Sixty plus
years on this planet and only three people have been able to make me laugh - my
friend Mark, my Nephew Matthew, and Uncle Howard. Now, we’re not talking here about the simple
chortle produced by the weekly Sitcom nor the courtesy laugh you find at
parties. No, not even the hearty laugh
that bubbles up with a close friend but dissipates just as quickly. No. We’re
talking about the eyes watering, stomach cramping, “Oh, this has to stop!”
convulsions that are so rare in life but when they do erupt form a bond that is
unique and unbreakable. And in that
regard, Uncle Howard stands alone within my realm of experience because the
laughter was mutual. Seldom did one of
us laugh without sparking the other. A
simple mundane trigger, eye contact, and boom, hysterics exploded that nothing
could quench until it had burned itself out.
Most people usually walked slowly away, sure that they had ventured too
close to the edge. While family and
friends learned to simply wait us out.
Howard was my Mother’s
youngest sibling. The last of nine. Son of two first generation Swedish
immigrants – Andrew and Esther. Andrew being
a boat builder by trade, subsistence farmer by necessity, died of stomach
cancer when Howard was nine years of age.
A member of the Silent Generation, Howard’s character was forged in the austerity
of the Great Depression. And before the
whiskers on his face needed shaving, off he went to serve his country on a warship
in the Pacific theatre during World War II.
Under such circumstances it is easy to imagine that the age when a boy becomes a man was reached long before it should have. But maybe that’s all for the best as a unique
blend of pride and humility, compassion and sacrifice, honor and faith were
tempered to the core.
Upon his return to the
States, Howard lived with and helped support his widowed Mother while completing
his higher education. And soon began a
lifelong vocation as teacher. But that label
is much too confining as he could just as easily be described as inventor,
entertainer, and craftsman. Somewhat
later, Howard met the love of his life – a young woman named Nancy.
Let’s add husband and father to the list. Friend to all.
Say Howard’s name and two
things instantly come to mind. The first
being coffee. Howard loved coffee and
could tell a good brew from a bad one simply by the smell. Whenever we stopped in a restaurant, the
first item ordered was coffee. And once
the waitress had poured him his cup, he would say with a twinkle in his eye, “I
hope they wash the dishes in this place.”
Taking the handle in his right hand and lifting the cup towards his
lips, he’d say, “Some people drink their coffee like this”. Then, with a seconds pause, he’d switch the
handle to his left hand and say with a grimace, “And some people drink their
coffee like this”. And then with an air
of mock pride, he’d take the cup in both hands, the handle turned away from his
face, and say, “But I drink my coffee like this!”
Yes, Howard loved to make people
smile. But a laugh was better. And that’s the second thing. Never was an opportunity missed to pick up
the guitar, pluck out a tune, and tell a few jokes. Christmas was prime time! Some years a fake white beard. Some years a tune and lyrics of his own
composition. Or perhaps a traditional
tune with words of his own making. Sometimes
harmonizing with his family in reverence.
Always a falsetto Swedish brogue gleaned from his parents so many years
before interposed at just the right moment.
Up on the housetop reindeer pause
Out jumps good ol Santi Claus
The hooves on the ice go click, click, click
He goes up slow but he comes down quick
As just a very young boy I recall
shadowing Uncle through the wasteland of a recently logged forest. Our quarry was the wee tiny blackberries that
grow on ground vines running over the stumps and leftover debris of the clear-cutting
operation. Dozens of such outings would
follow over the years. I’m not sure what
we enjoyed more - the search for patch, the harvest, or the eating of those
other worldly pies. A taste that I’m
convinced we’ll share again as a sidelight to the never ending banquet to come. But in this fallen world, the going was hard under
the summer sun. The size and scarcity of
the fruit predetermined that the bottom of the bucket remained visible much too
long. But if discouragement approached, those
character traits instilled from his formative years inevitably bubbled up and Howard
would say with optimistic enthusiasm, “they’re worth their weight in gold”. And on we went.
So many adventures. I was blessed to be along in the searches for
those two perfect logs - logs that Howard hewed into the mantels that adorned
the fireplaces in the home he built. I
was blessed when a metal detector was purchased and experienced the excitement
of the first unearthed coin. I was
blessed to share in garden harvests and the pressing of the cider. I was blessed to be present when the final
touches were put on inventions of the impossible and the moment of truth
arrived.
So now whenever I’m searching
out on The Chase, I always imagine Howard along side and sometimes I can almost
hear his words of wisdom and counsel, encouragement and excitement. And I wish he was with me. But it’s probably for the best that he’s
not. The utter fun of the moment would
surely be communicated with a mere glance and the howling laughter that would
inevitably ensue would have had us both committed by now.
Well, the last few years of
life found Howard in another epic battle - this time with Parkinson’s disease. The disease slowly robbed Howard of his motor
skills and speech. And along the way,
his beloved wife Nancy went to be with the Lord ahead of him. It was at Aunt Nancy’s funeral when I saw
Howard for the last time. Our meeting
was awkward – he with slurred speech and me with few words that simply stuck. And as we parted, there was eye contact one
last time. But alas, there was no
laughter to be found. That saddens me –
greatly.
But then I’m reminded of a
poem/song that Howard had written for my Mom on her 83rd birthday
years earlier. It was precious to my
Mom. And now to me. It never fails to bring a smile to my mind.
Jesus is a Friend to Me
(tune: Please
Release Me)
My Jesus is a friend to me,
Providing life abundantly,
Giving hope for every day,
His love for me is here to stay.
I thank Him daily for his care,
My burdens He will gladly share,
He lifts me to a higher ground,
A true great friend I’ve really found.
He brings a joy into my heart,
A happiness he does impart,
A lasting peace that is within,
With Jesus I’m surely bound to win.
- Howard W. Anderson
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