The Moving Finger

The Moving Finger writes and having writ
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.

We went to a memorial get together for Gerry Oehm yesterday.  It was at Pinehurst, right across the street from Gerry and Pat's place.  I remember a clambake at Gerry's house twenty some years ago.  Gerry spent many a happy morning and lunchtime in the lounge planning this little party.  I know.  Kathie and I figured into the planning.  The Clambake Company (or something like that) was directly across Pearl Street from the Vogue Theater where Nate was performing with In Vogue (They were really good.).  We let Gerry know about the place and the party evolved from there.

Gerry and Pat (of course) were there.  Ken and Dana Weaver.  Dale and Carol  Bartkus.  Bud and Janet.  Barb and Mike.  Cindy and Jerry.  I even think Larry and Charlene, our nextdoor neighbors, were there.  I'm not sure if that list is complete or accurate, but it sounds about right.

We started with an oyster bar while the clambake folks put lobsters and clams and the works on the grill and we all gathered around a giant table and ate and drank and talked to our hearts' content.  Afterwards, we all moved on to Fiddler's Green where there was some kind of New Orleans festival going on.  Laissez bon temps roulez, or words to that effect.

I've been thinking a lot about good times like that lately.  It's been a big year for deaths in our Green Mountain family.  Ken Weaver died a little over a year ago and we all gathered together at his funeral and caught up on how we were all doing.  Dale Bartkus was next and we all gathered around at his memorial party and caught up on how we were all doing.  Ken Boerner also died quite recently, a fact that caught a lot of us unaware.  And now there's Gerry.  There we all were once again catching up on what we were all doing.

I'm not trying to be maudlin here, but the increasing frequency of these get togethers around a dear friend's death is hard to ignore.  Dale More was there at Pinehurst.  Cindy and Jerry.  Ruth Meyer and Glenda Adams.  Sue McNamee.  Sue and Gary Hurelle. Sara Nesmith.  Faith and Ellie and Fabian and Mick.  Denny Shepherd, who keeps looking thinner and healthier every time I see him.  Orval stood up to the microphone and paid Gerry a lovely tribute. Joe Latino always manages to emerge on these occasions and there he was again acting like an administrator and touching tables.  He even told me that I was a good teacher.  Kathie too.  Hey, thanks Joe.

I think Gerry would have liked the reception.  He loved parties and standing around and talking with a glass of cheap scotch in his hand.  I went over to the bar and ordered their cheapest scotch on the rocks as a kind of tribute.  The cheapest stuff they had was red label, but I ordered a double in honor of Gerry.

We didn't have a lot in common.  I mean he was a math whiz for god's sake; I barely know my times tables, but I could always write better controlling statements than he could.  Since he taught Calculus and I taught AP Literature, we had a lot of the same students.  They came into my classroom after Gerry with dazed looks on their faces.  I did my best to make sure they walked out of my classroom and into his with those same looks.  We put those kids through a heuristic mill and they were the better for it.  So were we.

We had a love of food and wine and drink in common.  We both had a lot of worthless trivia stored in our brains.  We both told good stories.  We became good enough friends that Katherine and I started getting invited to Math Department parties.  We always had a good time; of course, when they pulled out the flash cards and things started getting wild, we beat a fast retreat.

In high school, I discovered, Gerry had a kind of club loosely gathered together because they all loved Omar Khayyam.  Go figure.  It was the same with me.  My mother gave me a copy of The Rubaiyyat and I was hooked.  I didn't have a club of similar enthusiasts.  I guess I wasn't as charismatic as Gerry back in those days.  But Gerry and I could quote Omar back and forth to each other.  How many math and language arts teachers do you know who could do that?

The quatrain at the top of this piece is my second favorite poem in The Rubaiyyat.  It seems appropriate at this time and it is so much more articulate than simply saying "It is what it is."  When I think of all my friends whose funerals and receptions I have attended of late, I think of that poem.

I'm going to end this with my favorite quatrain.  It isn't some false bromide to make us all feel better.  No, it is simply a clever statement that makes you smile in spite of its message.  Gerry would have liked that.

'Tis all a chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the closet lays.