In Memory of Jerry

My friend Joe called me on Tuesday with some bad news, just sixth months after being diagnosed with cancer, his dad Jerry passed away. I knew the time was coming soon, but I was still shocked. I first met Jerry in 2004 when I moved into a house with his two sons. Joe threw shot put and discus with me on the track team while Nolan, his older brother, was trying his hand at the decathlon after injuries forced him to retire from football. Immediately, Jerry and his wife treated me as one of their own. I continued to live with Joe and Nolan on and off throughout law school and it was during this time that I found out that, unlike many people, Jerry and his wife were true to their word.

During my second year of law school I worked as an intern with the federal court in Tacoma. After work on Tuesdays I had to drive to Olympia for a class before returning home late to Seattle and then getting up early to go back to Tacoma in the morning. After the first week, I figured it would be easier to crash at the Gatewoods’ house since it was only ten minutes from the courthouse and would save a lot of the driving time. It was a great idea. A typical Tuesday evening involved being offered food about a dozen times, watching NCIS, and just talking. With Jerry around, we were always talking. He was a man that always wanted to learn about everything, whether it was tax law, the latest news story, or the complexities of training programs. He was an inquisitive person, which likely led him to learn Spanish, sign language, and be so successful at running his own business. With his questions, there was little time for studying and that was a perfect break from law school for one night a week. During that time, the Olympia newspaper also printed an article about me and the Gatewoods framed the article and gave it to me as a gift that stills hangs on my wall not because I’m proud of the article, but because I’m thankful that they were proud of me.

Jerry was a big fan of the throws, and was proud of everything I accomplished. After asking how my family was, his first question for me was always how training was going. He came to every UW track meet and was there early with his fold-up chair ready to watch the action. Personally, I got bored at the meets since they literally lasted all day and there were four flights of throwers with athletes ranging from 30-foot shot putters to John Godina. But every time you looked over at Jerry, he couldn’t seem happier. He would get Lance Deal to tell war stories or catch up with our teammates throughout the meet. When I did well, he was happy for me. When I did poorly, he could spin it so that I did a good job. But while most people sugar coat the halfhearted congratulations so much that you ignore them, I listened to him since you could tell that he knew what I was capable of and expected more from me next time.

Jerry, Joe, and Carol at our graduation.

My most vivid memory of Jerry was the day Joe and I graduated from UW. Jerry’s smile was larger than ever and stood plastered on his face from the minute he and Carol showed up early with their camper to tailgate the graduation. (It may sound strange, but it was a brilliant idea.) After the graduation, the kids went out and celebrated and then returned to the camper at night to just relax with Jerry over some beers (for us) and a glass of wine (for him). My memory becomes less clear as the night went on, but we just talked about life, the future, and he told stories for hours. For a philosophy major, this was the perfect end to my undergraduate experience.

Throughout the years, his sons and I have gone on to do many things. Joe lived in Alaska for a while, Nolan had a stint in California, and I’ve lived all over the place. Now all three of us are working and starting our professional careers. Jerry also had his ups and downs. The economic downturn hit his company hard, but he had a smile on his face as he told you that his revenue had been slashed and then he would end the sentence with his trademark hearty laugh. He knew things weren’t going well, but he could still put food on the table so he couldn’t complain. Even after he was diagnosed with cancer, his smile never faded and he never lost his sense of humor. He’d lived a good life and didn’t have any regrets. It was the same when he told me after a meet that I could do better but that I had still done well: he was always optimistic, but still managed to tell it like it was. That’s a unique quality that only he could balance because he was truly being genuine in everything he said. You’ll be missed Jerry.