Jack

Who's Jack? Jack's the guy next door.

You know verb tenses can be wonderful, but I do wonder whether I should use the past tense or the present tense when speaking of Jack.

As a kid, the "guy next door" was Billy. Gordy lived across the street and Alex and Mike lived up the street. They were part of the tapestry of growing up, playing pirates, cowboys and Indians, hopscotch, and wild bike rides. Except for their names and a few B&W photos, all of them vanished from my life when my family moved to Tryon, NC. Jack did not live next door.

Next door, if I can say that our house had "next door" neighbors, lived three old maid sisters: the Miss(es) Nash, and in the only other house in the vicinity a widow Mrs Capers. In fact Jack lived out in the valley and we never encountered each other until 1998 when I was also living in the valley and first met Jack as "the guy next door."

I am not sure exactly what the guy next door is supposed to mean. Is he the one who teases you all the time when you're both little, is almost a brother but not quite, who as you get older doles out advice on dangerous "boy" topics telling you who to avoid, the fellow who'll fix your car, or knock some jerk's lights out if the jerk threatens you? Or is the guy next door the jerk? It really doesn't matter, does it? Jack and I had missed all those opportunities.

Jack was home fixing up the place. He'd had it rented, but the renters had moved on and Jack wanted to make a few changes before renting it again. Suddenly the place which had been quiet was the typical stir of things being changed. But he wasn't in a hurry to get things done either, and soon enough he vanished back to Tennessee where he lived.

That summer he returned a couple of times to continue working on his house, and he came over to introduce himself and invite me to play tennis or golf. That was when he became the guy next door. He professed himself surprised that he had missed me in school, after all we had gone to the same school. I replied that it wouldn't have done him any good if he had noticed me, unless he would have foresworn baseball in favor of horses. Possessed of the confidence of maturity, he couldn't imagine I, as a young teen, would have been all that immune to his charms. Thoroughly enjoying this natter myself, I retorted that at 13 I had been exceedingly shy, rather ugly, and five years his junior, all of which would have challenged the likelihood of gaining his eighteen year old interest. He considered that notion but seemed skeptical.

Prior to one trip to buy supplies for the remodel, he dropped by to ask if there was anything I needed. I had been thinking about getting a saw. He asked what kind, probably enjoying the fact that I hadn't thought of which kind of saw I needed. He offered a few options. All I could come up with was a good general, all purpose sort of hand saw. Hours later I had a fine hand saw and had learned a bit about saw teeth. It was the first saw he gave me.

The house I was living in didn't have any windows that opened. This particular solution had been taken to help make the place a bit more energy efficient. I hated it. In the summer of 1999, Jack offered to replace one. He'd've replaced all of them if I'd asked (and paid). But the place wasn't mine, so I didn't see a need to change more than one window, providing fresh air and a fire exit.

We exchanged phone numbers and from time to time would call each other. One memorable call came one night when I had crashed on the sofa, exhausted from work. Groggy and irritated at having my sleep interrupted, I answered the phone with a cross "What?" There was a pause, then Jack's voice exploded: "WHAT?! WHAT? That is no way to answer the phone!" At which I burst into tears of tired laughter. Jack had a way of making me laugh.

In May 2000 he came over to help me move to Chicago. I-40 East between the Tennessee border and Canton NC is a nasty bit of road. I took it several times after Jack made the trip to help me move to the city. He kept me sane in the big city with his practical NC feet-on-the-ground humor phone calls and his letters.

He didn't tell anyone he had cancer. He had decided not to treat it, preferring to put his time and energy into living. The first anyone knew about it was when he didn't show up for work one day. Jack ran his own construction firm. His foreman went looking for him and had to rip down his door to find Jack too weak to move. Of course Jack was hospitalized. I found out about it only after the Christmas card I'd sent was returned in January 2001 with a note that the addressee was deceased. Tryon is a small town: what happens to one Tryonite will be known by at least one other Tryonite. I got the details later.

Like many, I believe in "life after death". I have as much proof of it as is available to the rest of the world. For me Jack will always and forever be the guy next door.