Baseball, Jeff, & Me
We fell in and out of touch over the years, but never ceased thinking about what the other might be doing. We shared a unique bond. We knew exactly how the other would react in certain situations, and knew it was pretty much what we were thinking ourselves. In a guy kind of way, I guess you say we were simpatico.
I don’t ever remember being angry at him, or he with me. He appeared to have a simplified outlook on life, as he reduced almost everything to a black or white deduction. But there was thought and consideration behind each decision, and once a conclusion was reached, he rarely changed it. His was a mind largely devoid of clutter or second-guessing.
His home, in particular his garage, reflected that lack of clutter. When I marveled at the impeccable cleanliness of his garage, he noted it wasn’t hard to keep it that way. “Every six months,” he said, “I clean out whatever hasn’t been used.” Discipline. Financial, emotional, physical.
When we were bachelor roommates and he was looking for a girlfriend, he explained his search process to me. “Tim,” he said. “I look at it through my TEEM – my Time, Energy, Emotion and Money. If a girl’s wasting those, I move on. I’ll just keep turning over the cards until I find the right one.” He said it with a laugh and a smile, but there was truth behind it. He was as direct and unvarnished as they come.
People sometimes say I’m a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy, but I can’t imagine anyone being more that way than Jeff. He was true to himself, staunchly stubborn, plain spoken and unapologetic, loyal to a fault, and unforgiving of those he felt had crossed him. Things were either done or they were not done, and few if any excuses were good enough. Like I said – life was pretty simple for him.
After a lapse, we re-connected a couple years ago when he reached out from his retirement in Sisters, Oregon. Although he didn’t own a cell phone or a computer, he found me one day on LinkedIn through a library computer. Because he was off the grid, my recent searches hadn’t located him. I hoped he was still the same man, and when we met I wasn’t disappointed – he hadn’t changed one iota. We had a great time whenever we got together.
This past March he emailed (using that free public library computer) to say he had been diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. My heart missed beat, and tears came to my eyes. A few weeks later he proposed we go on a midwest tour of major league baseball parks. I moved things around my travel schedule so we could go near the end of July. Everything was settled. He insisted on paying for the tour if I would spring for the airfare to Chicago. Done.
Ten days before our tour, Jeff called to say he thought he was now too sick to go. He wanted me to find a buddy to replace him and take the trip anyway. And he would still pay for the trip. I had learned a long time ago not to argue with Jeff. I gracefully and gratefully accepted, found a friend to go with me, and we thanked Jeff every day for our eight-day excursion from Chicago to Cincinnati, Cleveland, Milwaukee and back to Chicago.
I texted his wife a few times to relay our thanks to Jeff, but I’m not sure he ever heard us. On August 2, five days into our trip, Jeff passed away. His wife informed me with a simple note, “Jeff passed at 6:53 tonight.”
Once home, we arranged to visit his wife a couple weeks later on our way back from Monterey. It was a good visit. Jeff had been Jeff all the way to the end, making jokes with the doctor and nurses about his predicament, being devoid of pride and bravado, simply taking what was given as it came. I know why his wife loved him; he was a man’s man, no excuses, no apologies. He took on his responsibilities with serious dedication and loyalty to those he loved. To Jeff, it was simple: that’s what a man did, no matter what.
Even though it was results that counted, Jeff believed in everyone getting a chance to prove what they could do. He was happy to tell you about his 273 – 78 won-lost record as a middle school basketball coach, but he was most proud of the fact every girl on every one of his teams had played in every single quarter of every single game. As someone once said, “It’s not bragging if you can prove it.”
Jeff proved what he was over and over. No brag, just fact. We miss you, my friend. You were the best.
