I knew John
Blackstone for only the final sliver of his magnificent life. But as Camp
Director at Camp UniStar for the past three summers, I had the distinct
privilege of working side-by-side with John as he served on the management
committee, devoting time and efforts toward perhaps one of his greatest joys in
life; camp. From this vantage point I came to know John not just as an informal
“boss” of sorts, but more importantly and more significantly as a mentor, role
model, and a friend. And I know I am not the only one in the camp community who
would label John as such. My
discussions with other committee members, staff, and campers all describe John
in similar fashion.
As I worked to uncover the appropriate words
to describe John, I came to the realization that if you didn’t know any better,
you might easily confuse John for a character out of Garrison Keillor’s famed
Lake Woebegone. Born on the prairie and of Nordic stock, he displayed the
steadfastness, tenacity, and sometime the stubbornness you might expect from
such a character. He demonstrated loyal dedication to his job and service
commitments, and exercised his civic duties with regularity. His love and care
for his family was always evident by his interactions with them. He was a
simple man and as he taught Sonja, “When you’re hungry, eat. When you’re tired,
sleep.” What’s more, he was a genuine person to the inner depths of his bones. What
you saw is what you got, and in his presence, our cups would overflow with
abundance.
John was a man of vision. John was constantly
trying to envision a future in which camp would be physically and financially
strong; so as to continue to thrive for the generations to follow. He saw a
future for camp that wasn’t one of “just getting by,” but one of vitality and
vibrancy. He dreamed of a camp that was sustaining into perpetuity. At times he
could be relentless in this pursuit, but whether you always signed on to all of
his ideas or not, you couldn’t help but respect and appreciate the passion he
felt for that little piece of paradise. As part of this pursuit toward vitality,
John was excellent at asking questions. In-fact, he questioned nearly
everything. “Because that’s the way we’ve always done it” was not an adequate
answer when John Blackstone was asking the question. He used his mind—that of
an engineer—to find creative solutions to problems, even finding helpful solutions
to things we didn’t always know were problems! In-fact, he was so good at this
that it wasn’t uncommon for me to sit down at my desk and find five or six
consecutive emails from John in the past hour regarding details needing
attention—not to mention the box of camp related stuff that normally migrated
its way to camp from his home in St. Paul on a biweekly basis. In striving to
carve out a bright future for camp, John continually challenged me to do the
same, and I could rarely keep up.
John was generous. Though many examples could
be cited, I think most in attendance today can relate to the way he concluded every
email and phone call—not with loosely used and emotional terms like
“sincerely,” “yours truly,” or “it was nice talking to you.” His parting words
were consistently “let me know if I can be of any further assistance.” And as other
close friends admit, you knew he really meant it, too. He was generous with the
time he devoted toward camp. When the management committee needed new members,
John decided it was his turn to serve. When leadership was needed for the
massive undertaking of remodeling the kitchen, John passionately led the way.
When the need for a new camp treasurer arose, John stood up and undertook one
of the most demanding camp jobs there is. Even then, he kept a hand ready to
assist in any other project that might need his guidance. In short, there was
nothing John wouldn’t do for camp.
John was loyal and perseverant. Even into his
final months and weeks John remained loyal to his camp service, contributing where
he could to summer wrap-up and preparation for next season. He wasn’t the type
to walk away from a job half finished. John also wasn’t the type to put off
until tomorrow what could be done today. When he had something on his mind, he
often couldn’t rest until the issue had been concluded. Many of us reaped the
rewards of his persistence when he directed his energies to help us.
John was humble. In the months since his
diagnosis in May, John was overwhelmed and deeply humbled by the outpouring of
support and kind words expressed toward him from friends, family, and coworkers.
He questioned all of the attention, I think because he was quite unaware and
surprised to learn of the impact he had on so many people in various different
ways. But he knew how to appreciate and cherish the meaningful time spent with
so many important people from his life.
John had a sense of humor. John could be a pretty serious guy but
every now and then something would trigger this deep, joyous belly laugh that
would brighten his face a deep red and that by itself could inspire a roomful
of laughter—even to those who missed the punch line. John also had a never
ending supply of one-liners and turns of phrase, some of which aren’t
repeatable in this forum, but that would often arise in moments of frustration
or dismay and give unexpecting bystanders like myself a good chuckle. And John
didn’t shy away from poking fun at his Unitarian identity. Upon first meeting
John he joked that if you put 4 Unitarians in a room you get 16 different
opinions. It wasn’t long after commencement of my new post, however, I realized
he wasn’t joking on that one. But of course, who will ever forget John and
Linda’s Friday night talent show Ole and Lena skits. Dressed in dark blue
overalls packed specifically for the occasion with a red handkerchief hanging
from the front pocket, a red and black checkered overcoat overtop a similarly
patterned shirt, thick black rimmed glasses he clearly didn’t wear on a daily basis,
a dodgy, flap eared cap tilted crooked on his head, a toothpick in his mouth,
and a skanky camp bathroom plunger in his hand he would enter the room on queue
and amble toward the stage hollering “LENA, LENA” where he would commence
telling Ole and Lena jokes and serenading us with his favorite folk tunes. Even
under a cloud of disappointing news John retained this sense of humor. Days
after his diagnosis I visited their home and was presented with a gift from
John. When presenting me with this handcrafted toolbox with my name on it, he
noted that there was a life lesson imbedded in this gift. On the front side he
explained that this is what happened when you took your time and focused on the
task at hand, before flipping it around and demonstrating the consequences of
getting frustrated and working in haste—the slip of the router nearly turned
the R in Greg into an O. I thought that was pretty funny.
Finally, a few words bout John’s legacy. When
I think of the legacy John will leave, I see the empowerment he nurtured in
others. In the words of former camp staff Ben Jefferies, John was “the kind of
guy who trusted in me and made me feel like I was worth something, even at a
young age.” I share that feeling. From our very first meeting at an Ethiopian
restaurant in St Paul through this final summer, John trusted and had
confidence in me—often times more confidence than I had in myself. Most of our
conversations focused on the work at hand, but one time early on John told me
“I was doing a good job.” Those few words, coming from such a respected person,
empowered me with the perseverance necessary to successfully meet the
challenges of my new position.
At the onset I called John a personal mentor
and role model. I think of the above mentioned characteristics and imagine that
if only similar words could one day be spoken at my funeral I will have lived a
life of purpose and meaning to others as John did. John inspires me to never
settle for “good enough,” but to always aspire toward higher achievement. He
inspires me to not just sit back and enjoy the ride, but to take control and
chart my own destination. He inspires me to live my life for others, and not
just for myself. Finally, he inspires me to always keep a genuine character as
my anchor in life. Everyone in this room is bettered for having known John. As
we celebrate his life, it is incumbent upon us to carry forth following his
great example, each honoring his magnificent life in our own unique way.
