1. My memory of what I'm about to write is a bit fuzzy.
During the 1983-84 school year, I was a temporary full-time instructor at Whitworth College. A group of faculty men met on occasional Friday afternoons at the Chapter 11 in north Spokane for a drink or two and to talk about things. If I remember correctly, Leonard Oakland invited me to join their group. I remember sitting around a table with Leonard, Dick Evans (RIP), Tom Kirkpatrick, Ron Frase, and, I think, others. I would love to have my memory refreshed as to what other faculty were there the few times I joined in.
Often, I look back at those two school years I taught at Whitworth (1982-84) as a very happy time in my life -- I loved my teaching assignments and my students, I loved the faculty I worked with, I was intellectually stimulated, and I think I became an increasingly better instructor over those two years.
On the other hand, I was very confused and unstable. At the heart of my uncertainty, without a doubt, was the fact that my first marriage had ended in divorce in the late summer of 1982 and then was annulled by the Roman Catholic Church, a process that began in the fall of 1983 and lasted for several months.
I was not up to the task of responding to these changes in my life with grace or maturity.
At one of those get togethers at Chapter 11, I opened up a bit about the annulment process and expressed what I thought then was anger, but which I now think was great fear and insecurity.
I remember Ron Frase, the Whitworth Chaplain at that time, being especially outraged by what I talked about, not only the fact of the annulment, but the cold and bureaucratic way the Diocese of Portland went about annulling the marriage -- a marriage that had lasted just over five years.
I'll never forget out badly I needed Ron Frase's outrage that afternoon. I didn't know Ron Frase very well personally, but as a Professor of Sociology and then as Chaplain and as a leader of several Central American study and service tours for Whitworth students, I'd heard him preach, give talks at the college's Forum program, and do other presentations. I respected him as a prophet, a truth teller, a beacon of ethical thought and action, and as a voice for justice.
His outrage helped clarify some of what I was thinking and feeling and broke through some of the isolation I felt at the time. Believe me, I didn't suddenly become a wholly clear thinking, secure, consistent, reliable, peaceful, or stable person that afternoon, but Ron Frase's outrage that day moved me, stayed with me, and, in the long run, helped me think through the inward mayhem I experienced while working those two school years at Whitworth and continued to experience over the next several years.
All of these memories and thoughts came back to me because Ron Frase died, at age 97, shortly before dawn on Friday.
He's been on my mind almost constantly. So many friends of mine and other people I know have talked with me many times over the years about the great impact Ron Frase had on their lives -- whether they were part of a Central American study group or taught and ministered alongside Ron Frase or, as in the case of my dear friend, Deborah, became close personal friends with Ron, his wife Marianne, and daughters Shelley and Melissa. Those conversations, the love and service he inspired, the gratitude so many have expressed over the years are all back on my mind in the wake of Ron Frase's passing.
2. If you have followed this blog over the last several years, you know that during the last few years I lived in Eugene, I joined a group of other men on Thursday afternoons at 16 Tons for beer or cider and lively conversation.
I don't know if Don Macnaughtan spearheaded this group, but I do know it was Don who invited me to join and I know that this weekly 60-90 minutes of trying out beers and ciders, talking about books, photography, movies, music, retirement, travel, health, and countless other subjects became very important to me, not only as a time of intellectual stimulation and laughter, but as another of many things I did in Eugene to lift my spirits and live as joyfully as possible.
I first met Don about thirty years ago. He was working part time as a reference librarian at the University of Oregon. Some years later, Don landed a job as a reference librarian at Lane Community College and we became acquainted over the years, saw each other from time to time at the High Street Brewery and Cafe (he was part of a group that met every Friday afternoon at High Street), and eventually I joined the 16 Tons bunch.
Don pursued countless interests and passions. He published a bibliography of the Buffyverse, The Buffyverse Catalog and a more recent, broader work entitled, The Whedonverse Catalog. Don traveled widely, was a perceptive and artistic travel photographer, had a delightful and encyclopedic knowledge of popular music, was an avid movie and television viewer, and he enjoyed a wide variety of live concert performances.
Don's many interests and sharp memory made him an expert trivia player -- he was a regular at the 16 Tons Cafe trivia night. He effortlessly translated his many interests and passions into easy conversation, making our beer group meetings a real blast. All of us who quaffed a few beers together had broad interests, many of them similar to Don's, making our times together very lively.
I was last in Eugene in May of 2019. I joined Dan and Cliff at the 16 Tons Cafe and we had a spirited time together. As our conversation wound down, Don wondered how my kidney disease was progressing and he told me that he, too, was living with a chronic illness and joked that now it was a matter of which of us would get to the "I'm finished" line first.
Don got there first.
He died this past Tuesday.
I had no idea that he had become so ill -- in fact, as recently as a month ago he posted pictures -- an above ground picture of Eugene, a group picture of his friends having a beer outside, seated at a table at High Street, and a picture of the mural of this group that was recently painted inside High Street as part of the work done to renew the look of the place after a fire earlier this year.
Not too long ago, I posted a picture of Don, Cliff, Dick, and me taken several years ago at 16 Tons on a Thursday afternoon. Don reposted the picture on his Facebook page, the last post he made before he died.
Scroll down and you'll see I posted the picture again. (Don is seated next to me.)
3. Debbie and I dropped into The Lounge this afternoon thinking we'd have a porter or two and come back home.
It didn't work out that way. For starters, Abby and Kate were in for some refreshment. I hadn't seen them for over a year and I gabbed with them. Debbie went down to yak with Ginger. Debbie rejoined us, Jeremy S. joined our conversation with the Absecs, and it became pretty clear we were in for a longer session than we had thought.
At some point, our down the street neighbor, Tyler, strolled in with an entourage celebrating his 31st birthday. Tyler introduced Debbie and me to his girlfriend Becca. We talked about life on Little Cameron. Becca and Debbie broke off to go sit near the fireplace. Tyler's friend Ian joined Tyler and me and soon I was having a great conversation with Ian about the Superfund cleanup, mining history in Butte, Anaconda, and the Silver Valley (Ian is from Butte), future cleanup projects around the Silver Valley, and a host of other fascinating topics.
The Lounge was abuzz with youth, good cheer, a few of us oldsters, and, as Debbie and I left, she proclaimed this evening as "the best ever at The Lounge".
That's what happens whenever Debbie and I listen to young people. It becomes the best time ever. I know I didn't have a lot to say to Tyler and Ian, but I enjoyed listening to them talk about their lives, work, recreation, and how much they enjoy living in the Silver Valley.
Whenever I glanced over at Debbie and Becca's conversation, it was obvious that they were having a great time as well.
It was fun to do a little more to SAVE THE PORTER and when we got home, I popped a couple batches of popcorn and, before long, joined Luna and Copper in the bedroom to give them company and to sack out together.
Rest In Peace, Don:
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