So long, Chuck ...

Chuck & Erma, Thanksgiving, 2012



(The text of a eulogy I delivered at Chuck's funeral service, 5 August, 2013. It was my first-ever eulogy, and I was honored and nearly overwhelmed that Erma asked me to present it.)
_____

A man of passion. That’s how I describe Chuck Friese.

 

Many of you are already shaking your heads, wondering:

 

“Chuck?  Passionate?”

 

Oh most definitely!

 

You see, Chuck’s passions were invisible to many of us, because he was a subtle, quiet, unassuming man. Chuck was no flag-waver, no grenade-thrower, and he was not likely to get up on a soap box and stir up a crowd.

 

But his passions were many, and they ran deep. I’ll share some in a moment.

 

Chuck was one of the most brilliant men I’ve ever known, possessed of an incredibly analytical mind. If you needed a problem solved, a problem of any sort, Chuck was your guy.  And he applied his great intellect to whatever task lay before him. He had what physicist Albert Einstein described as a “holy curiosity,” and it never left him, not even at the very last. (Speaking of Einstein, I fully expect that Chuck has already sought him out and is no doubt pointing out flaws in some of his calculations!)

 

Yearning for a solid education as a young man, Chuck sought admission to Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore. Unfortunately, he was told that his foundational work at his small-town high school was inadequate.  Unless he could somehow teach himself the required higher mathematics courses he had never taken, he could not even be admitted to the university.

 

Chuck crammed years of studying and mastering math classes I can’t even pronounce into a scant few weeks of one short summer. And when he took the entrance exam for Johns Hopkins? He knocked it out of the park.

 

Chuck delighted in sharing exam questions and problem-solving situations with me. One memorable problem involved a length of chain of a given mass dangling partially over the edge of a table. Chuck and his fellow students were to calculate, given the earth’s rotation, the pull of the moon phases, etc., precisely at which point the chain would slip and fall to the floor. I cannot recall whether or not this hypothetical was part of an entrance exam, a semester exam, or some other sort of test, but I do seem to recall that of the seven students pondering the question, our Chuck was the only one that derived the correct answer!

 

Chuck rose from a humble start in life to achieve great things in a great many endeavors. He worked for several renowned companies involved in national defense and in our nation’s space program, and eventually settled into academia and teaching as an avocation. Without Chuck and his talented colleagues, the Gemini space program, which led to the Apollo explorations and eventually the Space Shuttle program, never would have succeeded.

 

He loved to share stories about his exploits from his youth and from his career, telling of  things as diverse as building his first hotrod from scrap parts (I don’t think he was even old enough to have a driver’s license, but he built a car capable of outrunning the local cops) to helping develop a combustible paper on which the government could type sensitive documents. (He went on to recount how it accidently set an entire file cabinet on fire when the paper burst into flames unexpectedly.)

 

Chuck was a patent holder, and was rightfully proud of the things he had devised and invented that solved problems for others. He had a great understanding of HOW things worked, not merely why. If he created an adhesive, or a unique piece of wire, or a non-metallic coating, he understood exactly WHY it worked and how it did what it was supposed to.

 

And Chuck brought that sense of quiet, devoted passion with him in everything he did.

 

Dr. Friese was passionate about gardening, particularly his roses. He could amaze you with facts about each of the gorgeous named varieties he cultivated in his vast beds.

 

Chuck was passionate about  music, especially easy listening, big band, and pop hits from the first half of the last century. He bought LPs online and would digitize them and store them on CDs. We spent hours at a time in “mission control” copying vinyl disks and burning CDs, but never once could I ever get him to see any merit whatsoever in country music.

 

Chuck was passionate about cars and trucks and vehicles and airplanes and boats and anything that could be made to move under its own power. And he wasn’t satisfied to simply appreciate that each thing did what it did … he simply HAD to understand the “why” behind each little component.

 

Chuck was passionate about computers, believe it or not. He especially loved computer languages, so much so that he and I attempted once to make jokes using COBOL and FORTRAN. That project was not a success, by the way.

 

But Chuck’s greatest passion was reserved for his beloved Erma. Even in his darkest days, when pain consumed his entire body, his eyes would visibly light up and sparkle when dear Erma came into the room. He spoke often to me about the deep abiding love he felt for her, how grateful he was to have her in his life, and how he did his best to treat her like a precious princess. They devoted their lives to each other, and their love was evident to anyone who passed into their sphere.

 

One of my most memorable conversations with Chuck took place on the tailgate of my truck. It was a hot day, and we sat silently for awhile admiring his garden, the blooming roses waving in the gentle breeze. Men often think and say profound things on tailgates, but I can recall only two topics vividly from that particular day.

 

I quietly mentioned to my friend about the hereafter. “Chuck, we talked before about your salvation.” He nodded. “Everything all right? You all squared away with Jesus?” He nodded again. “Remember, Buddy, I’m your deacon. If we need to take care of that, I’ll be glad  to help.”

 

Chuck  snapped at me, “I’m good. We already talked about it.”

 

“Got it. Won’t bring it up again.”

 

(Chuck had little tolerance for covering the same ground twice.)

 

After a moment, I said something about Erma being away with her girlfriends for the morning.

 

Chuck nodded. “I love that girl,” he said, “with a passion. I owe her everything.”

 

I put my hand on his shoulder – the “good” one – and agreed.

 

Gentle people, let us learn from Chuck’s quiet, understated example.

 

Pick your passions, and devote yourself to them.

 

Life is short.

 

Live hard.

 

Love harder.