Stop All the Clocks ...
by W. H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
“Life is a great surprise. I do not see why death should not be an even greater one.”
-- Vladimir Nabokov 1899-1977: “Pale Fire” (1962)
I first met Larry Campbell when he was 10. I was about to marry his sister, Marcia, and, since I like most kids, except sometimes my own, we hit it off fabulously. Like his beautiful mother, Doris, he loved nature in every way. He knew where to find Whooping Cranes, Chanterelles, Partridge, Sulphur Shelf, wild Watercress, Chicken-in-the-Woods, Loon, Morels, Deer, Trout, Ducks, and all that makes this world sacred. No doubt he got this from his sainted mother. Doris didn’t talk to the animals, but I have to think she came closer to this miracle than even St. Francis of Assisi. Here was a hockey mom that could’ve run the world, but Doris was above such hubristic nonsense. She was a photographer, conversationalist, master chef, and naturalist, intuitively gifted in all of these things. After Jim and Larry would fish Big Bay, she’d prepare a fish boil whereby she would bring a spicy delicious cauldron of water to a bubble and gently cook the fish to perfection. She also made Brandy Manhattans that I have yet seen topped, even in Manahattan itself.
Larry was a fantastic hockey player. Having played in the state finals at U-M’s Yost Arena in Ann Arbor in, I think, 1977 (I have photos of those games), he held a number of records at Marquette High that stood for years. After that he graduated from Michigan State University and subsequently worked with the Michigan DNR and Department of Fish and Wildlife. One time I saw Larry working the Lamprey weir on the Iron River. Recognizing my kids’ curiosity, he fished out one of the slithering eels and showed us its suckerlike mouth, causing the children to be taken aback by that wondrous disgust that so delights the young. Another time, I took George Bedard out to Presque Isle, where we stopped at Black Rock cove. So, we’re standing there, admiring the sublime majesty of Gitchee Gumme, when lo and behold, an entity reminiscent of the creature from the black lagoon emerges from the water looking like something out of Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea! It was Larry. Yes, he was also an accomplished scuba diver.
As a personal testament to Larry’s knowledge of field and stream, I offer two examples. He once took my kids, Russ and Sarah, fishing on Lake Independence, where they promptly limited out on Walleye. He then skillfully fileted them and presented them as a Chinese dish much akin to Red Fish with Hoisin sauce. Yummy! On another occasion, we needed a garnish for a particular venison mushroom delicacy he prepared. No problem. We hopped in the Scout, drove down 550 to 510, and parked above Clear Creek, where Larry quickly scooped up the wild watercress needed for our repast. Mmmm…good! Having worked as a chef at the exclusive Huron Mountain Club, Larry was, like his mom, an excellent cook.
Given my avowed atheism, it may surprise some that I believe in angels and demons. How, you may ask, can this be? It’s simple, I see these entities as terrestrial phenomena, that is to say, of this world. For me, angels are physical, outward manifestations, in that they take the form of people. Doris was one such angel. Demons, on the other hand, are internalized, psychological behaviors and characteristics, something that all but the most blessed of us must deal with and struggle against. I wish I could count myself as a part of that blessed group, but I can’t.
When I die, I have told those close to me that I want my ashes spead across the waters off Squaw Beach. And then, I too might join Larry in that bliss of an hereafter with no void or vacuum. A state of nothingness where no demons lurk and peace prevails, free from the grips of this mortal coil. We love you, Larry.
