CUTSHALL EULOGY

EULOGY FOR CUTSHALL

Dear Carol Anne:

            Your Dad was my friend. I don’t use the term friend lightly. In my 70 plus years I count the people I call friend on one hand. I have always been attracted to people who were hedonistic enough to be fun, intelligent enough to be interesting, altruistic enough to be trusted. Your Dad more than adequately met all these criteria.  Even though we were separated by physical distance, we maintained a friendship for over 50 years

            My first encounter with your Dad was in the Army, stationed in Germany.  They were good times.  We were young; had no responsibilities except our military duty, and found ourselves in a new and exciting environment.  We didn’t take the military to seriously, but took our work as important and stimulating.  Our unit was a diverse cast of characters, most with 3 digit I.Q’s.  Your Dad was among them, although he liked to hide his mentality behind a “Good Old boy/Cowboy” persona.

            Unlike many GI’s, your Dad and I took advantage of our all expense paid sabbatical in Europe.  Your Dad taught himself a fair command of the German language.  I am relatively passive in nature therefore with your Dad’s outgoing nature we formed a formidable partnership.  As comrades-in-arms we had many adventures.  A few he wouldn’t want his offspring to know about (or mine for that matter).  We saw a good deal of Europe from our motorcycles.  We put on our cowboy boots and went to the Opera and Ballet.  We spent many a night around a gasthaus table talking philosophy, literature, nature and telling assorted lies about our past.  I regret not setting down with your Dad and recording these memories.  But in the end all we have left is our memories.

            Our friendship at this time resulted in two major influences in our lives.  First, Your Dad arranged the initial date with my wife of over 50 years.  We all worked in the same office; Jack, Marianne and myself.  Jack and Marianne were on the committee to arrange the office Christmas party.  Your Dad suggested I escort Marianne to the party. The rest as they say “is history”.  Second, I believe I was a major influence in convincing your Dad to return to University and get his degree in Range Management.  He went on in this field to distinguish himself as an authority in marshland ecology and president of the Louisiana State Cattleman’s Association.

            After the military we went our separate ways. Even though distance, work, family, culture, politics separated us, we kept in touch over the years.  There were Christmas letters (which your Dad never answered), evening long phone calls and occasional visits.  The parting words were always “Keep in touch” and we did over many years.

            I have only good memories of your Dad. You probably have some bad memories related to his alcoholism. I am possibly one of the few people to know of the depth of his addiction. I also have great admiration for his courage, character, and tenacity to control this curse.

 It was privilege to have your father as my friend.

 

Sincerely:  Fred Winkler

EULOGY FOR BILL

Eulogy for Bill

 

My brother and I lived in different worlds. Separated by distance and culture. I did not know him very well.  I didn’t know what books he read, if any; what music he liked, or even if he liked music; or his political views.  What I do know is that he was a decent man.  I define decency as doing no harm and making a contribution to society.  Doing no harm is a baseline. Bill went in a positive direction from this baseline by always being helpful to the people he came in contact with.  His major contribution to society was his day-to-day gift of bringing joy and good will to all who passed his way.  He gave the gift of guidance to his children that  they became decent people in his image. He was a loving son, husband, father, son-in-law. (I’m having trouble using the past tense.) 

            Childhood memories have faded over the years to mere wisps: Long summer evenings playing hide and seek under the street light on the corner, the “secret Passage” behind the neighborhood garages, the adventures in the woods behind the school. We had our usual sibling squabbles and territorial disputes but we managed to get through it without killing each other.

            In adolescence we began to develop our own interests. Bill developing his people skills, Jack his athletic skills, and me and my books.  My recollection of high school years is that the three of us were pretty much doing our own things.

            After I went away to school I have fond memories of the summers at home.  Most every weekend we would triple date: Bill and Sandy, Jack and Barb, Donna and I.  I always got stuck driving the “Old Chief ”.  However I always had the rearview mirror adjusted so I could keep track of what was going on in the backseat.  On special occasions we would go dancing at Moonlight Gardens at Coney Island or the Pavilion at Ault Park. Then there were the drive-in movies. I’d best leave that alone.  We would generally end up at the Sky Galley at Lunkin (Spelling?) Airport.  Many times we were asked to leave by the guy with the mop bucket.

Bill visited my world a few times, mostly with his family. However there were two special occasions when there were just the two of us.  The summer following my graduation from college I took a job in northern California.  After much fussing over the car and our gear by our Dad, Bill and I took off camping across the continent.  After many adventures, the last night found us camped at a beautiful cirque lake high in the Humbolt Mountains of Nevada.  When Bill talked of that night his remembrance were that of the mice running over his sleeping bag all night.  The next day we dropped down into Reno. Bill flew home and I continued on to Susanville, California. The Second special trip was more recent, to southern Utah.  We spent a week on a houseboat on Lake Powell with my lunatic fire fighting comrades.  Good Booze, Good Food, Good Company, Fair Fishing.

I had always hoped for one more road trip. Perhaps with our sons.  Perhaps to Sante Fe, Frioli Canyon, the Kiva at Aztec, Mesa Verdi, maybe even Chaco Canyon.  But alas, time ran out.  Sleep in peace, my brother, perchance to dream.