Still, not a bad place to grow up, with plenty of land to go tear-assing around on dirtbikes and such, without too many cops or too much population density. But it was the kind of locale you had to get the hell out of after high school, lest you become trapped in a hardscrabble existence going nowhere. The small town trap. It welcomed you in with open arms. It called you back years hence. And it always sought to hold you down.
Now I returned, always the prodigal, to lay to rest a true friend: Philip David Lee, born May 6,1937, died Sept. 13, 2017. What follows is the speech I gave at his funeral:
Great men are often not remembered in the pages of
history. Their bank accounts are often
not the stuff of legend. News programs
do not sing their praises. That is because
to be a truly “great” man requires something not easily defined, categorized or
applauded in the myopic media world. It
requires a depth, a richness of character and integrity, the fearlessness to
dream outside a narrow mainstream and labor quietly for the fruition of visions
despite naysayers and conformists. A
desire to shape a small part of the world according to the calling of his own
heart, rather than accepting things at face value. And a willingness, always, to be wrong. The steadfast courage to make mistakes and
then gain wisdom from each in turn.
Never content just to do things his way, he strove to do things a better
way.
That was Phil. He
possessed an uncanny ability to see solutions where others saw only
problems. In a disposable world, Phil
fixed things that others deemed beyond repair.
In a world of pre-packaged fun, Phil created his own and showed us all
it wasn’t who owned the latest, greatest (and most expensive) toys, but who had
the most fun with what they had made.
Over the years his creations, motorcycles, trikes, snowmobiles and
buggies all shared the unique flair and function that Phil was renowned for, each
one of them built not bought.
Our more than twenty year friendship began when I purchased
a motorcycle from Phil. I was 23, and
broke, with visions of motorcycle racing glory.
I didn’t have the meager asking sum of three-hundred seventy-five
dollars for the old Suzuki in front of Phil’s house. I had two-hundred, and promised to return
with the rest as soon as possible, under one condition: Phil had to help me
turn this street bike into a real track racer.
He looked at me like I was nuts when I told him I was going racing. He didn’t believe me.
Two weeks later when I showed up with the rest of the money
and promptly asked him to start hacking parts off the machine, he knew I was
serious. At first he tried to dissuade
me, telling me to stay on the streets and off the racetrack, but I held him to
his promise. And that wonderful man more
than delivered.
Over the next ten years he developed a tame commuter machine
into a thoroughbred race winner, not without bumps, bruises, and blowups (from
the engine and occasionally me). Quite
often, I could be a real pain in the butt to Phil (and Lucy!), turning up with
some impossible mechanical problem or another, some insane deadline to make the
next race. Instead of showing me the
door or suggesting I figure it out on my own, Phil would give that knowing look
and say “unload it and let me see.”
After which Lucy would always end up patiently feeding the both of us.
Our goal was to win a championship. We came very close in 2007, but a crash and
the resulting injuries prevented us from doing so. It wasn’t until eight years later, in 2015,
that I was finally able to win not one, but two national number one plates on
machines I prepared using the methods Phil taught me. Though he could not be there to hear it, I
thanked him during every podium ceremony I was part of. I still do.
Because without his knowledge and patience, none of it ever would have
been possible. Every time I pick up a
wrench or encounter a conundrum, a part of Phil is there with me. I try to think about how he would have done
it, always looking for the better way.
In the end, the real measure of Phil’s life comes not in an
accumulation of wealth, power or accolades, but in the wisdom and joy he helped
to spread through his unique and marvelous way.
And the lives he forever changed for the better by doing so. I am but one such life among many.
We lay to rest not only a son, a brother, a father, a
husband, a teacher and a friend, but a visionary.
A truly great man.
 |
| A 25 motorcycle procession led the way for Phil's final ride. A fitting tribute. |
No comments:
Post a Comment