Regurgitating the Past

In cleaning out some files as part of my move, I came across this short piece I wrote in 2003.

Door Opener

Who would I be if Eddie hadn’t introduced me to Joyce, Lawrence, Hesse, Faulkner, Dostoevesky, Mann, Gide, Proust, DeAssisis and other great writers of the world? What pleasures would I have lost by not hearing Mahler’s “Das Lied von der Erde” or Bruckner’s Violin Concerto on Eddie’s “hi fi”? I know that I would not have taken this course if I hadn’t met him.

I knew Eddie for nineteen years, from 1950 to 1969. He married my sister and became the closest brother I had. He opened the worlds of great literature and music to me. His ironic and non-conformist position on many matters forced me to think. His thoughts on our world of the ’50s and ‘60s were refreshing and challenging.

I guess he was the first really bright, sophisticated adult I met. And, most importantly, he treated me like an adult, although I was only thirteen when we met. He helped ease the pain of the teenage years by giving me confidence that my ideas and opinions made a certain degree of sense and were worth listening to.

Eddie grew up in a working class neighborhood, the eldest of four. Although extremely bright and very well-read, he did not achieve his academic potential until he was long out of high school. The Korean War prompted Eddie and Jo to marry when he was drafted. He then took advantage of the GI Bill to enter college – and proceeded to Dean’s List status while working full time and raising three children with my sister.

Surprisingly (at least to me), after college he became a salesman. He was a good salesman: empathetic, very articulate, sensitive and hard working. It was those qualities that caused me to hire him for my software company. However, we did not get much time to work together. Two months after he joined my company, he died of asphyxiation at the age of 38, leaving my sister and six children.

That year, 1969, was a tough one for my family. In January my oldest brother died and I cried. In October my mother died and I cried more. And, in December Eddie died and I felt his loss most of all. My last view of him is of the funeral director shoving him down so that he would fit in the casket when it closed. Thirty-four years later I can still see everything that was in that mourning room.