It's fitting that, as I write this post, the Opening Ceremonies of the 2010 Winter Olympics are going on. I sat down to write about two men: the first had a real connection the Olympic Games; and the second introduced me to the Greeks, those original Olympians. I knew neither of them long or particularly well, but each left an indelible mark on my life, as well as many others. I can say for certain mine is richer for having known them.
Richard Overbey was one of the first parishoners we met when we moved here. A true lover of life in every sense, Richard lit up rooms. No memory I have of him does not include his bright smile or his distinctive voice. I'd be surprised if a bad mood ever found Richard Overbey. He greeted each day with happiness and thankfulness, and his generosity and sincere kindness overflowed like champagne. It is perhaps a testament to his humble nature that so many of his achievements and accolades were unknown to us until after his death. It came as no surprise to us to find out that Richard, having been selected to represent the state of Alabama from everyone there who'd carried the Olympic torch during its 1980 run before the Lake Placid games, was elected by his fellow state representatives to run the torch into the stadium for the Opening Ceremony. Frankly, I wonder if there was any real competition in the election. If life is a beauty pageant, Richard was Miss Congeniality.
It is also a testament to him that the church was filled to the brim for his funeral. I'm sure most people there were thinking the same thing I was---that it was almost impossible to believe we'd no longer see his bright smile or hear him say "that's wonderful," as he so often did. It was hard not to smile, though, when I thought about how delighted and surprised Richard would be to know he was so well-loved, so important to so many, that his service had the church building more crowded than Christmas.
Richard's death was a shock, because, even though he was 76, he was healthy and active and most of all, people who saw him regularly had just seen him, it seemed. He died from the effects of a cerebral hemmorhage, and there's comfort in knowing that he never knew what was going on. Richard loved life too much to suffer a long death, and he is certainly someone who lived everyday to the fullest measure. Everyone who knew him is just a little luckier because they had that privilege.
Unlike Richard, the second person is someone I'd only thought of in passing over the years; our last conversation was over ten years ago. Yet, the mark he left in my life, the change he wrought, is undeniable. Jim Fletcher was the AP English and Humanities teacher at Hardaway. Like thousands of other students, I was privileged enough to have him for both classes. I don't know if there are even words to describe how influential those classes were on me. In talking with a fellow HHS survivor today, I commented that Fletch not only taught us about Plato, he rather exemplified Plato's Allegory of the Cave. I can't imagine seniors are the easiest students to teach: they're sick of high school, concerned about graduation, preoccupied with college applications, ready to on their own and, most of the time, sure that their worldview is set and correct. I know there were students who had Mr. Fletcher who ended their time in his class as they came in, but for most of us, Fletcher gave us art, music, literature, culture. He introduced us to the world --he made it so that when Lennie Briscoe calls something "the first circle of hell," we not only got the reference, but we could (or at one point could--childbirth has robbed me of much of my brain!) tell you what the first circle was.
As I've seen others comment, Fletch was the best teacher I ever had. He loved learning for its own sake. He loved teaching us. He probably--and this includes college--was the only teacher I had who I truly felt intimidated around. He was smart, and he appreciated intelligence (although I think he valued passion and interest more), and I was always conscious of my proclivity to say the wrong thing and I didn't want to embarrass myself. If I had the opportunity to now, I'd tell him that nary a day goes by--and that includes the days where the closest I come to having a cultural experience is the fact that PBS has been on for awhile--where I do not recall something I learned first from him, even if it's only to appreciate that I wouldn't have a framed copy of a painting I love over our bed, or the incredibly awesome NYT Front Pages book Ben gave me for Christmas last year. I don't think I'd have recognized their value and worth without Fletch to open that up.
So, thank you, Richard and Mr. Fletcher. As both men were faithful Episcopalians, I hope the song is ringing true for them and that they're both up above, enjoying a cold one (or rather a room temp one--they were sophisticates and men of the world, after all).
