echoing in the life

 

Gil Johnson

how did we get to now?

how did we get to who we are,

what we value, how we act upon the world?

the world just lost an impressive man, Gilbert Johnson, Gil,

for the last 52 years a man of the North Carolina mountains,

living in Celo, near Burnsville,

with a devoted wife, Joyce,

celebrating 65 years together a few weeks ago,

his "yin" to her "yang,"

him as an introvert who turned into an extrovert

when he found an audience for a story,

her as the one to hold it all together, moderating it all,

three children who honor them with their lives,

the youngest working to realize solar power's possibilities,

the oldest head curator of the North Carolina Museum of Art,

the middle child, Tommy, the one I know personally,

is one whom I see much of whom I understand Gil to have been:

the teacher, the tinkerer, the builder, 

the lover of the eccentric,

the story behind the thing,

a lover of dancing,

teaching the jitterbug to many,

at his request there will be a dance for his memorial,

the man who finds a wife to complete him,

and three children whom he empowers to be themselves,

on the phone I ask Tommy about Gil's story:

born in Chicago, attending Purdue

until the Korean War intrudes,

returning to Purdue to pursue his love of industrial design,

and then his love of Joyce, whom he first met

while working in the kitchen of her sorority at Purdue,

Gil was an artist, 

particularly loving the transforming magic of sand to glass to structure,

sharing his creations at craft fairs from Florida to Chicago,

Gil loved to learn, to experience, 

to appreciate how wondrous creation is,

a huge collection of National Geographics,

always building things, making things,

taking need and interior vision to manifest in the external,

Gil loved old tools, books, paintings, things,

which each had a story he wanted to know and retell,

his children knew him well

and suggested he open up a junk shop

where each customer should be told:

"Every purchase will come with a story!"

as Gil was slipping away, and family gathered to be there for him

to bask in the warmth of who he was at the most deep,

it was as if clouds dominated his and their world

until the sun would break through,

and his soul would twinkle with a story,

and echo the best of who he'd always been,

when asked "Are you ready?"

he would nod,

and finally he slipped away,

I love how much he will still be here

in all whom he loved, and touched,

I hope to honor my father

as well as Tommy honors his 

with the substance and fabric of his life.

by Henry H. Walker

June 18, ‘24