REMEMBERING UNCLE ERNIE
Ten years ago last month, we said goodbye to Uncle Ernie, who has been cited so often in these posts. I had the privilege of speaking at his funeral. Here, in part, is what I said on October 7, 2005:
It is so good to be together with all of you to honor the life of my Uncle Ernie.
Everyone here has their own favorite memories of Ernie, for he was a highly memorable character. Whether you knew him as a husband, a father, a relative, a friend, a healer, baseball star, demon on the tennis court, pinochle player, captain of his own fate, not to mention a series of his own ships, starting with the Klepper...a reunion organizer, lover of German potato salad, maker of chicken soup...you might agree that when they made Ernie, they not only broke the mold -- it exploded in a huge cloud of cigar smoke.
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| Tarzan Ernie at Tunnel Park |
Uncle Ernie was a kid magnet. This was most evident at The Mooring, his beloved Michigan vacation paradise. Here he was free to kick back and let his inner Roscoe shine. Maybe you know the story of Roscoe. One of his Michigan buddies was a guy named Dave, who, at The Mooring, was known as Zorba. And somehow Zorba started calling my uncle "Roscoe." It was really Roscoe who thrived in that bracing Michigan air. And at the end of a long and happy day, after clobbering Zorba at tennis and probably getting clobbered himself by the boom of the Klepper [not to mention a G&T or three, it must be stated here ten years hence], Ernie/Roscoe would retire to his cottage, the Wee Scott, and one by one, just about every teen on the property would filter in to spend an evening with Ernie and Suze and Luke and Matt.
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| Ernie and Suze... Doin' the bump in the Wee Scott |
Those of you who are his contemporaries could share other facets of his personality, citing examples of strength, kindness and integrity. Kids, on the other hand, simply sense these qualities. They're not attracted to adults who lack them.
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| Ernie and me, 2000 |
Ernie was by nature an advocate. He listened and remembered. Even in his final days, he could focus on others. As recently as last week, when you visited his hospital room, he'd ask about your tennis game, or how your latest project was going.
Over the past couple of days, I've received emails from former "kids" who are now as gray as I am. Blair, a friend from the early days in Michigan, wrote: "Thanks for letting me know about Ernie. I am really going to miss him. He used to call me at the different holidays and when I went into the hospital, and just make me laugh. We are running out of good people that can just make us laugh."
My cousin, Ernie's nephew Bob, badly wanted to be here today. But he's recovering from surgery at his home in Texas. His son and daughter-in-law, Tom and Julie, are with us though, up from Texas. Bob wrote: "I was telling Julie about the laughing, joking chiropractor who treated pain with adjustments and with laughter (not to mention with great success). I told her that in a way, we were all his patients; he wanted so much to make sure that everyone was comfortable, that everyone had a good laugh, and that everyone felt better. With me, it ALWAYS worked! irreplaceable, a one-of-a-kind gem."
And a couple of years ago, at a family get-together, I glanced over and saw Ernie holding forth with his youngest grand-nephews Matt and Eric. Eric looked up and said, with a big grin: "Uncle Ernie rules!"
Five years ago, Ernie sent me a piece of mail. I don't think this had ever happened before. He had just returned from a trip to Colorado, where he'd had a great time but had seen that his health problems were catching up with him. He also knew that earlier in the year, I had spoken at the memorial service of a mutual friend. Since then, he had mentioned to me a poem called "How Do You Live Your Dash" that had really struck home. So when I opened his envelope, I was not entirely surprised to find a copy of that poem. In the margin, he had added by hand: Some people come into our lives, and quickly go again. Others come and stay awhile and our hearts are forever changed.
Though Ernie didn't say so, and we never alluded to it, I felt he was signaling me that the poem about the dash would be a good thing to pass along if I had occasion to memorialize him.
So that's what I'm going to leave you with. But instead of reading it aloud now, I've brought copies to share. They're in the foyer. That way, you can take a copy with you as you leave here, and when you read it, you'll imagine it in his voice. You might think of it as another little gift from Uncle Ernie, and maybe you'll imagine a trace of cigar smoke, drifting in on the breeze.
Godspeed and amen.
*****
How Do You Live Your Dash?
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning….. to the end
He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years. (1900 – 1970)
For that dash represents all the timeSo think about this long and hard….
That she spent alive on this earth…
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own:
The cars…the house…the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider whats true and real,
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile….
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.
So when your eulogy’s being read-- Linda Ellis
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?