Peace - Randy
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
“Life is a great surprise. I do not see why death should not be an even greater one.”-- Vladimir Nabokov 1899-1977: “Pale Fire” (1962)
I first met Larry Campbell when he was 10. I was about to marry his sister, Marcia, and, since I like most kids, except sometimes my own, we hit it off fabulously. Like his beautiful mother, Doris, he loved nature in every way. He knew where to find Whooping Cranes, Chanterelles, Partridge, Sulphur Shelf, wild Watercress, Chicken-in-the-Woods, Loon, Morels, Deer, Trout, Ducks, and all that makes this world sacred. No doubt he got this from his sainted mother. Doris didn’t talk to the animals, but I have to think she came closer to this miracle than even St. Francis of Assisi. Here was a hockey mom that could’ve run the world, but Doris was above such hubristic nonsense. She was a photographer, conversationalist, master chef, and naturalist, intuitively gifted in all of these things. After Jim and Larry would fish Big Bay, she’d prepare a fish boil whereby she would bring a spicy delicious cauldron of water to a bubble and gently cook the fish to perfection. She also made Brandy Manhattans that I have yet seen topped, even in Manahattan itself.
Larry was a fantastic hockey player. Having played in the state finals at U-M’s Yost Arena in Ann Arbor in, I think, 1977 (I have photos of those games), he held a number of records at Marquette High that stood for years. After that he graduated from Michigan State University and subsequently worked with the Michigan DNR and Department of Fish and Wildlife. One time I saw Larry working the Lamprey weir on the Iron River. Recognizing my kids’ curiosity, he fished out one of the slithering eels and showed us its suckerlike mouth, causing the children to be taken aback by that wondrous disgust that so delights the young. Another time, I took George Bedard out to Presque Isle, where we stopped at Black Rock cove. So, we’re standing there, admiring the sublime majesty of Gitchee Gumme, when lo and behold, an entity reminiscent of the creature from the black lagoon emerges from the water looking like something out of Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea! It was Larry. Yes, he was also an accomplished scuba diver.
As a personal testament to Larry’s knowledge of field and stream, I offer two examples. He once took my kids, Russ and Sarah, fishing on Lake Independence, where they promptly limited out on Walleye. He then skillfully fileted them and presented them as a Chinese dish much akin to Red Fish with Hoisin sauce. Yummy! On another occasion, we needed a garnish for a particular venison mushroom delicacy he prepared. No problem. We hopped in the Scout, drove down 550 to 510, and parked above Clear Creek, where Larry quickly scooped up the wild watercress needed for our repast. Mmmm…good! Having worked as a chef at the exclusive Huron Mountain Club, Larry was, like his mom, an excellent cook.
Given my avowed atheism, it may surprise some that I believe in angels and demons. How, you may ask, can this be? It’s simple, I see these entities as terrestrial phenomena, that is to say, of this world. For me, angels are physical, outward manifestations, in that they take the form of people. Doris was one such angel. Demons, on the other hand, are internalized, psychological behaviors and characteristics, something that all but the most blessed of us must deal with and struggle against. I wish I could count myself as a part of that blessed group, but I can’t.
When I die, I have told those close to me that I want my ashes spead across the waters off Squaw Beach. And then, I too might join Larry in that bliss of an hereafter with no void or vacuum. A state of nothingness where no demons lurk and peace prevails, free from the grips of this mortal coil. We love you, Larry.
Peace - Randy
2 comments:
This is very beautiful and full of interesting and positive things about Larry. I do wish that part of this was in the obit. and in the memorial card from the church. I didn't know he did all those things with you and your kids. I am very impressed with your writing and will read more of the blog later! I loved the Auden poem, too. I am deeply grateful for your support and calls during this time, and most of all for memorializing Larry in such a wonderful way. My dad will also be touched and moved by your tribute and your writing skill. I am sorry it took me so long. I guess I don't really know all that you have come to be. Thanks, too, for all the wonderful and right on things about Mom! Boy, do I miss her. I will make many copies of this and send to all my family and friends and maybe Dad will send to some family friends. I will also send you a song that Jerry Mills (I think that's his name) wrote, that Larry loved and sent to me. It had special meaning for Larry and you will see why. Larry met him playing it on the beach in Marquette. He played guitar and sang it at the church service last week-- very beautiful, but very sad, given what happened. Again, mucho thanks and more. Marcia
Hi Marcia, you have all my loving thoughts.
Love and happiness
genea
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