eulogy

eulogy for JAMES M. STILL, JR.

As I stand before you now it is incumbent upon me to either tell you something you don’t know about my father James. Or reaffirm what you already do know… perhaps I’ll do a little of both.

Most of you know that I composed a testimonial to him this past summer. And the summer before I threw a surprise party for him and his magnificent wife Terry. Most people who read the testimonial were pleased with what I did, I’d even go so far to say they were touched by it. And a few thought I was touched – in the head – and questioned just who the heck I was talking about.

To clarify, I was speaking of James. My father, a truly good man. I won’t say great; the word “great” is for history books and biblical texts. Good is what we all strive for, what we hope that we can be. When I wrote that testimonial I deliberately concentrated on the good and minimized – not trivialized but minimized – the bad. Because in the end, I believe this is what he left: his legacy, his good legacy. Joy and love and growth... And who wants to remember the bad anyway?

So I ask you this: in the end, what is the measure of a soul? That’s the question we’re faced with today and I guess everyday. We don’t need a funeral to come to grips with it… but this certainly does help to focus our response.

And I think the response is simple. The measure of a soul is how much you try. James was the epitome of perseverance. Even when all was down and dark, when hopes were bleak, he never gave up. Even when life conspired against him or even when he conspired against himself – and by that I mean he shot himself in the foot a time or two, didn’t he? – but let’s be honest, we’ve all done that. Hmm, I’m probably the champ. But James never… gave… up. And that, more than anything else, is the good measure of a soul. Or the measure of a good soul.

Some question how to feel grateful for a love that was, at times, fraught with distractions. Recently in class I, as a teacher, had the opportunity to address this very concept: my 18 year-old-students had their own issues with their parents and family members, whom they said were not always there for them. Whom they said did not always respond to them the way they felt they should have been responded to.

But they were focused on the wrong thing, weren’t they? They should have been asking what did they expect from themselves? And why did their expectations lead to such bitter disappointment for some of them? I know I can’t answer such deeply personal questions for others but I can tell you where they went wrong in their thinking. It’s not about how much love we think we should get. It’s about how grateful we are for what we do get.

You see, my Dad had issues. But that’s no secret; I’m betraying no one in making that statement. My students would call that “keeping it real.” See, I’ve come to learn he was pretty much doing the best he could with what he had. Sure, there were some moments he could’ve done better, some moments when others did do better, and still other moments when nobody else could have possibly surpassed him. Hey, he had his limitations, and those limitations often angered or frustrated both him and those around him.

But what lifted him above the fray were his efforts to go beyond. The limitations he had and his struggles to overcome them defined him. Add to them the limitations that the world insisted on holding over him and insisted on saying he could not overcome – well, often the world was wrong, wasn’t it? “You can’t start a business like that, we can’t give you money for that, you can’t call a general that, YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”…. Well, often the world was wrong, wasn’t it? And that, too, defined him. Maybe moreso than anyone else here today because Jim always…ALWAYS… pushed on. He was not his name; he was not “Still”. I know that he did his best with what he had, and I am grateful for that.

I see what he gave – unconditional love; support; money, lots of money, even when he didn’t have it; steadfastly maintaining his belief in the Still family despite the many bumps in the road that all families have. Most recently he supplied my wife and son with the money they needed to catch a sub-supersonic flight across the Atlantic and gather us all together… as one. I see what he gave and I am grateful. I see what he gave, embrace it, and use that to make me a better man and better able to give love to others: to my wife, my son, my mother, my brothers and students and neighbors and you, my fellow sojourners in this mad and maddening thing we call life.

This bears repeating: I see what he gave, embrace it, and use it to make me better.

I realize the strength I have drawn from him and will continue to draw from him. I realize that I could never! be where I am today without what went before. James and Theresa shaped me more than anything else in this world – noting that there were few people who desperately needed more shaping than I.

But I did it: I made it through, I made it here to address you today, I made it to a successful career as a teacher, and a successful family man and home renovator and writer and photographer and hardcore bicyclist and all the rest because my parents shaped and loved and were very, very patient with me.

And that’s the other thing I learned from the laudable example of James Monroe Still, Junior. Love is patient. Patience and perseverance go hand in hand. And if you are patient, I guarantee you will find a reason for gratitude. You will embrace what has been given you, no matter how flawed. And you will learn to give even more love in return.

Dad – thanks for that….

I promise that I will carry with me your lessons of patience and perseverance… and love…. Everyday and everywhere I go.

In closing, I have a… final….. farewell for my father that I wish to share with all of you.

[traditional Bahamian gospel song with lyrics “tweaked” by me]

Lay down my dear Father, lay down and take your rest
I want to lay your head upon your Savior's breast
I love you, but Jesus loves you best
I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight
I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight

Lay down my dear Father, lay down and take your rest
I want to lay your head upon your Savior's breast
I love you, but Jesus loves you best
I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight
I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight

One of these mornings bright and early and soon,
Jim is pickin' up his spirit to the shore beyond.
Go walking in the valley of the shadow of death;
God is gathering His children at the ending of the world.
He loves the children that were so good.
His rod and his staff gonna comfort Jim.
He’ll go walking to Jerusalem just like John;
We’ll remember right well, we’ll remember right well.
Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight.

