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Jack McGowan Jack is 100% Irish. He is turning his land into a park for kids. He tells riveting stories. He told me a story once about the horse that got stuck in his kitchen. He says things like, "You'd look better fatter" and "I'll tell you some stories that ain't even true" and "You could use a few dents in your halo." Jack introduced me to (and probably invented) Paul Bunyan croquet- using some farm implement part for wickets, bowling balls, and huge wooden sledgehammers. Jack taught me how to throw tomahawk. Jack has made (sometimes with help from his kids) a 30 foot canoe, a catapault that will throw flaming pumpkins across his farm, a feast table out of an old bowling alley lane, chimes out of oxygen tanks, and a cannon, to name only a few. Jack is great with kids and steadfast in his faith, but managed to piss off both our Catholic church and my parents by being too mischevious. He has a knack for civil disobedience. He has a fantastic laugh- head thrown back, hands on either sides of his belly type laugh, and fantastic smile wrinkles to go along with it. He's got a serious twinkle in his eye. Jack gives the best bear hugs ever, with the possible exception of my second grade teacher, Mr. M. Margery Aber I don't remember a lot of things about Margery Aber, except that she was an instructor at the Gashuku festival for Suzuki violin when I was eight, or so. What I remember about her vividly is that she was about seventy (although that might have been a missed perception at age eight) and wore her gray hair long, but in a bun on top of her head. I thought that was cool. She drove an old green station wagon with wood panel sides, with a canoe lashed to the top, and she had more energy than any of us in the room, even though we were all in the seven to twelve age range. She positively bounded around. Howard Scott Howard is a new idol of mine, as I just met him recently. I worked on a trade work project for school where I finished a violin that this man had started building while he was in prison in 1945. He was in prison as a conscientious objector, because of the Japanese internment camps. It took courage to speak out about that, no one was really doing much about it at the time. While in prison, he befriended the guards to a point where they turned a blind eye while he salvaged wood from the trash and windfallen trees, salvaged metal and had the prison blacksmith fashion it into edge tools, and received letters from his wife who was typing instructions and tracing blueprints on how to build a violin from out of a library book. He built all the pieces, but never cut f-holes or assembled it. It sat in a box until 2004-2005, when I finished the work. I was able to meet Howard and his spirit is unshakable. He also plays a mean harmonica. His grandson Nolle is an example of the family lineage- he's positively one of the most genuinely kind and earnest souls I have ever met. Since Nolle is my peer, I don't think I can add him to the list- but I bet he gets it all from Howard anyhow. Marty Wiltgen Marty Wiltgen was my high school Humanities teacher, and is solely responsible for lighting the fire under me to pursue the arts. He is also the main reason I had any sort of preparation going into college, He did this all while mysteriously leaving the room during tests, with the answer sheet sitting on his desk. He had clear blue eyes that positively twinkled, and wore bowties to school every day. He had those half reading glasses (more on those later) on a chain around his neck. He had been a star gymnast back in the day. Tragically, Marty had some neural problems and committed suicide. I will never forget him. Lance Patterson Lance is a tricky one, because I really don't want to be like Lance when I grow up, but he definitely inspires me and is a fascinating person. Lance is a genius. He can do (and has done) anything and everything. I met Lance at the North Bennet Street School, where he is a cabinet and furniture making instructor. He approached me at some point about giving him violin lessons. I gave him lessons but he was a challenging student- he was discussing philosophies of shifting with me (a little beyond my knowledge of the subject!) but at the same time, didn't really know how to hold his bow. Every time I talk to Lance, I learn something new and astonishing about him. He is a master cabinetmaker, revered by his students. He makes astounding reproduction period furniture. He makes clocks. He also makes flageolets and tops and other toys. He plays the musical saw. He was in the Newport Jazz Festival once, on saxophone. He is a large-format photographer. He is yet another star gymnast from back in the day. Oh, did I mention he looks and acts like he should be panhandling down by the Hynes Convention Center subway stop? Lance has long white hair and a long white scraggly beard, which students eye nervously when he bends over the lathe. I've seen people edge away from him on the subway. He is painfully shy and self-deprecating. The man is surrounded by mystery and rumor- about hidden wealth, a criminal past. Could be true... My Uncle Jerry When I picture my Uncle Jerry, I picture him the way I knew him most of my life- sitting in his large leather chair, in his cowboy boots and corduroys, smoking his pipe of Rose Crown Tavern tobacco, wearing those half reading glasses (see Marty Wiltgen above) and doing the New York Times crossword in pen. Fast. Jerry is my Dad's older brother, and he was an airline pilot and a bachelor until age sixty-three. Then he retired and got married to a fabulous woman. Growing up, Uncle Jerry was my picture of what it meant to be wealthy and enjoy the finer things in life. He was well traveled and well educated. He had an apartment in New York and one in San Francisco, and his lake cabin in Northern Minnesota. I picture him enjoying a bottle of wine from his wine cellar- a bottle that I was sure was picked up on one of his trips to France. He was very generous with what I now understand to be his relative welath. The check he gave me when I graduated from high school was a larger amount than I had ever owned, and is still larger than my usual checking account balance. Uncle Jerry has many facets and interests. He used to be a horseback guide for elk hunters in Montana. He loves country music and goes to the We Fest. He learned to fly in the military. He played hockey in college. Jerry's Irish heritage shows up in his sense of humor- I remember him giving our dog beer. I thought that was hilarious. I still have yet to match his speed with the New York Times crossword- or even be able to get two clues on the saturday puzzle. Anne Kough Mrs. Kough was my piano teacher starting at age six. I am not sure how old she is now, I guess in her nineties. Mrs. Kough was a good piano teacher and adored her students as all good teachers do, but that's not why she's on my list. Mrs. Kough has qualities I can only dream of- she has poise, grace, and stateliness to rival the queen of England. She exudes class and high society, even though she lives in a small house in a medium-sized town in southern Minnesota. Her handwriting is the most beautiful handwriting I've ever seen. I see examples of her handwriting often because she has sent me, without fail, birthday cards for twenty-five years even though I stopped taking piano lessons from her sometime in elementary school. |