We reach out to an entity that makes us feel we'll ultimately know the answers.
Such thoughts are prompted by the loss of a friend. I have just been through such an episode.
My overall circle of friends has become limited since becoming unemployed six years ago. It has felt somewhat like an eternity.
Don't mistake the limited number of friends with a lack of richness. The richness has been most fulfilling.
We lost Glen Helberg a few days ago. You'll probably remember him
from when he carried out groceries at Coborn's. Once again, "nothing in
life lasts," and let's put Coborn's in that list. The vacated building
is a setback.
Helberg helped animate that store - give it color and a reason to
go there. He couldn't have been more polite or accommodating. Or
patient. He recalled someone who forgot where her car was parked one
day. I'll bet this happens a lot. Glen said "part of the problem is that
so many cars look alike nowadays."
Anyway, this woman got a little flustered, seeming guilty about the
inconvenience she was imposing on Glen, whereupon Glen said "Don't
worry about me. I've got all day."
We all seem in too much of a hurry. We have "data overload." We get
accustomed to "instant gratification." Glen learned there are much
higher priorities than instant gratification. First and foremost: life
itself.
Glen was the fellow you saw at Coborn's with that problem in the
jaw area. It was cancer and it never completely let go.
He succumbed a
few days ago, having enjoyed the company of friends as best he could up
until the end. His cat was a valuable companion. He had recently lost
another cat who lived to a very advanced age.
His residence along Pacific Avenue was humble but cozy. Howard
Moser always referred to the place as "Helberg's corner." People going
to West Wind Village would turn west there.
Glen once tried to do a favor by putting up a sign directing people
to WWV. It's a part of town where it can be hard to navigate if you
don't know exactly where you're going. Oddly, legal action was taken vs.
Glen's thoughtful gesture, so he had to remove the sign. Someone later
joked that Glen should just place a wheelchair on his property with a
sign and arrow saying "it's that way!"
All of west Morris can seem a little confusing. There are too few
landmarks. Way back when, that part of town was laid out in an
unconventional way, not with nice 90-degree angles in mind. Perhaps the
people back then felt Pacific and Park Avenues would be the only
streets. They begin at the same spot, by the railroad tracks, and fan
out.
Connecting the two became a little problematic. This is why there
is at least one "five-way intersection." I have a photo of that on a CD.
Pacific Avenue has a somewhat industrial complexion. But there are
lots of residences too. Glen had a nice little house and well-manicured
yard - a wholly pleasant place even though there was some industrial
noise nearby. It's a stucco house.
That part of town will never be the same now that Glen's gone. He
had such ebullience about life. He was philosophical and thoughtful. He
could get discouraged about how money could govern our behavior so much.
He lamented, as did I, the failure of this community to raze the
old public school once it was abandoned. Here's another exhibit in how
"nothing in this life lasts." He'd say "the money for tearing down the
old school should have been part of what we voted on (for the new
school)."
He advised me that if I should ever serve on a church council,
"keep in mind that it's all about money. That's all you deal with."
He seemed to lament the closing of a lot of small churches in the
name of consolidation. He mentioned a consolidated church that was
limping along with attendance, but a handful of rich people bailed it
out. He felt uneasy about this. The sanctuary can be filled and it's no
guarantee that the financial waters are calm, he'd say.
"You can keep a church going with four or five very wealthy people," he said.
His talk about wealth could be a little more earthy than that. I
have quoted the phrase crossing his lips most often about this: "Money
talks and bulls--t walks."
Our idealism must be balanced with a little cynicism. Cynics can
grate on us, like tea partiers perhaps, but they have their role in the
crazy quilt of our society.
Glen was a mechanical whiz and a bit of a packrat. He tuned up my
riding lawnmower one spring, then I had an emergency with it a few weeks
later. Mice had gotten into it, in our outdoor storage shed. I would
have been embarrassed contacting anyone else. Glen came over with his
trailer, rolled up his sleeves and remedied the rather considerable
damage. He only charged me what it cost him.
He was a morning companion of mine at our McDonald's restaurant.
Toward the end it was getting hard for him to stay the usual amount of
time and be sociable the way he wanted to. The ravages of the disease
were getting to be too much. He hung in there as best he could.
This is a confounding disease, as I'm sure you realize as you've
observed acquaintances battle it. It's unpredictable. Doctors try
different strategies and never talk in terms of your days being
numbered. I can't blame them, because it's so impossible to predict.
Remissions do happen.
Glen's malady was so visible. I know this bothered him.
Sometimes he'd be a little late showing up at McDonald's, whereupon
Brent Waddell would get out his mobile telephone and say "where's that
Helberg?" (If Mitt Romney can say "aircraft," as in "I just got off the
aircraft," I can say "mobile telephone." Let's all be Coneheads.)
Where is Glen now? Assuredly he's in a better place. He's somewhere
where money doesn't rule. He's no longer at the mercy of his mortal
body which limited his ability to eat normally in his later years.
I hope he's feasting in that "better place."
Glen Helberg, RIP.
- Brian Williams - morris mn minnesota - bwilly73@yahoo.com
No comments:
Post a Comment