Lay down my dear Father, lay down and take your rest
I want to lay your head upon your Savior’s breast
I love you, but Jesus loves you best
I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight
I bid you goodnight, goodnight,
goodnight.......

The Continuing Saga of James M. Still, Jr.

The earth stood silent last Thursday, August 31^st.

On that day James Monroe Still, Jr., one of the most notable, most human of all God'’s creatures, was given a diagnosis of advanced lung cancer. The wags of generations to come will regale in tales of his exploits, repeated and improved with each telling, and perhaps one day too, all the wags' tongues will, too, be stilled. But his passing (and there's no rush to get there) will forever alter the world, just as his life has already done, and for that reason the Earth and all the angels and deities that guard it will forever recall him with dignity.

It is my belief that every birth augments the world in some small way, just as every death diminishes it; but certainly all lives are not equal. Those are those who achieve pop cultural fame but their influence is meager and swift, and they add nothing to our eternal ballet. Eminem and Gable and Nostradamus come to mind. Then there are those who achieve no prominence of any sort, but their struggles daily define what it is to be human or American or part-of-whatever-country they happen to be born into. My dad squarely falls into the latter.

A man who defied Air Force generals, businessmen, thieves and most frequently his wife, he both invited defeat and created it, rolling with every punch, often flailing wildly and hurting those he loved the most -those who needed to be loved by him - but he always pulled it together and somehow, inexplicably, exceeded all expectations. When he failed he failed spectacularly, but he stirred all those ashes with a little spit and grit and produced victory from the bile.

A perfect example: the first man in history to gather the highest stripes together in one room, commanders from the four prominent United States military services along with their counterparts from nine allied nations, to annually discuss peacetime Mission Planning. This may sound dry and esoteric to you, but what it really means is trying to find ways to make the world a safer place. A no-brainer really, but one of those things that most people complain about while they wait around for the next guy to do it. Since James was in the Air Force Reserve at the time, he certainly had justification to twiddle his thumbs. But my dad is never one to rest on his laurels. A political independent, he had no agenda save that of wanting to provide a better world for the spouses and children of persons like him the world over, starting with his own wife and kids first.

On a more commonplace note, when he installed a wood stove in the house several years back, he took a blue pencil and a notepad and sequestered himself in his study for two days and one night. He emerged with a detailed blueprint of the insulated ceramic tiling that had to surround the stove in the corner of the den, a clever and artistic pattern. He had no education and no experience in the matter, merely determination to get it done. And he did.

My dad has never been the leading man, the Gable who gets all the glory. He's not the guy who outwits the bad guys and achieves all his dreams in a two-hour movie plot. No, he's the guy who keeps plugging away no matter what. By the same token, he's not Gibson's "Everyman", or the unsung blue collar hero. He'’s been deeply flawed: a man of European roots and all-too-common prejudice, he never succumbed to racism, and always beat his demons back down to give a man -– any man, or woman - the chance for the dignity he deserved.

Those of every color and hue who think there is no difference between the words prejudice and racism, take note. Prejudices are real, they exist, we all have them, and they can be defeated: day-by day. My father gave way to sexism and elitism and was crass and crude. But he was effortlessly charming and dynamic and tireless and despite his ever-increasing girth, eternally sexy. And most important of all, in the end, eternally noble.

There are few in this world like him that I have met. Who knows? There may be millions or billions and I have simply been ironically isolated from them. Or I may be, along with my two brothers, one of the few most blessed men on Earth. Don't you see?

My father's tribulations were hard-felt and often self-inflicted... or at least, self- aggravated. There were a lot of lessons learned for all five of us, a lot of love and anger spilled along the way. But in the end there was tremendous victory. My father pursued a steady stream of business opportunities in his lifetime: he founded many businesses, independently contracted with others, and occasionally even assumed a role or two as employee. He has been wont to call his never-ending search for success a failure, but this may be the only thing he's said in which he is 100% wrong: his string of entrepreneurial ventures is a continuum that ultimately rested in victory. He never relented, never truly gave in to his baser impulses, never fell to his knees and cried "Enough!"

Through all the sins and doubt and sorrow that permeates the human existence, he stood tall and made it. He may not realize it, but he taught me not only how to be a man, but how to be a good man, a good person. Like any dad, his first thought was to his family. But always in the larger context of how a living soul should act toward the world, to render it a better place.

Why did I write this? To hopefully make you think about your own parents and family, your own loved ones, to hopefully help you think how to make your slice of the world a better place. A man recently told me that he was addicted to monetary fortune and prestige, that the more he made the more he wanted. And in a brief second of true confession, he admitted he regretted this. There are much greater things to aspire to, and money is the least of all.

I also write it to extol the virtue of a good man. Not a great man as the world sees it, but a darned good man. One whose love and virtue will forever grace the fabric of this Earth, for now and all days to come. Why wait until his passing to tell the world about him? James Still is alive and kicking and still a star!