Goofballs
This past weekend was filled with so much love. Over and over again, we were reminded of just how lucky we are, from the rich community we have at the boys’ school (those kids put on quite a holiday show on Thursday night) to the good friends we have made (dinner at Bailey’s Range on Friday night) and the neighbors who have become close friends, feeling free enough to drop by and hang out unannounced on Saturday morning. Then Sunday afternoon at another neighbor’s house, and today we look forward to spending time with more friends and their parents. We are surrounded and feel so loved.
Five years in St. Louis, and we have finally found our groove. It seems like we have been through all kinds of ups and downs, and true friends have come through for us, have made us feel welcome and loved and accepted. New people have come into our lives gradually, trickling in two by two, bringing with them laughter, stories, inside jokes, good books, good food, lessons for our boys and for ourselves. It is so true that the people you accept into your lives can make your life into something warm and meaningful; a community can make you feel supported and looked after and needed all at the same time. I am looking forward to a week filled with holiday get-togethers, laughter and wine, gift-giving, story-telling, and remembering loved ones no longer with us.
Yesterday, an hour after I wrote the draft for this post, I received an email from a stranger. A man who had known and loved my father, and considered him one of his very best friends 40 years ago, had been trying to track down my father, unaware that he had passed away. On his birthday, this old friend sat crying as he discovered that he could not thank him for a wonderful memory shared decades earlier. Instead, he shared the memory with me. I asked him if I could share the letter he wrote, omitting personal details. Below is part of that touching letter.
Lauren,
I trust and am hoping that you are the daughter of Jack Teemer. I found you on a link related to Jack and his photography (“my Papa”) and found your crumbbums site. I can see Jack in you. You must be his daughter.
The prelude to this email today goes like this: Today (December 20, 1950) is my birthday. I turn 65 today. I said to my wife I— earlier this morning, “I don’t know if you remember it but it was 41 years ago —wow—(1974) that on my birthday, I opened the refrigerator at the farm house in Mt. Airy and there was a whole case of beer from Jack Teemer. What a present at that stage in life! “
It was your Dad’s gift to me and the very next day, I was able to return the favor and gave him the same gift on his 26th birthday (December 21). We were in hog heaven so to speak, two photographer mailmen with plenty of beer for a while. . .
I— quickly searched for Jack on the internet and we found lots about Jack and many of his photographs. I could see it was him — I remember visiting him at UMBC in the late 70’s when he was studying with J— and had begun to focus on Baltimore neighborhood photos, all shot with a Mamiya 645. I don’t think Jack and I saw each other or spoke after he moved to Ohio. I was shocked to just learn that he died in 1992.
Which is why I am writing you.
For a period of time in the mid- 1970’s your Dad and I were very close. He was one of my best friends, and from 1973-1976 especially. We met at the L—, Md. Post Office in January 1973, two college student hippie rookie mailmen. Your Dad and I also had come upon photography at the same time. I remember, when we met, that I had just received a Minolta 101 as a gift. He had bought a Minolta 102 at the same time . . . We carried mail, had fun, took photographs.
In 1974, I— and I wanted to move “back to the land” again and I asked your Dad if he wanted to join us. And he did. We found a big rambling old Victorian farmhouse on 100 acres on L— Road in Mt. Airy and most mornings your Dad and I commuted together the 33 miles to the P.O. The Mt. Airy place was magical. We had the most amazing garden, raised chickens, tended the landlord’s horses and cattle. During that unusually cold winter 74-75 we had many friends out, guitar playing friends of mine. We’d party and play bluegrass, Pure Prairie League type country rock, Neil Young. Once the warmer weather came we’d eat dinners from our chickens and garden at a big picnic table under a giant black walnut tree in the yard, surrounded by friends. I took some of my best photographs in that period.
I remember well the day your Dad told me he was quitting the Post Office to enroll at UMBC and go all-in on photography. I was surprised. Your Dad was somewhat cautious at times and this seemed like a bold departure for him. I was envious, in a way, because I couldn’t see being able to make the same shift. As his friend, I was proud of him and happy for him. He said goodbye to us and our daughter J—. Jack had also taken photos of J— ( as I of course was doing) over the first few years of her life. He was like an uncle to her.
We all left Mt. Airy. Our son was born in 1978 and the need to make a real living pushed me to go in new directions. I put my photography aside–telling myself that I would be better off with it as an avocation —but the demands of my job and family and creative expressions through other venues, primarily poetry— kept the camera at bay. It has just been this past year that I have begun to work again. I am also near the ending of my “other” career. Perhaps that’s why I thought of your Dad today out of the blue and a birthday from so long ago. “When a great moment knocks on the door of your life, it is often no louder than the beating of your heart, and it is very easy to miss it.” (Boris Pasternak).
My thought of him feels like another memorable gift from your Dad on another birthday. I wanted you to know how much of a friend your Dad was to me. I wanted to re-connect with him this day, as if it was 1974 again. Until this morning, your Dad had not passed away for me. He was alive and present in my memory. Which is still true. Jack lives in me too, a total stranger to you and your family.
The Irish poet and philosopher John O’Donohue wrote:
“Your beloved and your friends were once strangers. Somehow at a particular time, they came from the distance toward your life. Their arrival seemed so accidental and contingent. Now your life is unimaginable without them.”
Your Dad and my meeting seemed so coincidental. My life is unimaginable without him. I am crying this morning all these years later.
Best wishes to you and all your family, especially on Jack’s birthday tomorrow.
What a wonderful, beautiful gift it is to receive a loving memory from a stranger! I am forever humbled by the people my father touched. If I have half the impact he had on others, I will die happy. Isn’t it true that the most important things throughout life have to do with the relationships you build with others, the people you touch and influence in your life, the friendships you cultivate and the encouragement you give… it’s everything, really.
I am also so grateful for all of you who grace these pages, who stop by to check in on us and offer your insights and meaningful opinions. Thank you for reading. I am so glad to be a part of your lives.
Happy Birthday, Dad. You are loved. You are missed.
