are running the Marine Corps Marathon on this chilly-for-late-October Sunday morning.  Impressed with their efforts and just the mass of good vibe humanity, we soak in the atmosphere and pick our way through the crowd down the National Mall toward the Martin Luther King, Junior Memorial. 

Heroes and celebrities.  People can confuse the two.  When I taught writing, one of the choices my students had to write about was hometown heroes.  Moms, Dads, siblings, custodians, lunch ladies, etc.  Celebrities entertain.  Heroes inspire.  Celebrities entertain.  Heroes change their world for the better, maybe one small step at a time.  Celebrities entertain.  Heroes stand for justice and face day-to-day challenges courageously.   Our beloved Tom Brady of the New England Patriots is a celebrity.  He’s not my hero.  My heroes include my wife Hannah who makes each day at the nursing home come alive for each resident who she cares for in her hairdressing ministry; my Mom who is a positive life force and makes anyone she comes in contact with just feel better about life.   Martin Luther King, Jr. is another kind of hero of mine; a global, make-the-world-a-better-place, encourage-me-to-do-better kind.

Passing the Washington Monument on our right with the Lincoln Memorial further down, 

we cross the Kutz Bridge on the edge of the Tidal Basin of cherry blossom fame. 

Bearing right prior to the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial, we breeze into the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial.  On this sunny morning many are milling around and taking pictures of themselves with the backdrop of the monument.   Quotes of King’s are etched into the marble wall.  They speak for themselves as they emphasize the four primary messages of Dr. King: justice, democracy, hope, and love. 

I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.

If we are to have peace on earth, our loyalties must become ecumenical rather than sectional. Our loyalties must transcend our race, our tribe, our class, and our nation; and this means we must develop a world perspective.

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.

It is not enough to say "We must not wage war." It is necessary to love peace and sacrifice for it. We must concentrate not merely on the negative expulsion of war, but on the positive affirmation of peace.

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.

True peace is not merely the absence of tension: it is the presence of justice.

I am stunned by the inspired design of the MLK, Jr. Monument.  It’s no less than artistic genius.  In the background of the plaza is a massive granite Mountain of Despair.  

Sculpted out of the Mountain of Despair is Martin Luther King, front and center as the Stone of Hope. 

It’s a fitting tribute to one of America’s heroes.  

 

PS  Ever really figure out what are your top ten favorite songs of all time? (Read on because this does connect to this blog.)

 

Of course, MacArthur Park sung by Richard Harris, American Pie by Don McLean,

and Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad  by Meatloaf are, I’m guessing, on most lists, if not all.  

 

The singer Dion sings another one of my other top ten songs, a classic, Abraham, Martin and John (1968), to pay homage to three American heroes.   

 

Sit back and be transported.

Dan and Hannah Immerse Themselves in the Buzz in Washington DC

Coming from the land of country mice in York, Maine, we find the buzz of Washington, DC intoxicating.   And the Metro here ties it all together.   This ultra-clean subway whisks us wherever we want to go.  Even on a rainy Saturday at 830A as we wait in the line to get into the US Capitol, people are talking and energized.  On a normal weekend morning in York, I get the Boston Globe at an empty Mr. Mike’s Convenience Story on Route One and bs with the clerk for my morning jollies.  Here in DC, it’s young and old out and about.  Families, too.  All the ethnics you could ever want.  Hannah and I are jazzed to be revitalized by our immersion in city life.

Welcome to Washington, DC.   It’s home to Barack and Michelle Obama, 100 disagreeing and often disagreeable Senators, and 435 contentious and often narrow minded House members who can represent their own interests (getting reelected) more than the American people.  Do I hear an Amen?  As a kid at Thomas Jefferson Junior High in Fair Lawn, NJ, our 8^th grade teachers brought us 250 miles south to our nation’s capital.  Bless their hearts!  Can you imagine taking 13 and 14 year olds anywhere?  What were our teachers thinking?  Hoping for?  Historical perspective?  Maybe an understanding of how our government works?   Show us that learning can take place out of the classroom?  Truly, bless them.  If those were their goals, they were totally wasted on me.   I don’t know what the 8^th grade girls were thinking about, but for guys like me, eighth grade was all about girls.   Yet, I digress.

This day Hannah and I find ourselves in Washington, DC with our daughter Molly looking to be a part of the Washington vibe.  Turned-down to visit the Obama White House, we looked for plan B.  (To even be considered for to be a part of the free White House tour, we had to submit our birthdates, birthplaces, and Social Security numbers.  We applied for tickets through our Maine Congresswoman Chellie Pingree six weeks in advance and two weeks before we were told No dice.  No explanation, no reason was given why we were turned down – Dan’s little weekend stint in the Nashville, TN city jail for hitchhiking on the Interstate back in the 1970s couldn’t be the reason, could it?).   Our consolation prize was that we were given tickets to the free tour of the US Capitol.    You might be thinking, Big Whup!   Dan and Hannah do not look gift horses in the mouth.  We thought, what the hey.

Our tickets for the 930A US Capitol tour tell us to arrive 45 minutes early to check in.  That’s totally unnecessary on this Saturday morning.  Arriving with our reservation for tickets, within minutes we are given a spot in the 9A tour where our guide passes out headphones so we can hear him since ten other tours are going on at the same time.  The headphones make all the difference in the world.  Whisked into a large auditorium, we view the film E Pluribus Unum, Out of Many, One.  The film narrator talks of the search for common ground that goes on in Congress.  That’s no joke.  He really said that.  In this day and age, that seems so ludicrous.  Maybe today’s Congress needs a history lesson?

The tour is an engaging enough fifty minute history lesson of the past two hundred years of the United States through the eyes of the American Congress.  

We walk by offices as well as the Rotunda where presidents lie in state when they die.   

The tour was fine.  Would eighth graders like it?  Not in this life time.

On this rainy day, we end up at a Cosi Restaurant in downtown Washington in the early afternoon.  http://www.getcosi.com/ .  Cosi’s are everywhere in the DC area; it’s got a Starbucks vibe since you can sit and hang out; use your computer without being hassled; or just to come in from the cold.  It’s not expensive, sandwiches $6 -8.  And get this, one of the choices for a side to my sandwich was baby carrots.  How cool is that?    Life should be delicious is their slogan.  Life is delicious.  Taste the world of Washington, DC the next chance you get.