A good way to live

Memorial services and funerals come at shorter intervals now that I've passed 50.

Went to one yesterday, for Rolyn Scheer (March 14, 1940-November 21, 2014). Rolly. "Rotten" Rolly. A friend of my eldest brother, Joe, and our Uncle Vic Burton, for more than 50 years, and a family member and friend of many others.

The gathering place, on West 39th Street in Kansas City, Mo., was packed with people who loved Rolly and whom he loved, and with music and Rolly's artworks, and photos on big screens at the head of the big room, chronicling his years and his family.

The place saw many tears yesterday, but it watched and heard far more laughter. It heard stories, from the seats and hallways and smaller rooms and the podium, of Rolly's unfailing kindness; acute intelligence; interest in and passion for so many areas of life, especially the outdoors and most especially camping, canoeing and fishing; artistry in several media, including poetry, glass, wood, painting and the transcendent creation of fishing flies; loyalty and commitment, first to his family and equally to his friends; wide openness to the possibility of making a new friend; rollicking humor; and sense of fun, especially of poking fun at himself. Rolly's smile was broad and illuminating, his laugh joyful and mischievous, his voice booming and resonant, his beard great. In my experience, he had the rare combination of a prodigious mind, talent and capacity wrapped in deep compassion, joy and fun. He was interested in you when he saw and spoke with you, no matter how well or slightly he knew you. I knew him only slightly compared with so many of his friends and, of course, his family. But it was easy to see who Rolly was, even by my infrequent encounters with him, and I knew from my earliest years of the love my brother and uncle had for him, because they spoke of him so often. 

Rolly's "Rotten" nickname, as my brother Joe said from the podium and as everyone who knew him knew, "was a jest; he was the soul of decency."