A Final Tribute to a Very Good Man: Always Listen Carefully to the Dying

Today, the deeply sad news arrived via email that my lasting living uncle, and the last living member of an entire generation of blood relatives older than my own has passed away. George Anderson died last night at the age of 83, with his family at his side, at his home in Ohio.

I last spoke with him on Christmas Day, now two and a half months back, and I was frankly shocked at how vital and alert he sounded over the phone, even though we both knew, and acknowledged to each other, that he was lying on his deathbed, the place from which he would never rise again, except, perhaps, on a supersonic flight to heaven, which is truly where his soul deserves to land.

Our conversation was so energizing to me that I urged him to fight on, and believe in the possibility of a miracle, and to never give up. As if he needed me to give him advice! He confided to me his deepest worry about his two surviving sons and his wife of over six decades, "I only hope I am not a burden to them, Dave."

"I know that you are not, Uncle George." And, I am quite sure I was right.

Demographers, who earn their money working for marketing firms, like to classify us by generations. Here is what they consider those of us older folks, as opposed to the younger Generations X, Y, etc.:


Baby Boomers (1946-1964)
Silent Generation (1925-1945)
G.I. Generation (1901-1924)

Uncle George was a leader of the "Silent Generation," by this account, much as his son Dan and I are leaders of the "Baby Boomers," all by virtue of when we happened to be born.

Tonight, in mourning for my uncle, I want to reprint two of my posts from last year, in their entirety:

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

AN AMERICAN HERO

Many people don't bother to read the "comments" that readers may post to this and other blogs, so I want to re-post my cousin Dan's description of the astonishing corruption his Dad encountered inside the Chrysler Corporation in the late '50s. Of course, I was clueless about all this at the time. As a son of Motown, I followed everything the auto companies did, which is to say I drank their public propaganda like Kool-Aid.

Uncle George, meanwhile, was clearly a thoroughly good man. Through my child's eyes, I observed a patient, unassuming, kind man, who worked hard and loved his family, Aunt Reta, George, Jr., Dan, and Gordon.

As his parents' only son and youngest child, George moved his family to Florida to be close to my grandparents as they approached the last years of their lives. I knew about that, but I didn't know the following, though I do now, courtesy of Dan:

"If it is higher level collusion and intrigue that interests you, exploring Dad's early experience at Chrysler Corporation might fascinate. The same qualities that propelled his early automotive career at Fisher Body came squarely against the corruption at Chrysler in the late 50s.

"As the youngest General Superintendent at Chrysler, heading up skilled trades at the then new Twinsburg Stamping Plant, he uncovered a scheme involving a corporate vice president who was getting kickbacks from a sham business operated in his wife's name. In spite of attempts to threaten and bribe him, (Dad) exposed what he knew, leading to a corporation wide shake up in 1959 and 1960.

"A well known Detroit based attorney, Sol Dan, moved legal action which eventually blew the lid off and ultimately changed the Chrysler board. At one point, Dad threw a corporate rep out of his office when the rep told him it would be a shame if anything were to happen to his young family.

"On another occasion, Mother called him at the plant to say there was a strange man attempting to leave an expensive shop tool at our home. He had her put the man on the phone and told him that if he and the tool did not leave immediately, he would call the police to have him arrested."


***

There are lots of people who've done fine things and become quite famous as a result. They are the ones who run for President, or hawk brands, and have PR and marketing agents to repackage their stories.

Real heroes, to me, are like my Uncle George Anderson. He did the things he did out of a personal sense of honor and principle.

I'll be his PR man any day of the week.

***

Oct. 22, 2008

Entering the Night Kitchen

I woke up this morning to the sight of a distinctly unsightly purple blotch beneath my right eye. Damn! A capillary had burst, disfiguring my already aged face, turning me not only old but ugly.

At times like those, all I can perceive are the shadows of life, not the active forms that make up its essence. Maybe this is a sign of a more serious health problem? Maybe the bell finally is starting its toll for me?

Alas, any such thoughts or fears of "stopping by the woods on a snowy evening," as the poet would put it, were erased by the comforting voice of my long-time doctor's trusty assistant, Cassie.

"It's a random event. There's nothing to worry about."

Good, now where did I put my makeup?

***

My family is dispersed across the continent. Tonight my hopes and thoughts are with my Uncle George Anderson, who is gravely ill back home in the Midwest of my youth. He is the sole remaining living blood relative from my parents' generation.

Previously, on this blog, I've shared stories about Uncle George, courtesy of my cousin Dan, whom I know is at his side as I write these words.

All I can do is wish and hope that my uncle is resting peacefully, secure in the knowledge that he is a good man, one deeply loved by his family, respected by his peers, and emblematic of what a truly decent American can aspire to be.

I do not know how much longer he will be here with us, but I do know that I, and many others, are far better people for having been touched by his presence in our lives. Rest easily, Uncle George. We love you and we will never forget you.

***

Amen, Uncle George. Rest in Peace. I love you.

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