Bob Threlkeld, who was a principal at JohnstonWells until his retirement a couple of years ago, sent this to me following my husband’s death on May 31. It’s very well written, but that’s what we’ve come to expect from Bob. I wanted to share it with you.
Gwin…
I’m so sorry. I had heard that Don had taken a turn for the worse, but it is still a shock. I know you have a zillion e-mails and calls to cope with, but if you will indulge me, I want to tell you of some thoughts I had about Don late Sunday night in bed while recovering from jet-lag brought on by our 20-hour ordeal returning from France. I don’t know what prompted these thoughts at this particular time, but they were closely related to my father’s death some 39 years ago.
My father died somewhat unexpectedly after complications from a gall-bladder operation. I was 29. Close friends came to my mother’s apartment after the death and I remember my father’s closest friend embracing my mother and saying: “Betty, Harold was one of the nicest people I knew.” And, my mother replied, “Yes, he was such a nice man.”
And, I remember thinking, is that it? He’s a nice man! I wasn’t necessarily offended, but I thought it was somehow inadequate. What about his passion for public education? His many successes as a school administrator? His love of sports?
I had not thought of that incident until now. I’m sure it came to mind because Don has been universally described as “a nice man.” Indeed, he was frequently described as “one of the nicest persons I’ve ever met.”
And, thinking about this so many years after my father’s death, it dawned on me that being labeled a “nice man” may not be so bad after all. What a slow learner!
I’ve come to realize that “being nice” does not mean being a shallow glad-hander with all smiles and nodding acceptance of whatever opinion is being expressed at the time. Don (and my father) had strong opinions and were particularly intolerant of intolerance.
But Don was also a listener. He was truly interested in what you said. When he talked, he presented his opinions calmly; he didn’t shout them or insist that you agree.
In short, Don was a nice man. My father was a nice man. And, that, I’ve belatedly come to learn, is not only a rarity in today’s world but an epitaph to be honored and cherished.
