42 - collective creation of excellence

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

—Theodore Roosevelt, The 26th President of the United States

~~~

On July 12th George Kinney succumbed; his body unable to beat back the variety of infections that had taken hold and would not abate. Organs had begun to fail.

We talked to the attending ICU physician and we all agreed that it was best to stop the sedation and remove the respirator. Morphine was added in to make him comfortable and prevent “air hunger.” She said it could take a few days but that it wouldn’t be long. Time to wait.

I was the last to see him. After all of the catheters and tubes were removed, he settled into a kind of snore. I waited and waited, thinking to myself, “What happens if he wakes up?” Jesus. He quietly and gently kept snoring. The weirdest thing.

~~~

Back in the 60s, when Pops was first elected president of his state's contractors association, he had to write a welcome address for the association’s magazine. One Saturday morning when he was at his shop loading the trucks and preparing the upcoming week’s schedule, I was in his office at home, and I happened upon his “legendary” pocket notebook (now Moleskine brand), pages of squares, like his 8 ½ x 11 yellow pad for weekly to-do lists, also with squares, no doubt bought at his revered stationery store, Sleeper Stamp & Stationery Company. Word is, back in the day he and Henry Albert Sleeper were pals, Sleeper a kind of eccentric who sought to serve both the artist and business communities.

Anyway, the legendary notebook? I found the following Roosevelt quotes written in Pops unique script, and I wondered where he had found them. He read the Reader’s Digest, devoted he was, maybe there, don’t know:

“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”

“Far and away the best prize that life offers is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.”

“Industry and determination can do anything that genius and advantage can do and many things that they cannot.”

"Every man owes a part of his time and money to the business or industry in which he is engaged. No man has a moral right to withhold his support from an organization that is striving to improve conditions within his sphere."

This last was the quote he used in his address to his fellow contractors, and I was dumbstruck as a teenager, often seeing him as a bully and not thoughtful. It was my first glimpse at who he really was and what was important to him. I copied all of these down and never said a word.

He was a force and presence and had learned over time that you had to fight for everything worthwhile. His first foray in improving conditions came when, as a journeyman in his 20s, he jumped into the labor union movement as the plasterers’ local union president. Later in his life, addressing his fellow contractors, architects and builders he would always argue that it was up to them as a group to inspire and lead, that though as individuals you could seek profit, what was most important had to do with the “collective creation of excellence.” I first heard him use the phrase at the event where he became the Builder’s Exchange president, an event I will never forget, a moment I believe he and my mother were their happiest, dancing to Artie Shaw’s Begin the Beguine and celebrating his burgeoning success and influence in the construction industry.

~~~

Was at the airport when I got the call. It had only taken a few hours. Sonja and her sons had taken a respite, were down the street at Pops’ favorite restaurant, when the doctor called; then Sonja called me. I told her it couldn’t have been a better ending. It was as if he was in his recliner after eating one of mom’s marvelous meals, nodding off, tired after another long day’s work, snoozing/snoring.

Last images and last thoughts, coming back around to Wallace’s words, “… the recognition that I’m going to die, and die very much alone, and the rest of the world is going to go merrily on without me…”

Life indeed goes on. Have used that phrase more than once in the last few years. And honestly, am tired of using it. Have never been so low, so beaten down, so ready to pack it all in. Four years and a series of events have buffeted and battered this spirit. Yes, life happens, and yes our charge is to meet the travail head on, to not turn away, but you know, fuck courage, fuck fearlessness, fuck stiff upper lips and belief in fairytales, gods, and all the salves and balms we’ve conjured to keep ourselves going. If it weren’t for Camille I think I’d be taking a swan dive off the Coronado Bridge, and how seriously messed up is that? One person’s effect on us, an intimacy and comfort that is ephemeral and not guaranteed, their presence in our life part of the dynamic, ever-changing and fundamental nature of existence.

Passion for life, is that what gets us through? Our varied interests and a balance of things, our mission-driven work, our coworkers, colleagues and friends, our family, the love of simple things, love of travel and adventure, and/or this love of one unique and idiosyncratic person, a significant other that frames it for us and fires us up?

Or, is it something unspoken, unknown, some instinct and driving force no words can capture, continuing without thought, unthinking?

What is it?...

Am sitting on the veranda, the sun’s setting, the ocean is calm and quiet, and I’m waiting for Camille to come home; feeling like The Best Is Yet To Come.