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| 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.)
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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.
