Tribute to Jarry

I met my father-in-law almost 25 years ago. We had little in common. I loved sports. He wanted little to do with sports. He would tell you his father force-fed him sports because he was big and tall, but Jarry was interested in the cerebral side of life. He taught English and literature most of his adult life. If there were a Readers Anonymous for those with an addiction, he would have been a charter member.

So what would I talk to him about? This new father-in-law of mine. I was nervous. It didn't take long to figure out he was one of the most brilliant men I had ever met. If I did broach a topic, he had a comment, a reference, an insight or even a citation. It was all from memory. I never saw him look up anything. What's more, he would even ask me about sports. He was genuinely interested and knew it was one of my areas of expertise--that, and mass communication.

Surprisingly enough, it didn't take that long to find common ground. Even though I didn't read much fiction, I picked his brain about the civil war, politics, religion and sometimes just the "good old days." I went from that awkward stage of, "Oh, god, don't leave me alone in the same room with him," to "Where's Jarry? I have something I want to share with him."

Of course, I really didn't have to ask "Where's Jarry?" aloud. He was always in the same spot--his recliner, which later became his raised recliner, which later became his fully-automated, turbo-charged, jet-fueled recliner. This all happened as he became less and less mobile. His rebuilt legs couldn't take the strain of his large frame as he got older. It was hard for him to stand without help.

Yet he was still a giant to me. Through all the trauma and pounding his body took, his mind remained unaffected. There was never any chance of Alzheimer's here. I would marvel as I brought up a historical name I was sure he wouldn't recognize, and he would respond with a quote about the person, where he read it and probably what page it was on.

He always spoke slowly and deliberately, but not because he couldn't remember. He was crafting his thought, and although you were tempted to urge him on because sometimes there were long pauses, you knew whatever he said was going to be worth the wait, and you were likely to learn from him. He would have made an amazing Jeopardy contestant, except for the fact that Alex would have lost patience with the time he took to answer, and he probably would have given him too much information.

Now I realize I'm no mental slouch, but I always felt dwarfed by his intellect. As I left the world of my tunnel-visioned knowledge of sports and branched out into other milieus, we were able to share a wealth of information, but I could always count on him to enrich me further than I enriched him.

I know it's cliche to say he has given so much to those around him and those who loved him, but it's nonetheless apropos in this case. You can measure the things he taught. Had I been one of his students in the early days, he might have inspired me to change my major and open myself to new worlds and a new appreciation of epistemology.

And he gave me one thing more. He and his lovely bride produced the love of my life. For that alone, I will be forever in his debt.